tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86548624001997499752024-03-13T19:29:00.882-07:00The misadventures of whining and poohAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-63061078115541042382017-08-24T17:21:00.001-07:002017-08-24T17:21:20.139-07:00Misadventures of ... Truth?Y'all know that I like to set myself up as some sort of paragon of perfection, which is why I try never to actually know any real people in the real world. Confession Time: In the un-cyber world, I'm a mess, figuratively and literally. Today's story deals with more of a literal mess, with a little of my figurative messiness thrown in for fun.<br />
<br />
Today found me cleaning my bedroom. I know, I'm an adult I shouldn't have to clean my room. (Believe me, my inner six-year-old threw that argument at me when I announced that I was cleaning my bedroom today.) Aren't grown ups supposed to be able to keep house and bedrooms clean? It wasn't FEMA ready, but I wouldn't be inviting company in either. There were two and a half months of neglected clutter build up waiting to be dealt with and a sad sock pile that was taller than my husband. So the iPod was plugged into the speaker, the recycle and shredder bags were prepared, my sleeves were metaphorically rolled up and I was ready to dig in. I'll spare you most of the nitty gritty details until I put my nightstand in the closet to be out of the way for when I vacuum (still not accomplished by the way) and set a sticky mouse trap on the nightstand to be equally out of the way. Later I found some earrings that needed to be put away in my jewelry box in the closet. Unable to reach the jewelry box due to the nightstand, I sat down on the top to reach over. Unfortunately, I immediately realized that I had sat down on the sticky mouse trap, wearing my favorite shorts. Google, or rather a site from Google, instructed me to put a cloth soaked in vinegar on the sticky stain and let it sit for a time, then follow with a scrub. This accomplished adding terry cloth fibers and a very strong odor to my shorts in addition to making my hands incredibly sticky. Palmolive and a lot of table salt removed the sticky from my hands, but my finger nails were unphased and I spent the rest of the day collecting things to them like magnets. As for my shorts....<br />
<br />
Actually, the misadventure with the mouse trap is not the most interesting thing that I discovered upon cleaning my room. What actually prompted this post was the discovery of a paper, buried within a stack of junk mail that reads: "You Freaking Punch Drunk Horse!"<br />
<br />
It is one thing to confess my lack of perfection to the whole world, but to confess to the whole world that my children might fall short of perfection is something else entirely. Still, in the off chance that one of my three readers might have children that don't always get along, I shall openly admit to having slightly imperfect mortals living in my home. The general tone of the insult sounded like an Austin and Nicole is usually the only one to whom he would fling something like that. And the fact that it was on paper...that would imply a vow of silence. There was a very intense quiet game between Erika and Austin about a month ago. See, I had pieced most of the story together before the children even got home from school. When shown the paper, Austin said, "That was when Erika and I were having the quiet contest and Nicole hit me in the shins. I was silently yelling at her, but she thought that I was using bad words so I had to spell it out for her."<br />
<br />
That, My Dear Friends, is the truth about us. We're a little messy, sometimes to the point of punch drunkeness.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-62400016237851396242016-09-01T18:53:00.001-07:002016-09-01T19:40:45.975-07:00Misadventures of .... You think that I'm an Evil What?!On lengthy (anything over 23 minutes) car rides, the children and I enjoy listening to audiobooks. However, on short rides, when we're just buzzing around town or driving carpool, we like to listen to comedy. Our favorites are Smothers Brothers, Bill Cosby (Is it politically incorrect to listen to him these days?), Abbott and Costello, and,of course, Weird Al. Our current carpool album is called, Average Anthems, by Dustin and Genevieve Ahkuoi. Our favorite song on the album is, Tap That (Snooze). It is a song about, Duh, the joys of hitting the snooze button. Some of the lyrics are:<br />
<br />
"I'm gonna tap that snooze, because it keeps my dreams alive. Yeah, I'm gonna tap that snooze when I pry open my crusty eyes. It's the only thing I love, when that evil alarm freakin' wakes me up. I'm gonna tap that snooze 'cause that extra five gives me life"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
and</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"S-N-Double O-Z-E. Wake up in the morning feelin' poopy. S-N-Double O-Z-E. You know you're the one for me."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When listening to this song a few days ago, Nicole looked at me and said, "Now you know how we feel when you come in and wake us up in the morning." I confess that I was stunned silent for several seconds while thoughts raced around my little mind. How could she possibly say that to me?! How could I have raised such a clueless child?! Is she really so lacking in empathy that she doesn't know that, 17 seconds before I'm in waking her up, I have just used the strongest language that I know to chastise my own alarm after "Tapping that Snooze" for at least a half hour?! Despair and anger battle in my heart. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thankfully, my complacency, once again, rose to my aid when I remembered the transformation that I go through in that 17 seconds. In the time it takes me to climb from bed and cross the hall, I go from disgusted grumbling and, I'm ashamed to admit, some name calling directed at my alarm to smiling and singing a good morning song. I haven't raised completely apathetic children, I'm just a really good actress. I sure wish that someone would tell my high school drama teacher how very convincing I can be!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-5673363267028848432016-01-31T11:06:00.000-08:002016-01-31T11:06:49.797-08:00Misadventures of Is It Really Better Late Than Never?<h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As 2015 draws to a close.......Okay, who am I kidding? I may want people to believe that I started this post in a timely manner, but I didn't. Though I've been trying to write it for about 2 months now, it was all in my head and I didn't start typing until January 31, 2016.