Happy Birthday Evan!!

What a difference one year makes:

March 2007

March 2008

If you look very closely, you might even be able to see a few small dark hairs on his upper lip. . .

It's amazing to me just how much he has changed over the past year. He has most certainly grown "in wisdom, in stature, and in favor with God and man."* I'm very lucky he came to our family.

I love you! I'm going to wrap your presents now.
Although, you are currently talking in your sleep. It makes it very hard to concentrate on blogging.
*(I don't have my scriptures near me, but I'll fix that reference when I go back downstairs).

Because I KNOW you are dying to find this out. . .

The Great Swimsuit Dilemma of 2008 has come to a satisfying close. All eBay swimsuits were delivered today and they fit fine. One of them is adorable. One is good enough. And, they were much cheaper than the suits that didn't get ordered. YAY! A snafu that worked in my favor? Who knew that was possible?

Thank you all for your concern.

Come Again?

Let me just start by saying, I am not actively looking for a new job. However, I have been approached several times over the last few months by a particular company who seems to think I am a perfect fit, aside from the fact that I don't want to move to San Fransisco. And I don't want to work for magazines. And I don't meet their minimum requirements. Clearly, they are getting a little desperate to fill this job. Today, they sent me an updated job description, and I found this little nugget:

"Must be able to use standard office equipment such as copiers, faxes, mailing machinery. As part of a multi-media entertainment company, employees may be subjected to work-related images including content such as: sexually explicit images, nudity, and graphic violence. Employees should be willing to work with this type of content. _insert company name here_ does not condone the viewing of this content where not work-related."

But by all means, please view porn on the company dime. . .

So basically, I can make $150,000+ a year in this position, but I have to move my family, hire a nanny, and sell my soul to do it. When you put it that way. . .

I owe it all to my Kitchenaids

I know that any of you who read this blog regularly probably consider me a neglectful parent. To disabuse you of that notion, I would like to tell you all of the things I didn't do today.

• I did not actually spank any of the kids when they played around for 2 hours in order to get out of 10 minutes worth of cleaning.
  
• I did not get mad at Ellie for not putting away the clothes she was hired (for $$$) to put away 3 days ago.
  
• I did not complain and get grumpy when the kids splashed me at the pool. Many times. In spite of my intense loathing of cold water.
  
• I did not freak out when Tyler nearly ripped his foot off while trying to stop Rebi's bike (that he was riding and is in fact too big for him) from careening into the van.
  
• I did not spend the entire day working on GameDev.net.

And now a list of things I did:

• I did forget to bake my son a birthday cake to take to his 12th birthday bash at his storytelling workshop tomorrow.
  
• I did get off the computer at 1 am and start baking said cake immediately.
  
• I did forget to preheat the oven, which made me grumpy and a little teary-eyed, causing me to turn the mixer up too fast, blanketing the kitchen in a fine mist of powdered sugar.
  
• I did repeat the exact same mistake with the cocoa. "Ebony and Ivory, live together in perfect harmony. . ." The tears might have turned into sobbing.
  
• I did take pain killers for an old football injury and I'm now a little high.
  
• I did nearly fall asleep on the couch, almost burning the cake.
  
• I did set my alarm for 7 am in order to frost the cake after it cools.

I will not go back to bed just as soon as they walk out the door. . .

But I'm here to tell you, without the Kitchenaids, the boys would have been stuck eating Albertson's cake. And that is a neglect I just cannot allow.

Amusing things

I sent an email to Nate- the 6 year old- today. His email responded with the autoresponder he has set up (and honestly, it would take me a little time to recreate that my own self). It responds with: "HI I'm cool" Well of course it does. There is nothing like having a theme for one's life! :)

Then, after being amused by that, I checked my other email to find that the swimsuits I ordered from eBay in a fit of desperation yesterday already have a tracking number, which means they might possibly maybe sorta make it here by Monday. Now, it's time for collective praying that one of them fits Rebi. I'm serious here people.

At that point, I began the morning run down of updated blogs ala Google Reader (if you don't know what that is, it makes blog life much easier. Thanks Don for distracting me into it) and Chicago Mike has a gem today. It brought a grin to my face. Here's hoping it brings one to yours as well. Thanks Mike!

Only one very messy house to clean and 4 ish days until vacation. If I don't post anything while I'm gone, please know it was an accident that I left my laptop right next to the front door as I left for the airport. . .honest.

