Random Misfires

Blog has moved

2008-08-02T10:06:00.000-07:00

According to the stats, it looks like everyone is aware that i have moved. But just in case, if you're still reading this, you're missing out on all of the ~~fun~~ boredom of the new prose on another site.

You are welcome to join the new party, just email at the address in the last post and I'll tell you where to find me again.

Moved the Blog

2008-07-31T09:03:00.000-07:00

I have indeed moved the blog.

Email me at astlefamily at gmail dot com if you need the address to it.

Mr. Stalker has already made good use of that email address, so I have no problems handing it out. . .

I think I will be importing most of the posts from this blog to the new blog, so it will all be in one spot again. Because I have time for a stalker. . .

Short Story

2008-07-30T08:06:00.000-07:00

I can't go into all of the details, but the short story is that I have my very own stalker. I have to go file a restraining order today and everything.

If all goes well, he'll also be in jail tonight. And the FBI suddenly wants to talk to him as well. Note to self: It's not a good idea to threaten someone over email these days.

Did I mention that the guy is batshit crazy? And at 5'8" and 150 pounds, I can probably take him without the use of the various weapons at my disposal, should he choose to enter my house while I'm home. . . Why is it always the little guys that think they are so tough? He totally has small dog syndrome.

Anyway, two things:
1) I am probably moving the blog to a new blog address. Even though I don't think he has found this yet.
2) For the short term, until I decide, I am placing the blog on a password. I hope. If I know how.

If you have my email address and want to continue to read this, please let me know. Otherwise, post a comment and I will let you know how to find me or what password to use.

And for your reading enjoyment, a little snippet of the email that this guy claims was just to "get my attention and make me call him back". I'm sorry I can't get into the back story on this. Just as soon as I can, I will. . .

" So i will see you later and i will see you later and just remember that you bought this all on yourself,i dont know what kind of people your used to dealing with,but i dont think you meet a motherf****r quit like me...and dont trip Im a night owl,and the homies in the neighborhood love to do things at night so it works out for all of us.....I cant wait to see the look on your face....God is a forgiving God for I am Not....."

Kinda funny that he will now barely be able to move between all of the FBI, Sheriffs, and even CHP officers who think he's scum. I may be a suburban house wife, but I'm much better connected than he realizes. And I am good to my friends, so they like to help me, however possible.

Bubbles

2008-07-28T12:29:00.000-07:00

Once there was a child who was supposed to be babysitting.
She was supposed to make sure her brothers didn't burn the house down or drown in the bathtub or flood the hallway or make giant messes in the 10 minutes her mother was gone.
She was very good at ordering her brothers around.
Until she went in the garage and lit matches and burned things.

Once there was a mom who found a mess of burned paper, coated with carpet powder, all over the garage.
She was cranky and upset and most of all, freaked out that there were burned scraps of paper near gas cans and fertilizer and oil.
She asked all of her kids to tell the truth and fess up.
No one did.
Not even the child that had been left babysitting. That child blamed it on her brother.

And then mom figured it out.
And now that child has had her mouth washed out with soap for lying. Lots of liquid soap.
She is also residing in her room for a few ~~months~~ days.

Once there was a mom who needs a better punishment to get the point across on all levels of this disobedience and poor decision making. Please comment and share your thoughts.

Pictures of Dance Festival

2008-07-27T10:23:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in a hotel room by the Ontario airport, feeling like there is no possible way I can stay awake for the hour it will take me to get home.

But, the busiest week of the summer is over and now the rest of my life can resume again.

We fell into our beds at 1 am, only to get up at 3:30 am to get Rebi to the airport for Yunasa summer camp with friends she rarely sees from all over the country. She woke me up twice in the night, singing in her sleep.

Apparently, dance festival was a hit. She'd better not still be singing in her sleep when she gets home.

I think I'm going back to sleep for another day or two.

More insanity

2008-07-25T17:01:00.000-07:00

For Dance Festival, the 12 and 13 year old boys are dancing to High School Musical, Get Your Head in the Game.
This is a random sampling of the boys. It is representative of all boys this age. . .

So, it was a really great idea to try to teach them to dance and dribble a basketball at the same time. . .

The boys loved it. Every practice, basketballs were thrown, flung, kicked, and lobbed all directions, and women kept yelling, "Boys, Hold your balls!" None of the boys ever laughed at that. . .

And as it turns out, when you combine a google of boys with a google of basketballs, none of the boys hold their balls at all. Rather, they lob them quite firmly at other boys' faces. And, well, balls.

But thankfully, the Dance Festival coordinators took into account how immature a horde of 12 and 13 year old boys can be and gave them costumes that can't be used against them by the other boys. . .

Oh wait. My mistake. They all have elastic waisted shorts on. In that case, hold your balls and let the depantsing begin. . .

Insanity

2008-07-23T00:52:00.001-07:00

Albert Einstein once said “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”.

Which, by definition, makes me insane. This comes as a surprise to exactly no one.

But just to confirm it, today I let Rebi buy another point and shoot camera. Because the destruction of the previous one was so much fun, I'm dying to relive it. Over and over again. Wait. If I expect the same results, am I still insane?

I don't think I want you to answer that. I certainly don't want you to provide examples to prove your point.

Dance Festival

2008-07-22T09:25:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted much about dance festival, because it's one of those things that is too big to wrap my brain around. It's 3500+ kids doing 6 or 8 dances. Lots of practices. Lots of mistakes. Lots of funny things, but difficult to condense into a few blog posts.

So, let me share a little bit of what happened last Saturday.

For months, the kids have been practicing here, learning the routines in groups of 50-100, depending on the dance. This week, it was time for them to get together with everyone else dancing their same dance and coordinating all of the formations and such. We did this in Riverside, on a high school field. And it was hot.

