MAGPIE

The other day in a public setting my children were acting like hoodlums.  I noticed someone watching them perform their little circus tricks and as I ushered them away I said to this innocent bystander....

"Yes, they WERE raised in a barn."

I thought maybe that was a low point for me on the humiliation scale.  Okay, that's not even remotely true.  As I sit here I realize that compared to other moments in my life, that one barely pricked.  And I certainly wasn't blushing.  If I was, then the blush wasn't from embarrassment, but from frustration.

I talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk.

And I'm pretty sure that to my children I sound like the adults on the Charlie Brown shows.

"Wah wah wah wah wah wah......"

Me: Please don't try to steal a ride on other people's carts.
"Wah wah wah wah"....
WWWEEEEEEE!

Me:  Please don't ram your pretend spaceship into the back of the person ahead of us in line.
"Wah wah wah wah wah wah"....
BLAST OFF!

Now I know for a fact that I've talked to them about stealing and how it's bad. 

But I've recently realized that I'm raising a magpie.  A collector of sparkly things which are then hoarded in the nest (bedroom secret shelf area), and jealously guarded. 

Ms. Els is going to be the death of all glitter in my life.

The first sign of this was when I began to notice her constantly asking to go to Dollar Tree.  "I have a dollar.  Can we go to Dollar Tree?"  Like four times a week.  In her defense this is because it takes about 4 askings to get me to do anything.  So really, we're only going once a week.  But still... odd.

Where the devil is she getting this cash flow?  Is she running an underground Barbie boxing ring?  Is she dealing in Polly Pocket espionage? 

Then I noticed that the place I always go to steal all coins that are silver is suddenly void of silver and has become a nice little community of copper.  Pennies.  All huddled up together against anything different from them.  Not a silver to be found.  Fishy, fishy.

My next step was stumbling across Ms. Magpie's stash.  Oh, ho, ho, goldmine.  Or, silver mine.  Either way. I was dusting the shelves in the girl's room and noticed an odd little container on Els's shelf.  When I tried to move it, it had an unexpected girth.  I looked in and found probably $20 worth of nickles, dimes and quarters.  Holy Toledo people.  The Mother Load. 

So, I did what anyone in my position would do.  I took out a dollar to buy myself a Diet Coke at McDonalds and put the rest back.  I'll let her continue to gather silver to her like a selfish little hen and I'll take out my "tax" for not telling Hubs where his coins are disappearing to.  It makes me feel like a mobster.  I kinda like it.

But then I noticed other things going the way of the coins that are worth anything.  One of my favorite earrings.  All the fingernail clippers in the house.  Earphones.  Sharpie markers.  The worst part is that I'll be looking for them frantically, with no luck.  Then like ten minutes later Ms. Els Magpie comes meandering up from her bedroom innocently clipping her fingernails while listening to her iPod knockoff, carrying a drawing she made with Sharpie markers with a random earring dangling from her pig tail holder. 

BUSTED!

I had to have an intervention with her and remind her that stealing is bad.

Els: I'm not stealing.

Me: Um, you're taking things that belong to others and hoarding them away in your room.

Els: I don't even know what hoarding is.

Me: Well, now you do 'cause you're doing it.

E: Doing what?

M: Hoarding.

E: What am I hoarding?

M: Things that belong to other people.

E: I thought that was called stealing!

M: It is.  That's what I'm trying to tell you.

E: Whatever.

M:  Don't "whatever" me.  You can't keep stealing stuff and putting it in your room.

E: I'm not stealing or hoarding or whatever.  It's not like anyone else uses this stuff.

M: Honestly!  Your ears aren't even pierced!

So, we cleaned out the stash and put it all back where it belonged.  She can use it, but she can't claim it.

Then a few days later I was sitting in the Lazy Boy chair and she came into the room and gave me this totally sassy look.  Then she told me to get out of her chair.

I hope you're as shocked and incensed as I!!!!

My response to that wasn't really publishable.  But, suffice it to say, she now understand that a Lazy Boy won't fit on her little shelf of silver sparkles. 

And that wings can be clipped....

Speed Limits

One of the super cool things about being a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) is that I don't have to deal with rush hour traffic issues all that often.  The freeway flows nicely mid-day and really the farthest I ever go is to my mother-in-law's house, which requires zero freeway access anyhow.