Swimsuit update

After much complaining and searching and shopping for swimsuits, I was able to use your suggestions and found one suit for Rebi and 2 suits for Ellie. Ellie's came to $30, and Rebi's gold plated suit came to $80. 2 weeks later, no suits have arrived. No cards have been charged and no one has any record of an order from me. Did I just dream I ordered them? Possibly. The brain is going fast now. Very fast. To make matters worse, the suits are sold out and we are leaving for Orlando in less than a week. Ellie has another suit she can wear, but the only one Rebi has is too big in the shoulders and will now have to be tied across her back because I don't even have time to get it altered. Or I can try to ship something even more expensive for her from Land's End and pay the additional expedited shipping.

I just finished "The Devil Wears Prada" and I want to know, where do I find myself a girl who will be my personal slave like that? Because honestly, I really need one. . .

In the Clutch

A few days ago on another blog, a friend of mine asked her readers if they could drive a clutch and if so, when they learned. Although her other friend (who shall remain nameless to protect the maimed, just like in this post) also reads her blog, she chose not to chime in. But, the story of "Wren" trying to learn to drive the clutch must be told. Honestly, it's just too fun to pass up. And as always, completely lacking any hyperbole. And best of all, I was there. Every single time she popped that clutch, I had a knuckle biting front row -and a little to the side- seat.

For those of you who don't know "Wren", she is a gem. Honestly, she is one of those girls who lights up a room. She always has been. I was lucky enough to spend several summers with her family, and there were times that she would stand in the center of the room, telling a story, and we all sat around her, mesmerized. She is also adorable. Everything about her is cute, except her feet which are an entirely different story. (Those are some feet, let me tell you!) And she is kind as well, so everyone enjoyed being around her. I only tell all of these truths so that she won't be quite so angry after I recount every sordid detail of her driving. OK, not every detail. There are a few things that happened before she got her license which I did not witness. She can breathe a little easier that those will remain a secret. For now.

"Wren" is short- hence the reason I chose the nickname, not because it rhymed with her real name in any meaningful way at all. She's 5'3" and I'm 5'7" so, on the fateful day of her first clutch driving lesson, there was much adjustment of the seat, the mirrors, the seatbelt. I adjusted my seatbelt a lot. You know, just making sure it was secure. Not that I was worried. Well, maybe a little. I myself had learned to drive clutch late one night, in the middle of nowhere when my sister and her friends were not only too drunk to drive home, but also too drunk to teach me how to drive a clutch. I could barely drive an automatic and I was out on a deserted dirt road lurching and stalling, trying to both move forward and help people hang heads out windows to puke at the same time. But, after a few rough starts and stops, I got the hang of it and managed to get everyone and the car home safe and sound.

Clearly, it was a good idea for Wren to ask me to teach her to drive the clutch. And it's worth mentioning, that she was already a good driver. She drove a giant extended bed crew cab truck just like it was a Porsche. She was just dying for the power a clutch could bring her.

For some reason, all of this coalesced in a mostly gravel parking lot in a little tiny sleepy town known as Basin, Wyoming. We were in town for a family reunion and had just tried to get burgers only to find out that the burger stand was closed. Permanently. Was she mad? Maybe a little, but not nearly as mad as the rednecks driving past in their hopped up truck when she popped that clutch the first time. It was a good one too, lots of smoke from the tires as she built up speed, much kicking of the gravel as the gears engaged, resulting in a soft pinging as she blanketed that truck in an even coating of pock marks. But, the best of all, full on shredding from the parking lot and onto the asphalt, only to jolt a few times and stall completely. And the look on her face? A mixture of shock and horror. I mean, she honestly had no idea a car could do such things.

Realizing the gravel lot was a bad place for a first lesson, we took the car to a church parking lot and practiced a lot of easing on and off the clutch, equalizing the gas, really being one with the car. Listening to its needs and desires. And there was much improvement in her driving.

After the reunion, we all went home and a few months later, I took the car out to visit "Wren". Just like a duck to water, she hopped right back into that driver's seat and began lurching her way across the greater Las Vegas area. I have always marveled that she was capable, under severe pressure, of stalling the car 3 times in one intersection. The people screaming obscenities behind us didn't really help her get the car out of the road. Nor did the honking of horns. And if truth be told, the "Help me" sign that our lucky passenger was clutching to the window did nothing to instill confidence either.

But we made it home, eventually. And to this day, she still drives a stick. So , if you live in Utah, beware.