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">At the end of 2013, my epic (and somewhat typical) failure to reach any of my goals, started me on a new path. I decided that, instead of forming new goals for the next year, I would reflect on lessons learned during the year. So, in no particular order of importance, here are the top 15 lessons learned in 2015:<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">15. This will probably feel like a cheat, but it is my list and my rules. It was easier to come up with 13 lessons in 2013 than it is to come up with 15 lessons in 2015. There are a lot of factors that figure into that beyond basic, first-grade math. Yes, 15 is more than 13, but there are other reasons.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">14. Timehop (and now facebook's Your Memories) provides a great way to remember all of those misadventures that you thought, "Someday I'll look back at this and laugh," but never remembered to laugh at.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">13. Having a 15-year-old (think age 15, not the passage of 15 years) longing come true is awesome.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">12. Writing was much more enjoyable when I didn't need to worry about the censors crying, Child Shaming! Having young children is tough, but you are allowed more fun in the telling.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">11. Even if you need to get more steps into your day, walking to the gas station to fill up the car is still a bad idea.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">10. Cupcake Wars is a great way to inspire children to take up baking.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">9. Having baking children in the house is a great way to increase your waist size.<br />
<br />8. Memory foam mattresses are not bouncy! It is very funny watching a young child try to dive head first onto one.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">7. My children think that I'm really old, seeing as they think 74 BC was back in the 1990's or some other time Before Computers.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">6. Cooking food burns all of the calories, making exercise superfluous.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">5. Shifting your focus changes the whole picture.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">4. My house is not conducive to the collection of Sunrises and Sunsets.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">3. I’m not quick enough to learn new games. The new game systems are far too complex for me. I spent the whole playing time either looking at the ground or looking at the ceiling. Give me a good ol’ 2 dimensional Tetris any day!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">2. My children, who will question the validity of everything that I tell them, have full confidence that I know the exact temperature, why a friend was gone from school, or when the mailman will arrive.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">1. Now that I have a teenager (and a want-to-be, who still has a couple of years to wait) in the house, someone else has all knowledge and it is no longer necessary or reasonable to expect me to learn anything.</span></div>
</h2>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-87904918760148879492015-10-04T08:54:00.000-07:002015-10-04T08:54:49.989-07:00Misadventures of ...... What was I saying?Cognitive decline is no laughing matter. Or it shouldn't be a laughing matter and in your heart of hearts you feel a little guilty for laughing at it. However, since the Little Old Lady in today's story is ME, feel free to laugh with a clear conscience.<br />
<br />
Saturday found me at Costco, picking up some groceries (and free samples). As I walked to the far reaches of the parking lot where I had parked to get maximum steps, I sadly reflected that, with my Fitbit stuck on my wrist, most of my accumulated steps were not being counted due to the shopping cart that I was pushing. Then genius struck. After I put my cart back in the cart keeper, I would get my steps in by walking over to the gas station to fill up the gas tank. Thankfully, I realized the problem with my plan before I got too far in my journey. I suppose I could have gotten my steps in walking back from the gas station to retrieve the forgotten car.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-88634557180005823202015-05-27T21:05:00.000-07:002015-05-27T21:05:39.948-07:00Misadventures of &##%@&!*$As I sat at Austin's sixth grade graduation this evening, I was forcibly reminded of his first day of preschool. I had many misgivings about sending my young son to preschool. We had never been separated on a regular basis before and our worlds revolved around each other. What if he wasn't ready for the cold, cruel world? What if the world wasn't ready for him? Eventually, however, I realized that I had to loosen my choke hold and let him go.<br />
<br />
Reluctantly, I left my boy at school and took his sisters home where we waited with bated breath for his return and the account of his first day in the wild (preschool was taught inside one of the local elementary schools in which he might encounter "Big Kids"). I remember sitting in the rocking chair, rocking the baby, as I listened to his tale (which mostly consisted of "fine"s and "I don't know"s). While we were talking, he fell off of his bed and landed on his backside on the floor. "Ouch!" he exclaimed, "I fell on my thing that starts with an "A" ". Shock and horror filled my mind! He had only been in school for one day and already he was referring to his backside as his "thing that starts with an A". Never before had he used (or even heard) such language. I had sent my son out into a corrupt world and would now be reaping the consequences of that decision. With great trepidation, I asked him to explain what he meant by "his thing that starts with an A". He responded, "You know, Mom, my alligator" and he lifted the large, plastic alligator that he had landed on when he fell. Apparently, they only covered animals that start with an A on the first day of school.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-29645140030691925692015-04-16T20:30:00.001-07:002015-04-16T20:30:35.593-07:00Misadventures of Life Hacks<div class="MsoNormal">
Life hacks seem to be a big thing right now. Since I spend
most of my time foundering, I wouldn't presume to give an adult any life hacks.