But, one of the super rotten hazards of being a SAHM is that I have to regularly deal with the geriatric driver.  You know, the gray wrinkle head set that can't quite see over the steering wheel anymore.  The thing about these wily older drivers is that they apparently have two speeds.

Speed One - This is the one that you hardly ever, ever, ever see.  It's lightning speed.  The "my depends are leaking and my bladder is full" speed.  Or the "I'm late for a body probing test" speed.  Or the "Oopsie, I thought I was pushing on the brake, so I kept pushing harder, but really I'm scaring myself to death and peeing my pants/diaper" speed.  This is one of those cases where it's really best for whipper-snappers like myself to just get off the road as if an emergency vehicle was coming.  They are going fast and they have impaired vision.

Speed Two - This is the speed that is all to familiar.  It's slow.  No, it's more than slow.  It's Eskimos working molasses. This is the "I'm old enough to take the analogy of the tortoise and the hare seriously" speed.  Or the "I have nothing better to do so I got ready at 5:13 a.m. for my noon appointment and am leisurely getting there".  Or the "I can't really see the speedometer so I'm watching to see how fast the trees are flying by on the side of my car.  And man, those trees are a blur so I'd better slow it down" speed.

Translation:  Tedious!

Now, I realize that at some point in my life I'm going to get older.  And I realize that there are people currently in my life whom I love that are old.  Because of these two things I try to be patient with the elderly driver and hope that somewhere out there people are also being patient with the elderly drivers in my life.

In the end, what's a girl to do?  I'm stuck on Main Street going 23 in a 40 and with each mile I die a little inside.  I'm so desperate that I actually toy with the foolish notion of hauling children into Maverick to buy a Diet Coke in hopes that Oldie will have cleared the block by the time I get back on the road.  Normally NOTHING could convince me to use a non-drive-thru establishment.  

But, alas, Oldie has only made it to the next stop light and it still weaving along at a brisk 23, checking trees and shifting uncomfortably in their seat. 

I attempt alternate streets - perhaps 4th East or 2nd West?  But the gray-hairs are EVERYWHERE. 

It almost makes me want to stay home. 

But if I stay home then I'm stuck with a whole new set of problems.  The infant and toddler set.  And they are on equally annoying footing after having been home all day.

I suppose I have no choice but to sit back, smell the roses and enjoy the breeze in my hair as I idle speed along.

After all, it's a speed LIMIT sign, not a MINIMUM SPEED sign.... regardless of how many strongly worded letters I've sent to the city.

The Ladies of Fox Pointe

 

This past weekend was the annual Park City getaway with my lovely lady friends.  It never lasts long enough.  The company is great, the gaming competition unparalleled and the food... oh my... divine!

 

As I was driving home I was thinking about how lucky I am.  These friends of mine are kind of like siblings in a way.  I read a quote once that talked about how siblings are the people who carry your history with them because they lived it with you.

 

These ladies are the same way!  I've been friends with many of them since the 6th grade, and all of them since high school.  I don't have to explain things to them because they lived so much of it with me.  They carry a great part of my history with them.

 

It's comforting.

 

 

And this weekend getaway always reminds me that even if we don't see each other every week, or talk every day, or if we can't make it to the monthly dinner for 6 months in a row, it's okay.  In the end they always have my back.  I'm never alone.  I have 8 of the fiercest, strongest women in my corner! 

 

 

Now, sappiness aside, I warned these poor fools that some of this weekend would make the blog.  Yep.  They....were....warned. 

 

Here is the REAL reason I keep them around.  They make me laugh.  So, so, so hard.  I was telling The Hubs some of the highlights when I got home and while he found it amusing, he suggested that perhaps some of the amusement came from being part of the situation.... and sugared up. 

 

Huh.  Well, we'll see won't we.  I'll let you be the judge.

 

Becky - Oh, Becky, Becky, Becky.  Do I go with the peeing in a garbage can in a tanning salon story?
Or do I share how after your father passed away last year you were worried that maybe he was haunting you and he'd see you naked in the shower?  Or maybe I could mention your curiosity over whether or not "spirits" can see you if you turn off the lights? All were pretty stellar stories and deserve at least an honorable mention.  Perhaps a blog post of their own?  Really, it wouldn't be a complete weekend without Becky and some kind of urination problem!