They spent the first 2 and 1/2 hours standing on Astroturf trying to figure out the intro dance, and were eventually released to sit with their groups under the shade for some cooling down. As the kids filtered back in, it was clear that Evan was not in good shape. Several of the kids let me know he had a headache, his stomach hurt, and he was looking bad. His arms also hurt from having immunizations the day before. So, we plopped him on the cool grass, soaked his clothes with cold water, and made him start drinking up. Within about an hour, he still had a headache, but his skin was much cooler to the touch and he seemed to be perking back up.

And then he went to the bathroom, which was a couple of blocks away, through the sun.

I found him, slumped against the bathroom wall, out in the sun, pale as a ghost and shaking. I took him to the first aid tent, where they had buckets of ice water, and rags to soak him with.

The first thing they did was stripped him of as much clothing as possible, so there Evan sat, 1500 girls passing by, flexing his abs for all he was worth. Which was good. It told me we didn't need an ambulance or anything. . .

But I did feel it necessary to tell him that if he really wanted to impress the ladies, he should probably think about peeling the matching Tweety Bird band aids off each arm.

Surfing Pics

2008-07-21T08:56:00.000-07:00

Serious. And addicted.

What a surfer.

"Maybe I'll wait for the next one. . ."

Paddling out to where the waves were cresting (sadly the other photos of Ellie didn't turn out).

Tyler headed back down the beach to catch some waves.

"Are you sure I can't try? I don't have a cast yet. . . and my butt crack isn't exposed."

Growing Pains

2008-07-18T00:45:00.000-07:00

It's rather fun to watch as the kids put lessons I have been teaching them for years to the test with their friends.

I know they don't realize that in helping them deal kindly and appropriately with each other, I am giving them tools for dealing with the outside world. And most of the time, I'm not even sure they are listening to me.

But Rebi has both accepted and given some excellent advice in recent days. She has also navigated a gossip minefield, going straight to the other person involved and setting things right. I would be lying if I didn't say I was relieved. We all know what happens when gossip runs out of control.

For the past two weeks or so, we have been without television of any kind. I told them they could watch TV again if they could go and entire day without fighting. Interestingly, it is taking this long to fully sink in that I mean no bickering at all. And today, one of them said, "This not fighting thing is hard. I'm really working at it!" And they are. And the relative peace is a little slice of Heaven.

Surfing = Torture

2008-07-17T00:05:00.000-07:00

Really, after 5 summers of "forced" beach day, I should know better than to expect my kids to jump out of bed and make sure they have everything they need, right? Which should consist of:
1) a swimsuit
2) a towel
3) drinking water
4) lunch
5) shoes

Too much to ask? Apparently, although I would like to be the first to point out that the boogie boards, surf board, and beach chair all made it to the car. Shoes were too much to ask of Nate. Of course, we didn't know that until we got turned away at Denny's for dinner 10 hours later.

And somehow, even though she had her ipod, several magazines, makeup, a brush, and a full change of clothes, Rebi realized after she got done surfing that a towel would have been a nice addition to the party.

And even though I packed the food and drinks and harped on them to get all of their stuff and get in the car, we were still an hour later leaving the house than we had agreed upon. Because Rebi was texting and Ellie was madly folding clothes so that she didn't have to stay home with Dave, Tyler and Evan were playing a game, and Nate was busily burying all of his shoes in the backyard so that I can never force him to wear them ever again. OK, not really, but honestly, it feels that way most days.

And they force me to abuse them all the way to the car because surfing lessons are so evil and mom tortures them so very much to make them go out in the balmy water on a nearly perfect Southern California day, with two teenage boys who exactly fit the surfer profile. Which, of course, is not how they really feel- although I don't think Ty cares much what the boys looked like- and not how they acted once we got there and got surfing.

Sometimes I wonder just how spoiled my kids are around other people. Because I am obviously not instilling a sense of gratitude. I did instill some pretty good exhaustion today. This is the quietest midnight I've heard all summer.

Tyler, no surprise, was a natural, learning to surf on a short board very quickly. Ellie and Rebi were both able to catch some waves and now just need beach time. Just. Getting a hotel room is probably less expensive than driving back and forth to the beach from our house.

Evan's had lessons before so he didn't go out today. And as far as Nate goes, does anyone know what the risk of a broken arm that might need a green non-waterproof cast is as a result of surfing? Until I know that, I really just can't feel that the benefits outweigh the risks.

Escape from Alcatraz

2008-07-16T08:38:00.000-07:00

Nate: Mom, do you know that Alcatraz was the hardest jail to escape from? Because it's an island. And sometimes prisoners can't swim so they can't get away. But I could get away. First I would have to get the keys from the guard and I could do that if I knocked him down first. And then I would unlock my cell and get a ladder and climb up over the wall. But I would have to have a boat waiting for me so I could jump off of the wall and right onto the boat and then it could hurry and get me away before they know I'm gone.

Mom: Nate, why are you worried about escaping from Alcatraz.

Nate: Because Mom, you wouldn't want to be in jail. . .

Mom: Well, than maybe it would be easier not to do bad things that might land you in jail?

Speaking of the Therapy Fund

2008-07-15T01:27:00.000-07:00

I forgot to blog about this last month, when it happened. Because I was such a well of funny and interesting posts, I didn't have any room to fit it in. . .

While Tyler was at his friend's house, his friend's sister was limping around from an unspecified knee injury. She had seen a couple of different doctors, and no one could tell them why her knee wasn't working. She and her mom (and Tyler) had a little conversation.

Mom: Come here and let me massage your knee. Let's see if we can get it working again
A: Why?
Mom: Because if we don't and your knee doesn't heal, you're going to have to go to physical therapy and it will probably hurt.
Tyler: My mom has a physical therapy fund. She puts money in it for us all of the time.

Hmm. . .close. Very very close.

From the mouth of Nate

2008-07-14T08:57:00.000-07:00

Also known as "7 year olds do not appreciate their moms. AT ALL!"

Nate: Mom, your "about me" profile isn't really true anymore."
Mom: Why do you say that?
Nate: Because you don't do the laundry anymore.
Mom: Shut-up, you turd bucket!
Nate: What? You never do laundry anymore!