I do, however, have a few life hacks to offer to my children: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1. If you hide the evidence by cleaning up after yourself,
you'll get away with a lot more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. If you do
something the first time you are asked, the need to keep asking you disappears.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. If you want to use Mom's possessions, don't throw a huge
tantrum when she asks you to do something. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4. Mom can go from zero to crazy person in under 3 seconds,
don't cook a quesadilla or a hot pocket a half hour before dinner time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5. If you refuse to work on your homework when help is
cheerfully offered, don't be surprised to find yourself doing homework by
yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
6. When Mom offers to wash your clothes if you will bring
them out, do it. Otherwise, your Saturday is likely to be filled with laundry
duties.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
7. Don't expect Mom to back up one of your, "Mom
says....", while Mom is still waiting for you to do what she asked you to
do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
8. When Mom or Dad ask if you have brushed your teeth, they
mean recently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9. When Mom is singing, "Count Your Blessings",it means that you need to run, fast.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10. Mom turns from Jekyll to Hyde at 8:30. It is in your
best interests to conclude your business with her before that hour or be
prepared for the consequences.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-36202070510458940592015-03-09T12:16:00.001-07:002015-03-09T12:16:13.985-07:00Misadventures of Super Powers I have tried over the years, with little success, to teach the goats to pick up after themselves.<br />
<br />
Upon arriving home from some errands this morning, I discovered a recently opened peanut butter jar with several large scoops taken out surrounded on the counter by sprinkles of powdered sugar. When I asked my child, who had stayed home with a sore throat, to produce his peanut butter goo, he pulled it out from under his bed with a mystified expression. A little later, my search for the can opener ended when I found it on the counter with sweetened condensed milk dripping from it. When the sick child was asked for the sweetened condensed milk, he asked, "Are you psychic or something?"<br />
<br />
I now find myself facing a dilemma, the consequences of which would be far reaching. It occurs to me that, if I point out to the children that they could get away with more stuff if they would only clean up the evidence, my house would be much neater. Though, would the clean house really be worth giving up my advantage? Am I really ready to give up my super powers?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-32532197448795151742014-12-31T15:34:00.000-08:002014-12-31T15:34:25.788-08:00Misadventures of More than Usual Confusion<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">As I sit reflecting on
2014, a year full of many adventures and misadventures, I am astonished to
discover that my last blog entry was New Year's Eve 2013. In 2013, I wrote what
was basically a top 13 of 2013, though, of course, it had a better name. I remember
thinking at the time that, rather than reflect on the many failings of the
year, reflecting on things learned throughout the year would be a fun
tradition. Now I sit, at the end of a year that has taught me so much more than
I ever wanted to learn, and words fail me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">What is causing this
inexplicable writer's block? Were the lessons too hard-won? Is it still too raw
to record? Maybe. I believe that the real reason is that, being truly insincere
and deeply shallow, personal reflection doesn't come easily and this year's
lessons don't fall into my usual flippant style. Still, having decided on this
tradition on New Year's Eve last year, writing my life lessons will be the
resolution that I keep. So, in no order of importance, here are the top 14 things
that I learned in 2014:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">14. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px;">The saying, "All's well that ends well," is a crock. I've used this analogy before, forgive me if this is a repeat. My thankfully short experience with cancer was rather like picking up a snow globe and shaking. You can shake the snow globe, then put it safely on the shelf and walk away, but the dust doesn't settle in the same way and the snow globe is changed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">13. Optimistic shoes
rule!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">12. Sometimes, it is
just as well to take a wrong turn. The extra miles may be the most enjoyable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">11. (Learned on the same
day as 12) Realize that when someone tells you that a hike is "not
bad", the term is subjective.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">10. My children were
much more interesting to write about when they were little and I didn't
understand the method behind their madness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">9. Though I miss my
babies desperately, my children are turning into really incredible people. They
are my best friends, my peers, my confidants; not in the "I want to be
their BFF's" way, but in the "I enjoy their company, their thoughts,
their insights" kind of way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">8. Coconut oil makes
awesome cookies!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">7. My panda has great
potential as an Evil Scientist. She is so sweet that it is difficult to picture
the diabolical plans lurking beneath the surface. Trust me, they're there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">6. Left-over pizza in
the fridge is like balm to the soul after a hard night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">5. Mornings are more fun
if you write a song to sing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">4. Don't send Daddy to
buy the girls their delicates!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">3. All never ending
numbers are the same since infinity is infinite, but never ending 9's will get
you there faster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">2. I like words so much
that I have used pulling off a Band-Aid as an analogy for..... pulling off a Band-Aid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">1. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px;">Although I try to be fairly honest with my posts, sometimes the wording of things that I write gives a false impression of someone capable of dealing with things. I think that if my family and my Facebook friends ever started talking, they would all be very confused about who I am.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Here's to an awesome and
funnier 2015!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-67485571330412640612013-12-31T13:33:00.003-08:002013-12-31T15:00:40.256-08:00Misadventures of Shattered Dreams <br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">As I sit here enjoying my tradition of reflecting on the past
year, missed opportunities, failed goals, misplaced dreams, I am filled with a
familiar sense of melancholy. That's right, Folks, Katie has blown
another year. Still, my sense of complacency rises to my defense and reminds me of
the many things that I have learned this year. So, in no particular order of
importance, I give you the top 13 things that I have learned in 2013.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">13. I'll start with the most serious,
lengthy, and self promoting: I have a way with words. I'm not sure if it is a
good way or a bad way as people just say, "You have such a way with words."