 

Jolene - "Does anyone wanna go for a walk?  We should take a quick walk.  Anyone bring walking shoes?  Man, I'm full from breakfast, we should walk it off.  How about a quick walk before lunch?  It's sure nice out there, maybe we should take a walk?"  Then, Jo went to the outlets with Amber and Laurie and came back to find out the rest of us had walked over to Smiths to get a coke.  "Seriously.  You guys suck."  Me:  It's a nice day for a walk, Jo!  

         Honorable mention goes to Jolene referring to a cocker spaniel as a copper spaniel. 

 

Laurie - "You know what's the worst?  I can not say my own husband's name.  I just can't say it!  (His name is Greg).  I always say it with an A.  Like Gray-g, Gray-g.  Then if I try to say it with an E it always comes out all low like I have a cold or am a teenage boy.  It's the worst.  He hates it."

      Honorable mention goes to Laurie for spending a few minutes with me smelling scented nail polish and getting a bit of an "old green bean smell" buzz going on.

 

Amber - Ms. Amber's tongue was in need of a thorough soaping this weekend.  During a game she just announced that she'd be swearing and chose the "shit-zu" dog breed.  She just let lose as soon as she got away from the kiddos.  Also, I'm pretty sure she peed while Tawna was in the bathroom.  She also went all brave on us and wore a white top despite her status as a nursing mom. 

      Honorable mention goes to Amber for referring to herself as a Jersey Cow while pumping every few hours.  But, I give her snaps for her lack of shyness.  She just hooked up and pumped away while playing cards, eating lunch, shopping... kidding.  I'm pretty sure she didn't take it to the outlets :)  But that can't be verified as I wasn't there.

 

 

Alison -  "I just want you guys to know that I'm wearing two bras today just to keep these babies in place."  Then, later, during a card game when she tried to stand up too fast one of her turbo support bras got hooked on the edge of the table and she was stuck.  Ha ha. 

      Honorable mention goes to Al for getting tired of her husband whining about his old jalopy and in a fit of temper telling him to 'just go buy a car that you want'.  He did.  He came home driving a new Jeep the next day.  Doh!  "Watch what you say, ladies.  Watch what you say!!"

 

Britnee - She keeps us young by buying us scented chap stick and nail polish - which Laurie and I enjoyed sniffing. "Fine, I'll play Canasta with you but I refuse to add up my points at the end.  It's so stupid.  You add up my points if you care so much."  Brit also got about three million text messages from her husband while we were away.  When asked about it she said, "Ya, Lily (her baby) has really bad diarrhea and Michael is having to deal with that today...ha ha ha."  It was evil.  It was genius.

       Honorable mention goes to something unrelated to this weekend, but I had to share.  I ran into Brit at the zoo the week before this and she was pushing her 9 year-old son in a stroller while he held her 6 month-old baby and fed her a bottle.  I mean, really, that's nothing if not resourceful.  But, it looked super, super funny!!

 

Tawna -  She is still slightly disgrunted about an incident in college where her bed was used for a make out place while she was not in residence.  (I won't divulge who would do such a thing, but it wasn't me and it WAS one of the other ladies listed here!)   I also truly enjoyed the story of her 5 year-old son spraying cologne in his mouth while out shopping and then when he realized how nasty it was he tried to rub it off his tongue.  Then, in an effort to clean his hands he rubbed them on her 18 month-old son's.... eyes!  Yowzer!

      Honorable mention goes to her casually mentioning several times how much she LOVES living in the Preston, Idaho area.  Loves it!  LOVES IT!

 

Elizabeth - Sadly, Elizabeth wasn't able to join us this year.  Happily it's because she became a mom for the 4th time the week before.  Good reason!  She was missed! 

 

Words can't fully express my gratitude to you ladies for 23 years of friendship.  For more laughs than I can count.  For crying together.  For calling me on my guff and teasing me as much as I tease you!For texts and emails and phone calls.  For cards on birthdays and holidays.   

 

Thanks for reminding me that deep down underneath it all I'm still me.  I'm not only mom, I'm not only wife.  Thanks to you guys, I'm more.

 

Love you!

 

Flashy Flasherton

You know, I've been thinking.  And when I do, dangerous things are afoot.  I made a realization tonight, and in the spirit of free thinking and adventure I decided to act upon it immediately.  Consequences be... danged!

It occurred to me that there is a little something missing from ward (church congregation) parties.  We have food.  We have games.  We have comfortable social interactions.  We even have awkward social interactions where you realize that the only thing you have in common is a love for watery punch and chili dogs.

