Oh what do you do....

Oh.... what do you do in the summer time

when your Mom's a lazy bum?

Do you sit in a steam as you lazily dream

on the bed when it's still light at night?

Is that what you do? So do I!

Oh... what do you do in the summertime
when your Mom just wants to sleep?

Do you swim in a pool, to keep yourself cool,
or swing in a tree up high?

Is that what you do? Neither do I!

Oh.... what do you do in the summertime,
when your Mom is super mean?

Do you miss the parades, beg for lemonades,
or count all the times you cry?

Is that what you do? So do I!

Poem courtesy of Ms. Els and Cadie Lu

(Poor picked on victims of their mother's heat aversion,
who are convinced that despite all appearances,
this summer has been a bust!)

PS - None of these pictures are my children

Summer Time - EZ Livin'

Sorry peeps. I'm too busy having fun this summer to take time out to blog. Sure, my life is replete with blog-worthy happenings, but I'm tucked up on the couch with a novel and a cup of peanut butter m&m's and just can't get around to typing these things up.

But, since I know you care so much, I've squeaked out this moment in time to share with you some of the highlights of the past weeks of summer.

(My apologies, be aware that this got a bit lengthy....)

ONE:

Two weeks of swimming lesson h-e-** spent at the local Rec Center. Ms. Els accidentally ended up in the level 2 class and inadvertantly learned to swim the deep end. I can't decide if I'm grateful to the staff mess-up or frustrated. But hey, my kid can swim... so... WOOT WOOT!

Cadie Lu spent those same two weeks learning how to splash around and blow bubbles. Go figure.

I spent those two weeks sitting in a "pool" of my own sweat, make-up running down my face and hair pulled back into a bun while watching the instruction. The worst part is that I didn't loose any weight for my efforts.

TWO:

Took the kids camping over the 4th of July. The kids did fine. The dog did not. I pretty much want to sell him... but that's another post. Also, not a huge fan of the nifty drum circle someone organized at 1:00 am. I woke up and asked Steve if we'd accidently camped on the reservation. He replied that he was wondering if a war party was going to storm our campsite.

On that note, I'm starting to realize that I don't like camping as much as I should for someone whose name is 'Aspen'.

THREE:

We also managed to squeak in some July 4th celebrations with both sides of the family. We did a picnic at the park with Steve's side. It was fun and relaxing.

We did a bbq, water play and fireworks with my side. Looks like my kids are still afriad of fireworks. So I'm pretty stoked about wasting money yet again this year on fireworks that they end up watching from inside the house. Not to be a downer... but it's a pretty crummy tradition!

FOUR:

Been spending lots of time with my sister and her kids while they're between homes. (Left Texas, heading for Washington.) Loving that, along with the reminder of why I'm not too broken up about the fact I can't breastfeed. Just sayin'....

(My girls with two of my sister's girls. Cutie pies!)

FIVE:

Well, five is a secret... he he he.... Deal with it.

(No, for the love, not ALL secrets are about pregnancy!)

Happy Summer!

Parenting Gold Mine

You know what I love?

I love it when I stumble across a bit of parenting gold (aka genius) without any forethought. I'm just humming along and suddenly I do something so spectacular that it simply must be shared with the world.

Here is what happened to me today:

As with most days, today I was trying to juggle lunch-time with the extreme need my daughters have to play with their friends. Amid the juggle the girls finished their awesome lunch of waffles and pears (I threw that in because it's usually corn dogs and ketchup), and were gearing up to go play.

"Put on your shoes!" I shouted to the brick wall that is Ms. Els when friends are waiting.


All I heard was the slamming of a door. So, I opened said door and repeated my request that she put on shoes. In a whiny voice she replied, "Uh... couldn't you just get them for me?"

Usually I refuse to do these kinds of tasks, but seeing as the shoes were sitting next to my feet I agreed. I picked one up with my toe and threw it in her general direction. I did the same with the second shoe, but this one landed in a bush. A big, poky bush that is taller than I am and may house a colony of wee beasties. Oopsies!