This way with words has led me to another important discovery; I am a story
teller NOT a writer. A few months ago, I tried to use my words to accomplish
something. I networked, I pushed myself, and I dedicated myself to turning my
blog into something that it isn't. While pushing for literary success, I realized that I was missing out on the daily misadventures that I most enjoy writing about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">12. Nothing inspires need in my family
quite as effectively as sitting down to write a blog post or read a book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">11. I use a lot of words, like
complacency, feeling that I have an understanding of their meaning. That
feeling of understanding leaves me as soon as one of my children asks me what
the word means.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">10. Goes along with 11.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span style="background: yellow;">TheFreeDictionary</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>by<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span style="background: yellow;">Farlex</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>is the BEST APP EVER! (Incidentally,
complacency meant exactly what I wanted it to.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">9. Cake bites are not, in fact, delicious
and more portable forms of cake. They should be eaten sitting down in a
controlled environment. Especially if they happen to be Red Velvet cake bites
and you happen to have light beige carpet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">8. Do not go to Bath and Body Works with a
stuffy nose. You may be totally unaware of how awful your body wash smells
until after you've been showering with it for days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">7. My bike can NOT turn both left and
right at the same time. For this reason, it is important to decide which
direction I want to go before I get to the turn and try to go both directions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">6. If you play fetch with a dinosaur,
don't call it stupid! If you do, then you deserve what you get.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">5. My children have complete faith in just
one thing: A mother in possession of a clean kitchen floor must desperately
want her children to bake something that involves Sweetened Condensed Milk and
Powdered Sugar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">4. <b>NEVER</b>, <b>EVER</b>, <b>EVER</b> let the children
transport colored Easter Eggs from one location to another. There are very few
things more terrifying than climbing into the car in late August and having
your four year old ask, "Where are the rest of the Easter Eggs?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">3. Although procrastination helped solve
the problem of not wanting to dry my hair, it has never helped me with the
problem of not wanting to wash the dishes or fold the laundry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">2. Like pulling a band aid or seeing the
first scratch on a new car, it is best to break resolutions quickly. I try to
break mine by 12:17 a.m. on New Year’s Day. This has spared me many months of
stress and heartache. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">1. Although I usually enjoy the beat of my
own drum, sometimes it is okay to be a cliché. What could be more cliché than
using New Year's Eve to discover that self loathing and a strange sense of
optimism are not mutually exclusive? Here's to a great New Year!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-20254815542942652922013-10-12T14:07:00.000-07:002013-10-12T14:07:44.997-07:00Misadventures of Mommy's SurpriseWhen the children sent me to my room this morning, it was with a heavy heart that I went. Now, don't get me wrong, usually getting sent to my room is the greatest of delights. So, what made this morning different? Well, it's my story, and I will tell you.<br />
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It all started with my road of good intentions. I had gone to the kitchen in search of an apple to start my healthy day. Today being Saturday, everyone was just loafing around without our usual hustle and bustle. When the children saw me, Austin suggested that I should return to my room and soon they would present me with a wonderful surprise. That is when the sinking feeling started. A wonderful surprise that I couldn't be witness to? That never ends well. I took my apple, a small portion of the healthy breakfast that I had intended, and slunk back to my room. I turned on the TV to try to mask the sounds of the mixer, the crazy giggling, the occasional outburst of, "Oh, No!", and my personal favorite, "Cooper, Get down". The TV turned out to be an ineffective diversion as Erika came in every 3 minutes to tell me that they were not making pie. What a relief! Except that I was pretty sure that she was not being entirely honest since I could hear an argument in the kitchen that sounded like this, "No, we can't make the pancakes. We'll have to make the pie". <br />
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After about 45 minutes, Austin came in to tell me that it would be at least another hour because the recipe said that the filling had to chill for an hour. Recipe? Chill? I was not aware of any pie recipe that would require chilling for which I had the ingredients. The sinking feeling was becoming more and more pronounced. Since my surprise wouldn't be ready in time to feed my starving body, I asked permission to go make my breakfast. Austin cheered right up and said he would get me some food. I thought I heard something about cooking broccoli as he walked down the hall. Good, the day would not descend into completely unhealthy eating. A few minutes later, Austin returned with what he called, "The Brigham Young University Power Drink". I think that this had more to do with the cup it was contained in than any actual affiliation with the school. I believe it consisted of milk, peanut butter, and a whole lot of Splenda. Trying to drink it through the crazy straw sticking out of the top was like trying to drink peanut butter through a crazy straw. It was sweet enough to power all of Brigham Young University. After the requisite "chilling hour", in which I did very little chilling, I was invited out to enjoy my surprise. What wasn't a surprise was what had filled me with unspoken dread, the mess that I found in my kitchen. Surprise, Mom!<br />
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And what delightful surprise had my children lovingly prepared for their favorite Mommy? Berry pie. The ingredients were: berries, Splenda, water, and ..... wait for it ..... butter, all topped with sheets of graham crackers. I confess that I was a little puzzled. I thought that he had said there was a recipe behind this project. When asked, Austin said that the recipe had come from the back of the Splenda bag. Thinking that the butter was probably supposed to be used with the graham crackers to make the crust, I read the recipe. There was no mention of butter anywhere. I wondered, out loud, why they had decided to put butter in what would otherwise have been a delightful berry blend. Austin said, "The recipe called for G-elatin (strong g). Isn't butter the same as G-elatin?" As I explained that gelatin was what Jell-O is made from and doesn't really have a lot in common with butter, Austin expressed the same sad conclusion that was racing through my mind, "That's the trouble with trying a new recipe without Mom's help".<br />