What we have never before had is this....

A flasher.

That's right folks. 

Now that I've planted the seed you have to admit that there is something to what I'm saying.  Can you just imagine the ward choir busting out a round of "Glory, glory, hallelujah" as the flasher takes the party to the next level?

Well, I could.

And I did.

Did what? you ask.  I flashed.

My chest.

At the ward summer party tonight.

In all fairness, the parts that really MUST be covered were still being held hostage by my brassiere.  I'm not looking to cause some of the more, shall we say "old fashioned", members of the congregation to have heart palpitations.  Can you imagine calling their children to let them know that dear old dad died of a flashing incident at the ward party?? 

Ha ha ha.... oh.... man....

What I was looking to do was give everyone something to see, point out, and then gossip about for the remainder of the evening.

If said gossip reached the bishop's ears and he was to feel uncomfortable giving someone of my reputation a calling in the ward and I was forthwith released from said calling... well... bonus!  (Extra bonus because it looked accidental and not like I was purposely sabotaging my calling status!)

Here's how it all went... DOWN... ha ha ha.  I kill myself.

So when we arrived at the ill-fated gathering I was sporting my ginormous (real word) sunglasses.  But, Jabes kept trying to get them off my face.  This became super tedious.  Also, I realized I was standing in a shady area.  Glasses came off and were securely tucked into the neckline of my shirt. 

After going through the buffet line - bent over I might add - and getting my plate along with food for three of my kids, I ran into a fellow wardie whom I had previously taught in primary.  As we were chit chatting about her new junior high experience her mother came up and said, "Uh, you're showing a lot of cleavage."  And she kind of pointed in the general direction of my business.

I looked down.

Hello Cleveland!

Then she said, "I just thought you'd want to know, 'cause I'd be uncomfortable showing that much off.  And I would guess that sometimes big-chested (why, thank you!) women don't always realize that stuff is showing...." at which point she kind of just petered out with her speech.

I thanked her for letting me know - like 10 minutes too late.  I've already flashed everyone in the buffet line as I was bent over the serving dishes, straining at the seams of my shirt, with the added effect of gravity pulling my sunglasses down.

Basically I showed everyone who glanced my way a nice little tour from Cleveland to my belly button.

You....Are...Welcome.  Hubs is probably jealous, cause he hasn't taken that tour for a while.

Ha ha.  I'm kidding.  But I had to say it. 

Then again, my mom reads this blog, so... Hubs has NEVER, EVER, EVER taken that tour!!!

Anyhow, , what's done is done. 

Last week I was mistakenly introduced as a visitor in my Relief Society class (newish ward). 

This week I think everyone will know exactly who I am!  And I'm guessing they'll want to be my friend!

Back to School

How to juggle.
How to hop.
How to make
my knuckles pop.

How to whinny.
How to cluck.
How to talk
like Donald Duck.

How to wiggle
both my ears.
How to fake
convincing tears.

How to yo-yo.
Capture flies.
Roll my tongue
and cross my eyes.

How to make a
piggy snout.
How to make
my eyes bug out.

These are things
I learned in school.
Education--
Ain't it cool?

--Kenn Nesbitt
 

Els - 3rd, JBear - pschl, Cadie Lu - 1st

 

The Ride

My sister and I were chatting the other day about how sometimes we wish we could redo our parenting experience with the knowledge we have now.

And it got me to thinking about my marriage and family experience.  And I have to say that sometimes I think that we're pretty cocky at that juncture in our lives.   We have no idea what the future holds.

Would you just take a gander at this cute couple?!

That's The Hubs and I the day after we returned from our honeymoon.  We were fresh-faced, cheery, rosy-cheeked and filled with hope for our future.

I remember the night before my wedding sitting around in my bedroom after my future groom headed home to get some shut eye.  A couple of my girl cousins were with me and we were laughing and chatting about what the next day meant for my future.  A husband!  An eventual family!  Unicorns, rainbows, sunshine and an endless supply of Hershey's Kisses.

Us poor fools had no idea what the next 13 years would bring. 