(How much money should I put in the therapy fund for calling him a turd bucket? How much should I take out to punish him for not noticing me slaving over laundry???)

Consumerism

2008-07-13T01:51:00.000-07:00

As a part of a unit study for homeschool, the kids and I started looking at the economics of our nation, and in particular the shift to a consumption based society. It's clear that lifestyle is over for as long as housing markets remain severely depressed, and food prices continue to rise. Even with the government going into debt to send out stimulus checks, there just isn't enough money to fuel a consumer lifestyle right now.

As all of this was beginning, and before I started paying attention to the current events, the kids and I decided we would try to consume less. Less electricity, less junk food, less clothing, less everything, except gas because we are still learning much of our curriculum via field trips and experience.

This is my other blog, dedicated to occasionally writing about the journey. And the truth is, deprogramming is a hard thing. Luckily, I was blessed with a mother who knows a thing or two about avoiding pointless purchases. And, as a result of marathon back-to-school shopping trips as a child, I believe I have been blessed with a life-long loathing for shopping. So, my journey might be easier than others'. But it's still a journey, and one that becomes more necessary with every day.

Feel free to comment about your own experiences weaning off the consumption cycle, or how you really feel about the non-consumption movement. Even dedicated shoppers are welcome here. . .

5 weeks to sanity

2008-07-12T01:32:00.000-07:00

So, now that everyone has noticed that I'm *ahem* boring as of late, please allow me to explain.

Summer is totally killing me this year. The teenagers want to go to the pool with this friend and the mall with that friend and the sleepover with another friend. They want to walk to Jamba Juice and look for a few things at Target and PLEASE buy one pair of earrings at any place besides Wal Mart and does Kohl's have a cute top because mine are really wearing out and by the way my church clothes don't fit and I have a dance practice in an town 45 minutes from where we live. And that birthday party is not to be missed and there aren't any decent presents in the birthday drawer and did you remember my gymnastics banquet and WHERE IS MY FLASHLIGHT, I'M LATE FOR CAMP.

And lest you dear reader forgot, I work full time. Or at least I try to work full time because while the teenagers are harping about all of the above stuff, the younger kids are all, I'm bored and I don't want to go to the pool again. Can't we have the TV cord back because we really won't fight anymore and why can't we turn on the air conditioner and please can we just have a water fight and will you fill up 3000 water balloons and store them in strategically placed trash cans all over the neighborhood so that no less than 23 of our closest friends can make a muddy disaster of our front yard? And did we mention that our church clothes don't fit? Neither do our shoes. And then, of course, there's the I'm bored! Come play a game with me and help up put together a 4000 piece puzzle of a polar bear in a blizzard and just one game of Monopoly, even though one of us always quits 1/3 of the way through any given board game leaving the other siblings to complain, whine and throw tantrums and don't we have a church activity today and weren't you supposed to make cookies, and did you forget to wash my swimsuit and why aren't there any clean towels and I hate peanut butter and jelly even though we're taking them to the beach. Can we go to the pool? PLEASE?

And I was supposed to bring two kids for this dentist appointment? Are you sure it wasn't just one? You can fit the one I left home in tomorrow? Great. I guess tomorrow it is. No, I did not forget that doctors appointment. I remembered it 5 minutes after it was too late to get to it, but I certainly did remember it. What is the reminder on my cell phone ringing for now?

So, because I am sleep deprived, 13 loads behind on laundry, everything at work is 3+ weeks past due and there are now 3999 white puzzle pieces spread throughout my living room. And because I have spent well over $400 on gas in the past 4 weeks and for no apparent reason, spending days canning jam was a excellent idea, I am warning you that I may not have my funny back for awhile. I can hardly string 3 words together to make a sentence, let alone a funny sentence. And trust me, I miss my funny every bit as much as I fear the green non-waterproof cast. On his right arm. Not that I'm predicting anything.

Even more, I miss the opportunity to sequester my children in the house for weeks on end because all of their friends are in school and can never socialize due to their volumes of homework. I will continue to post the boring travel logs. And, I hope that a true funny or two pan out before school starts again. But, just in case you are tired of reading about the many things I should not be doing instead of working, I just wanted to give you permission to stop reading for the next 5 weeks or so. I promise, you're really not going to miss anything.

Thank goodness summer is short for everyone else this year!

Crescent Bay Beach

2008-07-11T00:42:00.000-07:00

As always, no camera. Someday, I will buy a small one and pictorially document every second of my life. Maybe. Then again, that sounds like a lot of work.

The kids and I, sans Rebi who is at camp, spent today on a very quiet beach in Laguna Beach. And when I say very quiet, I mean it. Even Ellie kept her mouth shut for the first hour we were there because there were no kids under 12 and no one else was talking. Other than my crazies. Have you ever felt the need to shush the children at the beach? Certainly not me. I'm the mom that tells them they can fight all they want at the beach, as long as I can't hear it over the crashing of the surf. I don't take them because I love them, I take them because I need the pounding of the waves to drown out their whining. But with the silence, I was feeling the pressure to place library rules on them.

Luckily, traffic picked up after noon and each of the kids found a friend to hang with. We were also lucky enough to have dolphins swim in and check the kids out- from a distance, but close enough to appreciate. That's the second time this summer, and compared to the "Great JellyFish Attack" of 2006, Ellie is mighty glad it's dolphins.

This beach is also lucky enough to have some really cool tide pools. Starfish, crabs, mussels, hermit crabs, Anemones, and a variety of algae and other unrecognizable growths. Out of all of the tide pools we have seen these past 5 years, these ones were the best. Ons of the kids informed me that it was "too bad it's summer because this would have made a nice field trip."

I quickly replied, "I'm enjoying this field trip quite well, no matter what the season." I do believe they forgot momentarily that they get to learn year round and not just when school is in.

So Mom, get your plane ticket. Laguna Beach is begging you to come explore it.