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As unsurprising as the messy kitchen was, equally unsurprising was the speed with which the children disappeared when called on to clean it up. Although my Mommyhood did compel me to eat some of the buttery, berry pie, it didn't compel me to clean the mess up alone. So fueling up on some of that good BYU power drink, we surprised each other with how quickly the kitchen could be cleaned if we worked together.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-37203236428705198232013-05-30T22:28:00.001-07:002013-05-30T22:28:33.209-07:00Misadventures Of Five Minute Friday........ Imagine I pull out of our space station. The roller coaster that I'm driving is pink for my oldest daughter, green for me, purple and yellow for the two youngest, and a rocket ship for the oldest because he doesn't like roller coasters. My four year old gravely informs me that ALL of our Pegasuses (Pegasuses?) are tied to the back of the car. Erika jumps in to correct him. There is no way that all 99 could be tied up, we had to leave some home. "Mom," she says, inviting me in to the game, "You have two Pegasuses. Their names are Glinda and Elphaba. Elphaba is green with a black mane and tail." I asked if she could have a purple star on the bum like A My Little Pony. "Yeth, she does. And Glinda is white and has a pink mane and tail." Of course, I had to give Glinda a pony mark; she got a sparkly, sky blue heart on her bum. Later, as we sat at a red light, we talked about how fun it would be if our Pegasuses would just lift us out of traffic and fly us where we want (never say "need") to go.<br />
Imagine that! <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-80657791500648805382013-05-24T23:10:00.000-07:002013-05-24T23:10:18.729-07:00Misadventures of.... 5 minute Friday View: "But I don't want to exercise!" Cricket screamed, stomping her foot. You would think that my inner voice would sound a little more mature than my 6 year old, but it seldom does. So much of my day is spent arguing with myself over things that I don't want to do, or arguing with my children over things that they don't want to do, or stressing over the things that no one wants to do but we have to do anyway. It was one of those days. Running from one thing to the next; never stopping to enjoy the current activity, just worrying over the next thing that would come up. How will I make it to all of the places I need to be? What will I do? If I could only have some time..... At 11:55, I sit here reflecting on my rear view mirror. Austin was so happy to show me around the county fair at school. Erika and Nicole laughed and laughed when I told them about how their uncles used to tease! And my day started with a good, long 'nuggle with my "baby". Thank goodness that hindsight isn't 20/20, I often find that my day was much nicer when looked at in the rear view mirror. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-66403057591375545602013-05-17T09:59:00.000-07:002013-05-17T09:59:22.931-07:00Misadventures of Lessons TaughtTeaching moments seem to be all around us. I didn't realize that we were having a great teaching moment this morning until I heard Alex chanting, "Keep your eye on the prize. Keep your eye on the prize." <br />
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Is Alex training for a marathon? Working towards his black belt? No! He is perfecting the great art of jumping from a bar stool, catching a balloon, and landing on my bed. Teaching him the best way to jump on the bed is probably not my finest parenting moment. I am, however, rather proud of the "Eye on the prize" bit. How did that little nugget of wisdom come about? He was telling me that he could get the balloon if he just kept looking at it. I agreed, "You can do it if you just keep your eye on the prize." <br />
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That casual comment has given him a new life affirmation. Okay, maybe not, but he is going to be the best little balloon catcher that this house has ever seen.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-44567238513392270672013-05-06T13:56:00.001-07:002013-05-16T09:34:13.433-07:00Misadventures of Animal Passion <br />
Over the years, we have had many tucking in rituals. They are constantly evolving, causing me to look back and wonder, "What happened to.....?" I digress. Today I am thinking of a specific tuck-in ritual. Every night, after Alex says his prayers, I tuck him in with his special blankets. I then get a kiss and a hug, followed by putting love in the ear. This is achieved by whispering, "I love you!" in each other’s ears. There is a catch, though. It needs to be done simultaneously or it doesn't count. After that I tickle his forehead and bonk his nose. Then I say, "Tell me who loves you." Alex responds, "I love you and you love Me." and I say, "So much in love with us are we that you can kiss you and I can kiss me!" Alex corrects me with, "I can kiss you and you can kiss me!"After this declaration, I ask the very important question, "But who will kiss Flippered Alex?" Who is Flippered Alex? You ask. Flippered Alex is the stuffed penguin that Alex got in San Diego last summer. We love Flippered Alex very much, but he has one flaw. That flaw keeps him from ever being kissed goodnight. After I ask my question, Alex always answers, "No one can kiss Flippered Alex because he has PENGUIN LIPS!" Evidently, PENGUIN LIPS are terrible things to have and are considered to be very contagious through kissing. Flippered Alex usually has to settle for a hug and a pat on the head before he is tucked in, too. Sometimes I try to sneak a kiss, but Alex always covers my mouth with a very stern, "No, Mom!" Last night, when I tried to get a kiss from Flippered Alex, Alex looked at me and his stuffed penguin and said, "Will you two cut it out?!" I don't think that I've heard that since Rick and I were dating. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-90016254077693612782013-05-02T07:59:00.000-07:002013-05-16T09:34:35.701-07:00Misadventures of First AttemptsI recently came across my first attempt at a blogging. At the time, my children were ages: 6, 4, 2, and 4 months.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Musings on Motherhood</i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>9/16/2009</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i>When I was a little girl, I had all of the usual aspirations: I wanted to be a ballerina or a princess. As I grew older, my dreams changed; I realized that Queen would have much more power than a mere princess. I went through other career plans as well, doctor (to help people), lawyer (to use my love of arguing, I mean, you can only be a teenager for so long), or teacher (very noble and self-sacrificing since they don't actually get paid for their work). But through it all, I knew that I ultimately wanted to be a "MOM". </i><br />