"Oh, my bad." I smiled at her.

Now, here is the gold part. I heard her mutter to her friend, "I should have just gotten them myself!" as she dove into the gigantic bush to retrieve it.

Do you people realize the power I've just unleashed? I bet after a few more shoes launched into bushes she'll just start getting her own shoes, because it'll become obvious that asking mom just isn't worth it!!

I'm wondering where else I can use this new and delightsome technique? Maybe when they ask me to hand them a cup I'll spit in it first? Or drop their toothbrush in the toilet? Maybe when they ask me to get them a drink I'll make sure the water is always hot..... the possibilities are endless.

Someday I'll have these people whipped into independent shape. For now, though, I've got to go get that hornets nest out of Ms. Els's hair. Where could she have stumbled across that????

A Word to the Wise

Because I care about you, my loyal readers (Hi Mom and Steve!), I'm offering up a tasty morsel of advice to keep you from looking like a huge putz at your next family function.

This past weekend was family-palooza for us. It began with a family reunion on my side, which went off without a hitch. I managed to keep from embarrassing myself too much and my kids acted with decorum and tact throughout the proceedings.

(This means that they happily played with pine cones and avoided loosing their shoes down the river)

The next day was a wedding on Steve's side of the family. It was lovely and I always enjoy the chance to go to the temple.... and be shushed yet again. Really, you'd think at my age I'd use a "temple voice", but I can't seem to muster up the strength to keep it down. My apologies to yet another cousin, A.E., who I dragged down with me.

Now, for the advice portion of this post. It would probably be in your best interest to do a little detective work and find out a bit about what is happening in the lives of your extended family before bumbling into a slightly uncomfortable situation.

(My bro-in-law recently asked about a deceased family member as though said person were still living. Big oopsies! Makes me look like Miss Manners!)

Anyhow, after the lovely temple ceremony we were waiting on the lobby for the grand exit of bride and groom. Hubs and I got to visiting with Uncle D. and he was mentioning having to get back to home state for church. I proceeded to do my usual guff-giving and went on and on about how it's okay to "get a sub" and "take a break". I mean, really, how dedicated do you have to be to your calling?

Then, I asked the question that probably should have been asked before my monologue on "getting over yourself". (Okay,I didn't actually say or think that - but needed to emphasize my sass level)

His response? "I'm the Bishop".

Oh, well, gee-willickers. Then I suppose getting a sub and taking a break isn't really going to happen. My bad.

And what was my response to his? "Well... huh... bet you don't know what my calling is either. Just sayin'!"

I always advise using extreme tact and humility in situations like that. You don't want to add to the tension.

Luckily for me Uncle D. is pretty great - not to mention his mad skills at talking like Donald Duck - and let me off the hook

See, this is why he's the Bishop and I'm just teaching primary.

Now please excuse me while I unwedge my foot from my mouth.

More About Hair

Let's consider this a follow-up to my shaving rant of last Sunday. Boy, can 7 days really change a girl's perception of things.

Yesterday I was told about the following conversation, and it completely blew my hate of shaving right out of the water. That hate has now been replaced by gratitude for the opportunity - that's right! - I have to keep myself relatively hairless. The efforts of hair removal have not been lessened, rather my attitude has changed.

And I owe it all to my 4 year-old daughter, Cadie Lu.

Yesterday my husband and two daughters hit the pavement to help clean the church. Since our church is roughly two blocks away, Steve felt like it would be in the realm of pansiness to drive.

(This, however, has not kept me from driving there on Sundays. Just sayin')

On the walk over, Cadie Lu started whining about how cold she was. Steve tried to give her some encouragement by saying, "It's not that cold, sweetie. I'm not cold."

To which Cadie replied "Well, Daddy, I'm cold because I don't have FUR like you do to keep me warm."