The Health Benefits of Jam

2008-07-09T10:30:00.000-07:00

After constant stirring of 14 batches of jam, I do believe I have increased the muscle mass of both arms. After standing for 9+ hours cooking jam, I can feel the stretch in my hamstrings. And, the beauty of it all is that I fell asleep easily and slept soundly.

The joints didn't flex so well this morning, and even after my double dose of steroids, I still can't move so far off of my couch, but I'm going to be eating jam for months. Nothing but jam for my 3 month of pantry items. . .

Amusingly, I slept so deeply last night, I had several vivid dreams. Most nights, I toss and turn and don't dream at all, so the sleep was nice. The dreams, not so much. I dreamed Nate broke an arm. Must be about time again, eh? He got a green cast and it wasn't waterproof and I had to hear all about it the entire summer. Nightmare!

In the second dream, I was parachuting for the first time with no help. My two buddies had jumped out before me. And the parachute was all messed up. Rather than being frightened, I had an incredible feeling of floating in mid air. Of course, one of my buddies watched me plummet past him and started yelling and I realized I was in big trouble with the parachute. Which is really typical of my life. I think I'm doing just fine until someone points out I have a problem or two. Or ten. But who's counting?

It was just before I hit the Earth with a splat that I woke up and realized I am indeed sore all over. Still, the floating in air leaves me with an amazingly peaceful feeling. Or maybe that's from 6 uninterrupted hours of sleep all at once.

Still Jammin

2008-07-08T14:16:00.000-07:00

With the help of a friend, we've canned nearly all of the apricots and some of the plums. We have 25 bottles of jam, currently. And all of them seem to have sealed, which I don't remember from my growing up years. We did can an amazing amount of food back then though.

I find that the full-sugar jams are just too sweet for me, so I am going to do a couple of batches of apricots with the less sugar pectin. In all of the freezer jams I've done, it's never worked right. So, here's hoping! But, our test spoonfuls of the other batches of jam have all looked great.

If I can find more free or inexpensive fruit, I will try my hand at bottling whole fruit and not just jams. I'm still hesitant to bottle the tomatoes when they come in. Because we all know I would be the one to give the family a deadly dose of botulism by not processing the food properly. . .

Jammin

2008-07-07T13:28:00.000-07:00

Me, exhausted from a long week? Apparently not, as I was given an opportunity to pick fruit for free today and will now be making jam.

Has anyone ever made green plum jam? How about preserving grapefruit? I haven't googled any of this yet, as I still have to go buy canning equipment.

I never put the cart before the horse or anything. . .

Day of Rest

2008-07-06T08:28:00.001-07:00

Sunday is here just in time for my tired feet. Last night at the powwow was pretty cool though. Lots and lots of beads and jewelry for sale, lots of fry bread, and really interesting dancing. At one point, there was a dancer alone on the field and people began walking up to her and leaving money in front of her. It shows honor and respect. When she was done, all of the money was gathered up and distributed among the elders in the audience, no matter what ethnicity they were. They were passing the honor and respect on. And in our society where we place our elders in homes away from us as they age, it was cool to see that level of respect still.

But perhaps the best part of the evening was brought to us again by Nate, who is really good at saying what ever pops into his head. Right as we walked in, we passed someone dressed in his traditional clothing, standing fairly still, with sunglasses on. He looked a little bit like this:

Nate stopped, started at him and started laughing a little. "That's funny!" he said, pointing. And then the guy waved back. Poor Nate was mortified. He thought it was funny they had dressed up a "robot" (although I think he just meant mannequin and doesn't know the word) and put sunglasses on it.

The kids all want to go back today to see more dancing. Not me. I'm going to church and going back to bed. All of this partying has worn me out.

Bad at Blogging

2008-07-05T09:47:00.000-07:00

Because I am bad at blogging, I didn't take my camera along for any of our 4th of July fun. And really, it's not that I didn't want photos, it's more that I don't have a little camera to carry nicely in my pocket or purse. It's kind of difficult to pack around bags of things like water and snacks and jackets and blankets and lug around Tyler or Nate when their legs get sore and still have the will to hang a heavy camera from my neck.

So, in the spirit of America, let me reassure you we have eaten every deep fried battered treat available to us in the past few days, including fried twinkies from the Del Mar fair. Sure it was pricey and my stomach hasn't yet recovered, but well worth it for the experience.

We went to the beach on Tuesday, the fair on Wednesday, stayed home Thursday, the 4th of July carnival in our town on Friday, and today we're going to a Powwow. More fried food. . .yum! I bet there's grilled food too. . .

We'll be doing two nights in a row of fireworks as well. Which is good because the next time the kids tell me they hate me, I can remind them of how I let them eat Bavarian chocolate cream funnel cake until they were sick. (And it was really good!)

I'll try to have a few photos of the Powwow, but don't hold your breath.

Extraordinarily Painful

2008-07-03T17:01:00.000-07:00

A house 2 doors down from us, with the same floor plan, was just listed for $335,000.

That is a full $200,000 less than what we paid for ours 3 years ago. And the house is not completely trashed. It needs less than $1000 worth of repairs.

Someone is going to get a fantastic deal. But we're just a wee bit screwed on the home equity.

Ode to a Toad

2008-07-02T14:52:00.000-07:00

Last week, Tyler got to fly to Salt Lake to hang out with his best buddy.
While he was gone, I checked on his toad and she was dead.
She lived 3 years with our family.

This picture does no justice to the gross factor of the dead toad.
We had great plans to bury the toad and videotape the burial, but couldn't find the video camera.
So, we had no choice but to deal with the stink factor until Tyler returned home for the burial.
The toad lived in his little box, wrapped in paper towels, outside for a week.

Once Ty got back, it was both birthday and funeral time. Poor kid.

Lovingly, the kids decorated the coffin.
We all gathered outside for the funeral. The stench was better out there. But not much.
Everyone said a few words, including sweet Ty.

The coffin was then placed in a specially prepared grave and solemnly buried.

Comforting hugs were given.
I hope they always turn to each other during times of grief and trial.