<i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i>I was going to be very good at being a mom. I was going to spend my days playing Candyland and pulling fresh baked goods out of the oven in my immaculate house. I was going to look like the moms in the TV commercials, too. I would be thin, always have a perfectly done face, beautiful hair (preferably thick and auburn). The details of how I was going to manage all of those things stayed comfortably hazy. What would it matter if I hate housework or my hair was stringy and blond? It's done on TV all the time.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i>Then reality hit. When my oldest was born, I lost a lot of the answers that I was so sure I had. Child development courses and four younger brothers did nothing to prepare me for the uncertainty of motherhood. But somehow I muddled through with a few of my theories still comfortably in place, and then came Nicole. With the birth of my second child I lost all of my remaining answers and was left foundering. I've never found my footing since.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i>Still, motherhood is the greatest blessing in my life. What other career would have you saying prayers every morning, thanking Heavenly Father for the person who kept you up all night.</i></blockquote>
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<b>Musings on Motherhood, Four Years Later</b><br />
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With my youngest child approaching four years old, and having spent a lot of hours playing Candyland recently, I can tell you that spending your days playing Candyland has been scientifically proven to slow down the movement of time. I'm not talking about the, "I wish this moment would last forever!"time. I am referring to the, "Will this never end?" time. (While I write this, Alex is trying to set up a Candyland meets Parcheesi game. I'm not sure how that will work, but he's a man with a plan.)<br />
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Fresh baked goods do awful things to my body and further mess up the kitchen that I still hate to clean.<br />
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All of the parenting wisdom that I firmly believed pre-children has been gone so long that I can't even remember what I thought I knew. I have only two parenting theories that I have come to believe, and I'm sure that they, too, will pass. <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1. Life was much simpler when I had ALL of the answers and NONE of the questions. I've come to realize this truth as I've asked for advice in public forums. The people who offer advice generally have fewer children at younger ages who have never reached my situation. The people who have "been there, done that" will simply say that I need to figure it out for myself. <br />
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2. Having been out of Junior High longer than I usually care to admit, I'm not too concerned with my public image. What I mean to say is it doesn't matter if the people at the grocery store think that it is odd that the children and I are all sporting eye liner mustaches or if my hair is purple because we had a wacky hair day. The grins and giggles of my little ones matter much more to me than the raised eyebrows of strangers.</blockquote>
Still, even on the days that I wonder if the children will ever go to bed and give me some time, I'm thankful every day to be the MOM.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-52823370207830854132013-05-02T06:34:00.000-07:002013-05-16T09:35:27.808-07:00Misadventures of Silver Linings Today Is not about my folly; it is about finding the good in our lives. With that in mind, I have decided to find things to be grateful for.<br />
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Yes, it's 7 a. m. and I can already hear the children arguing. But, on the plus side, it's 7 a. m. and I don't have to wake the Little Dears up.<br />
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Yes, the children have to go to school today. But, on the plus side, I don't have to drive them to school today.<br />
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Yes, Utah's bipolar weather has us going through a deep freeze that has caused the temperature in our house to drop to 54 degrees. But, on the plus side, my bed is nice and warm.<br />
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Looking over these blessings, they all seem to be pointing me in the same direction. I feel that the only way to truly show my gratitude, and good sense, is to lay back down and pull the covers up to my chin. Nighty, night. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-68315070743608394332013-04-29T20:18:00.000-07:002013-05-16T09:35:58.714-07:00Misadventures of R-E-S-P-E-C-TYou know that Rick and I have a very strong sense of decorum, treating all people and subject matter with a great deal of gravity and respect. We have striven to instill this same sense of respect in our children, though, I'm not sure if our teachings are getting through to them.<br />
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This evening, during a very spiritual family night lesson, or as spiritual as any lesson can be with four young children, Rick asked if anyone had any questions. Alex, the four year old, respectfully raised his hand and announced that he had a question. When called on to ask his question, Alex asked, "Dad, are you ever going to stop talking so I can play scripture guessing (charades)?" <br />
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I'm pretty sure that the respectful way that he raised his hand was due primarily to Rick's influence. I'm afraid that the sentimentality behind the question may be the result of my influence. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-51922034827419399772013-04-24T20:25:00.001-07:002013-05-16T09:36:24.086-07:00Misadventures of Answered Prayers My soul felt raw. My inner dialogue was un-publishable. My usually sweet spirit was anything but angelic.<br />
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The day had started with Alex throwing up in bed. I had asked Austin to put his clothes in the dryer while I was stripping Alex's bed. I ended up speaking rather sharply to finally get the washer emptied. Things hadn't improved much in the afternoon.<br />
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Now 5:00 found me driving down the freeway to take my little monsters to swimming lessons. The lessons weren't for me. I wasn't going to be playing in the pool. Why should I have to do it? You can probably imagine the kind of language that I had been listening to. To tell the truth, if today's lesson hadn't been the last, the little dears would have found themselves without a ride.<br />