SHAZAM!!

Steve told me this story last night while he was shaving.

Coincidence?

I think not.

(This is not my hubby. I respect his privacy too much to post pictures of his hairy... excuse me... furry chest on my blog. I do not, however, have the same level of respect for Alec Baldwin!)

Shaving

Shaving. I hate it. Yep, I really do.

Oh sure, I like hairless legs and pits as much as the next person. What I'm not loving is the never ending process of hair removal. It's like dishes and laundry... no matter how much you do it, you'll never be done. Unless you're rich and can hire someone to remove said hair permanently. For those of us buying disposable razors from Walmart, well, we're clearly not looking at permanent hair removal. It's best to just hunker down for a long ride.
First of all, why do we shave? I mean, I'm pretty sure that when God created our bodies he did so with purpose. So, hair on our legs shouldn't be messed with... right? (Okay, I don't need your attitude about appendixes right now!)

But, really, in this country of therapists and new-agey vulnerability, it shouldn't surprise me that society tells us to pour hot wax on our bodies and strip off our primitive protection. Just sayin'

Now, assuming you've been brought down by peer pressure - like me - you begin shaving to fit in. You want to be able to catch yourself a mate and no one likes to be surprised in the night by a prickly bed partner.

So, we find ourselves on yet another Sunday morning, weighing out the odds between wearing nylons and shaving. We finally decide to throw poor hubby a bone and shave them. Now comes the hard part.- First I have to decide which of the 15 razors laying on the shower floor is the most recent acquisition, thus slightly decreasing my chances of an ER visit.

-Next I have to turn in circles while deciding where is the least risky place to sit.

-Then I lather up and get to work. (On a side note, I'm wondering which mystery of science made it so that when the rest of my body got chubby, my shin bones stayed nice and poky?! I'm pretty much guaranteed a cut on the shin during shaving. In fact, I'd say it's a modern-day miracle that my shin bones don't have potholes!)

- After nicking and scratching and removing hair I'm forced to sit still so the blood can run down the drain rather than drip on my nicely cleaned floor (loving the imagery?) Anyhow, once the entire process is complete I feel like - despite what medical professionals and people named Steve Hadley may say - I've shaved off any type of tan I may have gotten over the week and I'm back to pasty white. No, make that pasty-white with scabs. It's very discouraging.

I'm thinking maybe I should move to some country where shaving is out and hairy is in!

Do you think there's any place where women with chin-hair are welcome?

This Post's For YOU

Last night was my monthly get together (aka, Mom's Gone Wild) with my lady friends. Lest you think that this monthly shindig has no depth, I present to you the following facts:

1 - We've been getting together on a monthly basis for about.... 8 years by my count. (Is this right Becky?) Regardless of what's happening in our lives - moves, newborns, scheduling conflicts - we always know that the 2nd week of the month is "ours" and whether we make it every month, or once a year, we'll be welcome with open arms when we return.

2 - I've known all of these party animals for at least 16 years - but many of them for over 20. (Yes, that makes me feel old!!)

3 - Most of us were college roomies of some sort or another during the college years. (Some of us actually ended up with diplomas too!)

4- We've been around for weddings, babies, parental illness and moves, weekend vacations, dealing with bat-scat crazy siblings (and their spouses) and swapping recipes.

Can't wait to see what the future holds!

5 - I can always count on them for more than just good eats at our monthly soiree. They are also fantastic conversationalists. We cover all sorts of topics and last night I actually thought, "Oh my gosh, I hope Amber's hubby isn't listening in." I mean, it's one thing for me to think we're silly, but the husbands should be left firmly in the dark!

(How many times do you think we've discussed THESE friends!!)

Mostly, I just want to thank you fabulous fillies for so many years of laughter.

I love that every month I can walk in one of your doors and know that I will leave feeling refreshed, rejuvenated and deeply grateful for my good life.

Here's to many more years of adventures to share. You guys are the best!