Inevitable

2008-07-01T23:14:00.001-07:00

Too much sun, too much TV, too much computer and not enough structure. I suppose it happens every summer, but somehow I manage to forget about it until it comes round again. . .boredom meltdown. Which, I am supposed to solve while still working full time, fixing them food, doing laundry, taking them to the beach once a week, and carting them around to friends' houses.

I wish I could understand why they melt down when so many fun things are happening.

But here we are, and as a result of poor attitudes and blatant disobedience and disrespect, 0ne child has lost their cell phone, one has lost their computer privileges, and I have just unplugged the TV. Tomorrow should be loads of fun. If they get too out of sorts, I'm sending them all upstairs to do math. Nothing wrong with getting a jump start on school for the fall. . .

Happy Birthday Tyler

2008-06-30T13:52:00.001-07:00

Legos

Cash

Hair just like his brother's

A ripstick-which is kind of like a skateboard with two wheels instead of 4 and has been sawed in half so it pivots in the middle. Yes, I have video. I just have to take the time to get it off of the camera.

According to all sources, the birthday was a hit. Although, we haven't had birthday dinner or cake yet because he wasn't feeling well yesterday.

Happy Birthday Ty! We love you!

Sickening

2008-06-29T08:39:00.000-07:00

Real life gas prices from downtown San Diego. And the prices in our neighborhood honestly aren't that much cheaper. Makes me wonder if the Peak Oil people are onto something after all. . .

22 minutes

2008-06-28T15:03:00.001-07:00

That was all it took before 2 and 1/2 quarts of milk became a puddle. I knew I was going to win.

Here's the video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcsWbrylKiU

It's too big to embed quickly, and I didn't want you to wait one more minute for the joy.

I'm not sure why it was a good idea to try and film this in the dark, but it's still funny.

It turns out, drinking and puking fast is much less painful than trying to actually win the contest. I wish I had known that 18 10 years ago, when I was 17.

Thanks, Rebi for the excellent editing.

Summer just got better!

2008-06-27T15:18:00.000-07:00

Our town has a rec center which we have hardly used. A few days ago, the kids begged and begged and whined until I took them to the CRC to swim.

Much to my surprise, I found out that they can swim without an adult- under the supervision of the 5 lifeguards- once they are 7 years old. And how old did Nate just turn? That's right, 7!!

So, currently they are swimming away happily. And I am working. . .not so happily, but at least quietly.

Disney Television

2008-06-26T16:37:00.000-07:00

I am not a big fan of Disney programming. I think it's stupid and ridiculous and a total waste of time, with few exceptions. It relies heavily on slapstick or unrealistic sequences of events and always has a trite message at the end. My kids love it.

Life is Ruff is no exception. Except it takes all of the worst qualities of Disney programming and amplifies them. Honestly, one scene is a dog show which is won by a dog who very rapidly crashes through every barrier on the agility course. And of course, he wins first place. Right.

At another point, one kid fakes an asthma attack for the "Very Dumb Parents" while two other kids break into their home via the back door and steal a dog. The fact that VDP's occur in nearly every show also annoys.

Luckily, I missed most of the show, but I can't help thinking that even the kids fighting with each other would have been more productive than losing brain cells watching it. I think it's time to disconnect the cable.

The Milk Game

2008-06-25T00:39:00.001-07:00

I'm going to refrain from posting any of the videos I found relating to this post. Because all of them end in puke.

Last Sunday, I was talking to one of the kids at church, an 18-year-old boy. Let's call him J to protect his privacy. J told me how much he hates bananas and we started talking about food loathings, which led to my detestation of milk. I literally cannot stomach the stuff. I can eat it on cereal, on occasion. And very very very rarely, I will dip Ooreos in it. But, mostly I drink water. Unlike several other foods that make me retch at the thought of passing them through my lips, I know why I hate milk. It all started the summer before I turned 18.

That summer, I stayed in Vegas with my cousin Jen for a couple of months. I no longer have any idea how it started, but two of our friends bet us that we couldn't drink a gallon of milk in an hour and keep it down for an hour. We both looked at each other, looked back at them, looked at each other again and said, "Are you serious? How hard can it be?" Because honestly, in Vegas in the summer, it's pretty easy to put a few quarts of fluids in your system on a hot day. And it was a hot day. And we both liked milk. And since I've always been pretty cocky and sure I was capable of anything, I agreed. Jenne, being smarter than me hesitated a little, but figured it was a slam dunk.

We pulled two gallons of milk from the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table. There was chit chat, a serenade or two, lots of bantering and cup after cup of milk went down. We were having a great time, feeling pretty cute and pretty sassy, showing the boys how it's done. As if we weren't awesome enough to win this simple bet. Whatever. . .It's funny. I totally remember knowing that I was capable of this. Not based on past experience or anything, just the overconfident vanity that strikes most teenagers. Some harder than others. And oh my, how I was stricken.

Lucky for me, there is a rapid descent into the pit every single time I allow pride to get the better of me. I know, I'm so blessed.

And the milk was no different. Because 2 quarts went down nice and smooth. We were still laughing and joking. I suspect we were even flirting with the boys. And then we started on quart number 3. 10 cups into the gallon- more than 1/2 way through- and it was sitting in my stomach like a brick. Jen, being smarter than me and also now more humble, quickly realized that if she didn't want to puke, she'd butter stop drinking and fast. And she didn't want to puke. She hates to puke. She calmly asked one of the boys to return her undrunk milk to the fridge, almost half full. The green was in her gills, but the milk did not come up.

I, being stupid and arrogant, felt the milk sitting in my stomach like a glob of wet cement and decided that I was no quitter. I would drink it down and keep it down, no matter what. Mom, you can at least be proud for instilling the tenacious tendencies. . .I think.