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As I drove, I came to the conclusion that, if I was going to take the turkeys to swimming in spite of their behavior, then I really needed to stop fuming about it. Having made that very mature decision, I tried to figure out a way to get over my anger. I offered up a little prayer. It was a carefully worded prayer. I didn't pray for better children. I didn't pray for patience, I've heard what happens when people ask for patience. I simply asked for guidance on how to snap out of my funk. I had scarcely finished my prayer when a truck kicked up a rock and put a large crack in my windshield. <br />
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Feeling that all of my carefully chosen words had somehow failed me, I felt myself slipping deeper into my bad mood. In my mind (because I was driving), I began writing my little rant. Finding the right words to convey just how ill used I felt really lifted my mood.<br />
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I would not normally go looking for tender mercies in a knicked windshield. However, I came to the realization that trying to find something funny to say about my windshield was probably the only thing that could have brightened my day. The Lord does work in mysterious ways. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-69917571642084548452013-03-07T09:40:00.000-08:002013-05-16T09:36:43.122-07:00Misadventures of the Daily GrindYou know that blissful moment between wakefulness and sleep? This morning found me in such a happy place, lying on the beach of imagination, fully aware of the fact that today is NOT TUESDAY. Thursday is such a nice day; Thursday has no carpools, no responsibility, no need to be anywhere except where I want to be; Thursday would never hurt anybody. <br />
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Suddenly, I heard feet thundering down the boardwalk. Wait a minute, there is no boardwalk on the beach of imagination. Trust me; if I'm going to imagine a beach, it would be a private beach, no boardwalk necessary. After the intrusion of the thundering feet on the boardwalk, I slowly became aware that the sound of screeching seagulls was, in fact, the squealing of little children. And, the saddest realization of all, the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore was actually the sound of the toilet being flooded, thus causing the thundering feet on the boardwalk and the squeals of the <strike>gulls</strike> children.<br />
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TUESDAY! My great and worthy adversary! I thought that there was a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven, that YOU must stay in your weekly time slot. As I refuse to believe that anything bad can happen on a day that is not TUESDAY, I must own that I am not as awake as I initially believed. As I lay back down on the beach of imagination, I put my sunglasses back on. But, this time, I make sure that they are complete with a funny nose and mustache. TUESDAY will never find me now!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-78808149911077642982013-01-14T18:45:00.000-08:002013-05-16T09:37:09.098-07:00Misadventures of Good Manners<em>If this looks familiar to anyone, that's because it was an old post on my other blog. re-reading it gave me a little laugh, so I thought I would share.</em><br />
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I have always tried to instill good manners in my children. To say "Please" and "Thank You" and "Excuse Me". I have tried, with out much success, to teach them not to interrupt. Overall, I think that I'm just trying to teach them to be good Ladies and Gentlemen. I had no idea of how much of an impression my teachings had made until recently.<br />
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<strong><u>Exhibit A:</u></strong><br />
Austin and Nicole were waiting in the car while I was finishing packing the diaper bag to go run some errands. <br />
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Erika: "Mom, you need to be my gentleman!" <br />
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Mom: "What?" <br />
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Erika: "You need to be my gentleman!"<br />
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Mom, not really paying attention: "Oh, I need to be your gentleman. (Whatever that means)"<br />
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I finished packing the diaper bag.<br />
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Mom: "Erika, you need to run out to the car. I'm coming right now."<br />
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Erika: "I can't open the door. I told you that you needed to be my gentleman!" At least I know that Daddy opening the doors has made an impression.<br />
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<strong><u>Exhibit B:</u></strong><br />
We recently read "James and the Giant Peach". When we finished the book, I let the children watch the movie version. After watching it a couple of times and seeing how badly James' Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker treated him, Nicole came to me with the following observation: <br />
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Nicole: "James's aunts are so mean! Aunt Sponge burped and she didn't even say, 'Excuse Me'".<br />
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<strong><u>Exhibit C:</u></strong><br />
While watching Star Wars with Austin, I heard:<br />
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Austin: "Mom, Anakin interrupted that bad guy! He wasn't even finished speaking and Anakin killed him anyway!"<br />
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Now that our manners are well in hand, I think it is time to turn to other lessons: treating people kindly and not killing guys, whether they've finished speaking or not! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-51154748754692840142013-01-10T10:33:00.000-08:002013-05-16T09:37:36.236-07:00Misadventures of a Broken CommandmentThis morning found me singing a cheerful good morning song to try to rouse my sleepy minions and declaring what a glorious day we were bound to have. Five minutes before this happy morning ritual, I was in bed using very abusive and near unpublishable language as my alarm tried to rouse sleepy me. At least five days a week finds me putting on my "Good Morning" face to try and start our day on the right foot (as opposed to the left foot?). Today, as my little children gave me their usual morning grumbles, I thought about what a hypocrite I am, singing and being cheerful when I really wanted to throw my alarm out the window. <br />