Work, schooling, more work, more schooling
Student loans, medical bills, birthdays and holidays adding up
Random sticky spots, stealthy puddles, unidentified wetness
Vomit, poop and pee
Red puffy eyes, frizzy hair, wet-wipe baths
Torn jeans, shoes without soles, broken zippers
Humidifiers, cold medicine, Aspercreme, Preparation H
Boogers oozing, dripping, smearing, flying around
Bills paid late, or forgotten, or… even worse… unexpected
Flat tires, dead batteries, windshield wipers flying off on the freeway
Burnt dinners, crusty dishes, broken glass, full garbage cans

So the question remains.  Would I do it all over again?  Knowing what I know now, would I have still shown up for the wedding and put myself on that same path?

Heaven help me, but I would.  And I would do it with the same ignorance and inexperience that I had in the beginning.  Because there are just some stripes you have to earn.  And I don't think my life would have been as happy without the struggles. 

All the times I hear the kids laughing or singing or they give me a hug, I know I EARNED that through the sleepless nights, millions of pbj's and loads of laundry.

It may not be a romance, a mystery novel, or an adventure series, but this story is MINE.  And I have a feeling that if I see it through, it may be a happily-ever-after.  

Family life is a bit like a runny peach pie -

not perfect but who's complaining? 

~Robert Brault

 

The Burbs

I debated blogging about this because I know that some people who read my blog are friends with the people I'm going to be discussing and I don't want anyone to be offended or angry or whatever emotion they decide to feel if they catch wind of my posting. 

However, I just found the situation so humorous (and possibly slightly unnerving) that I couldn't help but share. 

Over the years that I've been blogging I believe that my faithful readers have come to expect strange stories and anticdotes.  I bet you often wonder where I come up with this stuff.

I assure you, what I'm about to share with you is all true.


********

Last night we got to live a scene from the classic Tom Hanks Movie, The Burbs.

Minus the bathrobe.

What I was wearing during said experience is, frankly, none of your business.

At the horrible hour of 4:30 a.m. I was up with Jabes (Baby J's nickname that seems to be sticking) for his nightly feeding.  Yes, he's 7.5 months old.  Yes, most normal babies sleep through the night at this point.  Yes, I'm tired of getting up.  No, I don't want your advice.

I digress.

While I was making Jabes's bottle I noticed that a neighbor's backyard floodlights were on. This happens occasionally so I didn't think much about it.  It was 4:30 a.m.  I wasn't thinking much of anything other than trying to remember how to mix formula.

When I finished with Jabes about 15 minutes later I entered my bedroom to find The Hubs peeking through our blinds into the neighbor's well lit backyard.

"What the devil is Neighbor doing?" He mumbled to me as I joined him at the window.

We stood in silence for a moment watching.

A few things were obvious.

(1) Neighbor had in his hand a shovel, a flashlight, a garbage bag.

(2) Neighbor was poking around in the dirt of his vegetable garden.

(3) Neighbor's dog was running around in crazy circles at his feet.

(4) Neighbor was scantily clad.

(5) Neighbor probably wouldn't like knowing he was being watched.
 
(Let this be a lesson fellow citizens!  You never know who's watching.....)

"What IS he doing?"  I repeated, trying to make sense of the scene before me.

"I don't know, but a few minutes ago he was dressed even MORE scantily (Hubs shared details that I will refrain from 'exposing'... ha ha ha...).  He had a gun in his hand and he was looking into the tree.  Then, it seemed like whatever was happening with the tree ended, he went back inside, put on some more clothing, left the gun behind and returned with a couple garbage bags.  Then, he shoveled something into one of the garbage bags and put it in the trash.  And whatever it was looked kind of heavy and awkward."

Pause for thoughtful reflection on what we know about Neighbor.

Not much.

He goes to church on Sundays.

But apparently you can go to church on Sundays and still sneak around your backyard at night.  Go figure.

"I'm thinking maybe he killed some kind of nuisance animal", Hubs went on, "like a raccoon or something."

"I didn't hear a gun shot," I replied logically.  Hello, 4:30 a.m.  Logic doesn't usually dwell within my being at this time.  And that, my friends, was a perfectly logical statement.

"Well, I had to go to the bathroom and I didn't hear him shoot the gun," Hubs said, "but that doesn't mean he didn't".  (I graciously refrained from making a crack about Hubs's  bathroom  experience being loud enough to drown out the sound of a gun shot.)

More silence as we watched Neighbor rooting around in some bushes.

And what did we end up with for our troubles?

Nothing.  We still have no stinking idea what was going on.

But I'll tell you what I do know: Neighbor means business and we'll be treating Neighbor right!