11 cups down, my stomach felt like I had eaten a whole turkey, feathers on. It was swollen and extremely painful and I was starting to feel some serious queasiness creeping up my throat. So I waited a few minutes. I figured I still had 25 minutes to drink 5 small little cups of milk. And as I poured another cup out, there were murmurs of respect from the boys. They were impressed by my abilities. Jenne, feeling nauseated, just cringed. She may have even begged me to stop. But, with 5 measly itsy bitsy cups of milk, only 40 oz of 164 left, I could feel the victory.

And I started to sip, because my throat was catching, making it almost impossible to swallow. Which in hindsight, really should have been a clue.

I was almost to the bottom of the 12th cup when I gagged. I could feel myself gagging so I breathed deep, sucking in air to stave off a full on puke. To no avail. And suddenly, I knew I was dead in the water. I hurled myself from my chair, leaped across the kitchen, and careened down the hallway, slamming into the floor with my face in the toilet as 3 quarts of milk solids spewed back up. Yes, spewed. Like a white lava volcano. Chunk after chunk, it caught in my throat as my body desperately expelled it.

I don't remember ever being so sick in my life. And mad that I lost. And pissed that the boys were howling with laughter in the other room. And mortified that I couldn't stand up and wash my face because my stomach was a distended agonizing fire ball.

After telling J this story, his exact words were, "I could totally drink a gallon of milk in an hour." So of course, I bet him $100. Because being older and wiser has some benefits. One of them is the sure knowledge of an easy $100.

Even better, he pulled someone else in on the bet. J is motivated. After one more warning for me, which was met with my very own words of, "How hard can it be? Honestly, you have no idea how much I can eat," he has $200 riding on his stomach being 3 times the size of an average human. And let me reassure you, notsomuch. Honestly, every time he opens his mouth to tell me how easy it's going to be, I can hear the exact words I was thinking so many years ago when I sat down with my first cup of a newly opened gallon. A tune I no longer whistle, to be sure.

I just hope that I am not so soft in my old age that I can't break into peals of laughter when he is doubled up, crying from the agony that is milk which turns solid when it hits stomach acid. Because it would be such a pity if I actually felt sorry for the kid.

It's going down Friday night. I've already told you how it ends. I just hope I don't start puking when he starts puking. 45 months of morning sickness in 7 years will do that to a girl.

Testing the new Office Software

2008-06-23T19:54:00.001-07:00

Not without its pitfalls, I have allowed Dave to upgrade my Office software. It isn't that I hate the new shiny stuff, I just don't currently have the time to learn new things. Still, it only took me a week to figure out how to "save as" and 10 days to generate this post with it. By next year, I'm guessing I will be able to save a document in such a way that I can then email it without errors. Then again, there's really no reason I would need to be able to do that, seeing as I never send out proposals, confirmations and insertion orders as a daily part of my work.

But if this goes smoothly, blog posts just got easier (hence the wild formatting. This is a test. This is only a test).

Politics in a nutshell

2008-06-23T06:36:00.000-07:00

Thanks Alex!

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

Barack Obama: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a CHANGE! Yes, he can!
John McCain: My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.

Hillary Clinton: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure right from Day One! -- that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.......

George W. Bush: We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

John Kerry: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.

Bill Clinton: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

Al Gore: I invented the chicken

Three Cups of Tea

2008-06-22T00:59:00.000-07:00

While Evan and Ellie were at the orthodontist the other day, I was browsing Target.
And lately, because I have lived in one house for three years and I am feeling restless, foreign aid and foreign travel have been on my mind.

No, I don't know why. As I've expressed in past posts, partly I have a desire to remove myself and my children from our comfort zone in order to understand the blessings we have. In part, I have a desire to fully experience something new, something challenging like a new language or a new culture.

Mainly, I have always been consumed by a desire to make things better. Usually, this was fighting for the underdog at school- and yes, the VP of students knew me well. Any injustice towards the weaker kids, especially those who were mentally incapable of standing up for themselves, and I usually ended up front and center with Haslam. It didn't really win me any friends.

Regardless, I am determined that somehow, someway, we are going to make a difference in the lives of those less fortunate than us. And while there are lots of opportunities to serve, I have concerns about fundraising when our economy is unstable. Because I really don't like to ask for things like help. Or money.

Anyway, because of all of this, I was intrigued by the book, "Three Cups of Tea". It is the story of a failed attempt to climb K2 in the Himalayas and how that failure combined with one man getting lost in the middle of nowhere has brought education to thousands of children, especially girls, in the farthest regions of Pakistan and Afghanistan. It is one of the most inspiring stories I have read in a very long time. It made my wanderlust even worse, and made me even feel compelled to do much much more than I am doing to help people who have nothing.

Now, I just need to consult with the kids and decide on where that help will be focused. And even more difficult, I have to figure out how to find the funds to actually make it happen.

Cub Camp Summary

2008-06-21T00:14:00.000-07:00

Friday:

112 degrees
1 boy removed by ambulance for dehydration
1 powerful fire hose with plenty of pressure
1 dead field now a big mud puddle
12 boys whose ears had clearly swollen shut from the heat and were incapable of hearing a word I said.
3rd degree burns from 212 degree black porta potty seats. Men have no idea how easy they have it.
100,000 ants crawling on my back.
1 ant in my eye

One more year before we do it again. By then, I will totally be up for it again. And I get to take Nate and Ty. Nate with a BB gun. It scares me.

Cub Scout Camp

2008-06-20T00:54:00.000-07:00

If you missed the first part of this saga, you can find the friends of scouting story here.

The title really says it all, but let me reassure you, no cub lives were lost during my stay at cub camp today. I can't vouch for tomorrow though.

A few highlights from today:

5 straight hours in 108 degrees while getting squirted with spray bottles and sprinklers will make your hair stand on end. I'm not even posting a picture of me from today.

"LDS" scouting moms get their way if they refuse to pay for an "approved" T-shirt. The staff stops referring to them as intruders about the time they realize they need them to run activities. Because while there were at least 100 adults present on Day 1, by Day 3 of sweltering heat on an arid field, many of the adults have wimped out and stayed home.