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It reminded me of something that I read on facebook Christmas morning. In reference to a post that Snopes made about Santa, many negative comments were made. This direct quote sums up those negative comments, "For me, lying to children is one of the most disgusting things an adult can do to them. Be the example you wish your children to be." Being guilty of perpetuating the Santa story and realizing that I was lying to my children every morning with my delightful demeanor, I began wondering about what other deceptions I am guilty of. No, Michelle, I wasn't delighted with my new hair color. Though, I am getting used to it. No, Bishop, I wasn't grateful for the opportunity to speak in sacrament meeting. No, Erika, I didn't "get" the joke you made up. No, Children, I don't think going to the dentist is a fun adventure. No, my Sweet Little Girl, I do not find this terribly long story to be totally riveting. And, Alex, I am not, in fact, a tickle monster. Boy, it's true what they say, "Confession is good for the soul."<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-16666686509560631492013-01-08T09:08:00.000-08:002013-01-08T10:59:13.561-08:00Misadventures of Sad Plates, a Lesson in UnderstandingA few weeks ago, Alex and I were in the car running errands. From the back seat came an excited voice, "Mom, I saw a plate!" Distractedly, "Uh-huh". More excitement, "Mom, I saw another plate!" My response, "You saw a plate?", still sadly unfocused. "Look, Mom, there is a plate on that house." Now more confused than distracted, I responded, "That sure seems like a strange place to keep a plate."<br />
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The next day found us driving on a different stretch of road. From the back seat, Alex said, "Mom, I can't see any sad lights." My very helpful answer, "Well, that's good. Isn't it?" A few minutes later, "Mom, why can't I see any sad lights?" I'm thinking, "Sad lights? What on earth are sad lights? We have a Sad Sock Bucket for mate less socks. We have sad toys, whose batteries have died and Mom hasn't replaced them. What are Sad Lights?" My answer to my boy was, "Alex, I don't know why you can't see any sad lights. Maybe the lights aren't sad." Suddenly, with great excitement, "Mom, I see a sad light on that house over there." The clouds parted and a ray of understanding finally came to my foggy brain. Rewind to a lovely September morning when Alex and I walked the big kids to school. On our way home, we walked on "Mom's Bike Trail". As Alex looked at the houses that backed onto the trail, he was curious about those funny circles that stuck up from so many houses. I told him that they were satellite dishes that people used for their TVs. Satellite? Sad Lights? "Alex, are you talking about the satellite dish?" With great joy at finally being understood, "Yeah, Mom. I see a sad light." With a little more understanding I asked, "And, Alex, when you saw the plates on the houses were you talking about satellite dishes?" Dishes? Plates? it's all coming together. "Yeah, Mom!"<br />
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Now, as we drive around town we have fun looking for people's dishes. Some days they're "sad lights" and some day they're "plates", but they're always fun to look for.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-83836983673984344322012-12-28T18:39:00.000-08:002013-05-16T09:38:07.968-07:00Misadventures of Global CommerceOn a recent shopping trip, Erika, Alex and I found ourselves out and about at lunch time. We stopped at a food court to get something to eat. After eating just her hot dog, Erika carefully separated the two sides of her hot dog bun. She then handed one side to Alex and an epic battle commenced, the hot dog buns standing in for swords. With a magnificent swish of his "blade" Alex broke Erika's weapon in half. Sadly, Erika picked up the pieces of her bun and remarked, "This hot dog bun must have been made in China, it broke way too easy!"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-88393298613383104722012-12-15T21:49:00.003-08:002013-05-16T09:38:26.256-07:00An Angel's PrayerI write this with a heavy heart in response to the Sandy Hook shootings.<br />
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An Angel's Prayer<br />
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Dear Teddy, who's guarded my sleep all these years, please snuggle my Mommy and catch all her tears.<br />
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Dear Pillow, that still holds the scent of my hair, please comfort my Daddy and let him feel me near.<br />
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Dear Blanket, that has tucked me in cozy and tight, please warm their hearts on this darkest of nights.<br />
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Dear Snow, that falls on a grief stricken face, please help her feel kisses you give in my place.<br />
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Dear Daddy, who could always quiet my fears, please know that I'm fine and finished with tears.<br />
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Dear Mommy, who held my hands and my heart, please know that I'm here though we seem far apart.<br />
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Dear Savior, Who's welcomed me home with such love, Please give them the peace from our Father Above.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8654862400199749975.post-78924312966981071852012-11-09T18:35:00.001-08:002013-05-16T09:38:58.123-07:00Misadventures of Excess VerbageMy folly in writing this is that I feel it will be too short to justify a blog entry but far too long for a status update.<br />
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It has been a difficult month at our house, we have had stomach flu, pink eye, and ear infections all while Daddy was traveling. The result was several weeks stuck at home, surrounded by children who didn't feel well. People have needed me every hour of the day and night. I haven't had many waking moments of peace and I have felt a little (putting it very mildly) frustrated.<br />
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Finally, today, I took a day to myself. I had a playdate with my Mommy and my sister in law. At the end of a wonderful day, I found myself making the 50 mile drive home in the midst of a bad snowstorm. Driving, with my jeep in the slow lane, I noticed that all of the other cars were flying past me. I got to thinking about what I was going home to. I would find my husband who would welcome me home with a kiss, but would probably grab my bum, because he can't do one without the other. There would be four children, clamouring to tell me about their day or the mistreatment they received from their siblings or maybe a new episode of their favorite cartoon. I would have at least two children fighting over my lap wanting me to read them a story. I would probably hear some complaints about their chores. I would find that none of their chores had been done. I would hear, "Hey, Mom!" at least 57 times before I was able to finish tucking them into bed. As these thoughts came to my mind, I found myself driving just a little bit slower through the snow. I wasn't, however, driving slower because I was dragging my feet, I was slowing down because I was going home to so much love that I wanted to make sure that I got there safely.<br />
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Many of my dear friends have been expressing their gratitude this Thanksgiving season and I have been reticent because many of the things that I feel grateful for may seem trivial to others. Tonight, though, I feel that I need to express my gratitude. I am grateful for the chaos, the noise, and the maddening joy that is my life.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08250053157616296963noreply@blogger.com1