If a cub scout can not use his toothpick arms and wet grassy sweaty socks to pull himself over these pegs and onto a slide, There's probably not much a 35-year old woman riddled with arthritis can do. Which in no way stops her from launching herself awkwardly over the edge of the inflatable toy to hoist a very embarrassed and very sad child up over the pegs.
Because the slide was mocking him. And about 30 other kids just like him. It was a fabulous fun filled day at the bouncer. I'm just saying.

Last, I have finally found a location hotter than Hell. I plan to threaten my kids with it the next time they are turds. So tomorrow morning, pretty much as soon as they wake up.

Today, I made the mistake of using a porta-potty. After 3 hours of cub scouts using it. Which is funny, because most of them were capable of shooting BB's into a bullseye from 15 feet away.

I had to pee really badly when I went in, but the 150 degree internal temperature immediately caused my body to return the pee back to my blood stream. Handy, since the smell of evaporated urine caused me to retch. Honestly, my own personal hell will not only be hot, but will smell like concentrated pee and contain large numbers of crying spindly armed boys. Because I cannot bear to watch them clinging desperately to the middle of the peg ladder, praying for just one trip down the slide.

And tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. But hopefully without inflatables. I gave 110% on the flying dive rolls over the side today. I've got nothing left for tomorrow's whiners.

Too tired

2008-06-19T09:10:00.000-07:00

It seems that our first summer beach day did not go so smoothly yesterday. But it has left me way too tired to post the details.

And, the puppy started in with the barking at 6:45 am. And someone started texting me at 7:15 am and then work called and whined and screamed at me to stop neglecting it. And I am just too tired to add any wit today.

Tomorrow might not happen either.

Could you all entertain me with funny stories in the comments instead?

Or maybe introductions so that we can all get to know each other? Because that would help me ignore the work I've been avoiding. . .

B.Y.O.S.

2008-06-18T00:10:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the days before sunscreen? The first day of summer, we all put on our swimsuits and washed the car, ran in the sprinklers, or met at the local pool. We splashed and soaked each other for hours, somehow forgetting that this exact behavior had ended badly just 12 months before.

But in those days, no one had 4 different types and strengths of sunscreen at the ready. Instead, the bravest of us basted ourselves with baby oil for that golden brown look. Except golden brown always turned red a lot faster than we expected. And soon it became a tradition that the first day of summer would be spent getting the sunburn of a lifetime and the rest of the week meant chills, aloe, and a lot of time laying face down, crying in agony. It was a summer ritual in our house, one I'm sure my mother gritted her teeth through each and every year.

And because she cursed me so many times with a daughter just like me, I too get to experience the joy of the first week of summer. Because this year, this child neglected to inform me that she had her swimsuit on when she went to her friend's house, and she didn't get 4 types of sunblock applied to the stark white sections of her body. And she wore a swimsuit that has different lines that her normal standbys. Next year, on the first day of summer, remind me to coat all of them the second they get out of bed. . .

Poor thing. Even the burn relief spray is agonizing for her.

Phobias

2008-06-17T08:15:00.000-07:00

I'm not scared of spiders. Or any bugs, really. But when Evan came in and said there was a black widow living in the garbage can, I was concerned. Because if there's one, there are probably more. And they are probably all over in the garage as well as the wood at the side of our house.

This particular spider was living inside the handle of the garbage can, which was manufactured as an open tube, perfect for housing creepy crawlies of all kinds.

Luckily, the bug spray got right in there. Does bug spray kill the eggs in the 3 egg sacs she had around her?

Hi Fatty

2008-06-16T09:54:00.000-07:00

For Father's Day, the kids bought Dave a Fat Cyclist riding jersey. Which he was willing to try on for you.

He's bringing sexy back, one belly at a time.

Bike Sense

2008-06-15T08:17:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, a bike was left on our lawn when a child bought candy from the kids' candy stand. It has never been reclaimed and periodically, someone picks it up off of the lawn, pedals a bit, and puts it down again. Last night, that person was Nate.

Nate: Dad, can you put the seat down on the Mongoose so that I can ride it?
Mom: Nate, why don't you ride your own bike?
Nate: I can't. Tyler's riding it.
Mom: Well, why don't you ride Tyler's bike?
Nate: I can't. It's too big for me.
Mom: The Mongoose is too big for you as well.
Nate: Dad, can you just put the seat down so that I can ride it?
Mom: Why don't you get Tyler's bike out and trade him bikes?
Nate: I can't. Dad! Can you pleeease put the seat down on the Mongoose?

Dave gets a few tools and lowers the seat, but the frame of the bike is still very nearly too big for Nate. I think he realized it was going to be hard to swing his leg over, because instead of getting on at the lowest point, he tried to climb on over the seat from the back of the bike.

Dave: Nate, you know how to ride a bike, right?
Nate: yes!
Dave: Then come over to the side and swing your leg over like you should.

Nate complies and after much struggle, ends up with both feet on the ground on either side of a very high bar. There's no room for error here. Or it's going to end very painfully.

Dave: Nate, just push off and ride.
Nate: (now perched on the bar and not the seat) Like THIS?!?!? Dad, that is highly dangerous!

Rodents

2008-06-14T08:58:00.001-07:00

Summer is here.

The public schools all let out yesterday, complete with 8th grade graduation (which Rebi attended) and a pancake outing, pool parties, and high school graduation parties.

I can tell summer is here because in our safe, sleepy town, it is a given that teenagers will have nowhere to be except for hanging at the park and wandering the streets in packs. I lovingly refer to them as the Street Rats.

Last year, they got in the habit of setting trash cans on fire. With all of the vacant houses in our area, I wonder what kind of fun we'll have this year.

Ah, summer.

Bring on Wednesday Beach Day.

Bedtime Nazi

2008-06-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

I believe I will try a new bedtime routine. Because bedtime around here is nothing less than exhausting. And, after they go to bed, I still have work that needs concentration.

Bedtime usually goes a little like this:

9:15- Ty,Nate, go brush your teeth and get them flossed.
9:18- Ty, Nate, go brush your teeth and get them flossed.
9:19- Ellie, Evan, get your teeth brushed and flossed and get to bed.
9:21- Tyler, Nate, Evan and Ellie. Tyler, Nate, Evan and Ellie. Tyler, Nate, Evan and Ellie!

Now that I have their attention, they all begin to whine that they are starving, and descend like locusts on the kitchen. At this point, everyone begins to whine about why don't I buy and how come we never have and Jamie's family gets and our food is so boring and there's NOTHING TO EAT!

9:40- Ty,Nate, go brush your teeth and get them flossed.
9:42- Ty, Nate, go brush your teeth and get them flossed.
9:45- Ellie, Evan, get your teeth brushed and flossed and get to bed.
9:46- Tyler, Nate, Evan and Ellie. Tyler, Nate, Evan and Ellie. Tyler, Nate, Evan and Ellie!

And this is where they all think I care about the funniest thing that happened on Sponge Bob today or how I should buy a timer so everyone can only play Wii for like 30 minutes because not everyone got a turn today. And oh yeah, did I mention that I have to babysit and the crack of dawn and I told them you would run me over and I forgot to tell you that _________ is coming over to __________ at 7am and I told her you'll be home so to plan on it. . .

And still, not one child has even thought of their toothbrush, let alone put paste on it and stuck it near a tooth.

Usually, at 10:15, I am finally able to manhandle children to the various bathrooms and drag them towards the stairs. I settle down to work and the noise upstairs gets higher and louder and more manic and I begin to worry because it sure sounds like someone is spinning someone else and haven't we had enough broken bones for heaven's sake? And I can feel myself coming unhinged, in a smoke blowing out both ears sort of way. Because let's face it, I'm exhausted. I am mentally and physically tired and there is nowhere I would rather be than in bed. And after I get done working, I really do have to pick mildewed towels up off of the new carpet and put another load of clothes in the washer and attempt to chip dried milk off of the counter and let the dog in and turn off lights and lock up and probably do one last load of laundry or dishes. And they have all of the energy in the world to scream around upstairs at 300 decibels. And I get cranky and mean with them every single night. And then we do it again the very next day.

So, because I can turn a sock into dental floss, I am thinking outside of the box. But not too far out, because I think I swiped the idea from a friend. From now on, I will give them one warning. If I have to tell them again, they pick up 100 things somewhere in the house. And trust me, on any given night, there are always 500 or more things that need to be put away. It's astounding. But that is a very depressing post for another time when I have less pride.

Tonight, I didn't really warn them what the consequence was. I just told them, go quietly to bed, or else.

Evan and Ellie earned it first. And it was a beauty in the art of sibling bickering that put them in my grasp. Evan had to pick up 100 things in the kitchen and Ellie had to pick up 100 pieces of laundry. After their arguments were met with an invitation to pick up 200 things, they did not utter another peep. Not while picking up, and not while getting their sorry little butts back to bed. Bliss.

And I think this will work at least another two days. I will get some quiet time at night and I won't even need to "hire" a "housekeeper". Or shave her chin.

Outside of the Box

2008-06-11T22:11:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I worked in an office. I believe it was Franklin Covey, but very well could have been Discover Card. It's all a distant hazy memory now. However, both of those companies were all touchy feel-y, object lesson-y, team building-y goodness. At one of them, there was a big object lesson on thinking outside of the box. We were divided into two teams and sent to separate offices. Upon arriving, we were instructed to pull an item out of a paper sack and then were given 5 minutes to think of any possible use for it.

The item was a sock.

After 5 minutes, we had the usual suspects of a cleaning rag, a bag, entertainment in the form of a puppet, a warmer of things, a bandage, and variations of those themes. The other group fared about the same. We failed. We could not think outside of the box. And when the facilitator gave us a bunch of other weird and unique uses for a sock, we all shook our heads and oohed and aahed and promptly forgot any but the most obvious uses. Clearly, none of us were innovators.

Which brings me to Nate and Ty. A few days ago, my friend gave me a basket of shells. I brought them home, intending to use them as decorations. Or, at the most bizarre, some sort of art project. I was a little mystified to see the boys like this :

"Roger, Roger! Come in 5 Star General, Tyler"

"Copy that. Proceed, 4 Star General, Nate"

Mom: Tyler, why do you have shells in your ears?
Tyler: These aren't shells, these are Conch Communicators.

It almost frightens me to think of what they might do with a sock.

I should be fired. . .

2008-06-10T16:38:00.000-07:00

. . .from my job as a housekeeper.

I still haven't cleaned my nasty kitchen. I have been to WalMart 3 times in 3 failed attempts to make our new insurance pay for prescriptions before the insurance cards arrive.

I love benefits changes. They are always so much fun.

However, I am very glad we both have jobs. Unemployed would be so much worse than schlepping to Wal Mart all day.

Cleaning

2008-06-09T23:32:00.000-07:00

I hate cleaning. I clean and 5 minutes later, it is dirty again, which makes me lose my will to clean. But tomorrow I have an appointment at the house and then a meeting south of here and then another appointment and then a meeting. . .

So, if I don't want to answer a lot of questions about the foul state of my kitchen after a weekend of baking, I should probably go clean it. Which I hate. It's a vicious cycle.

But the banana-pear-apple bread, the white bread, the brownies and the cookies were all delicious. I hate scales. I weigh myself and. . .

Quote of the Day

2008-06-08T21:37:00.001-07:00

Rebi and Tyler are sitting next to each other, eating cake.

Rebi turns to Tyler and says, thoughtfully, "Ty, I love you like a fat kid loves cake."

Pause.

"And I LOOOVE cake."

Because I LOOOOVE him

2008-06-08T00:03:00.000-07:00

I'm a little bit in love with my boss. But now that I've annoyed him by calling him my boss, let me clarify. He's not. He's an owner of the company I work for, along with 4 other people. I happen to work with him quite a bit currently, but he's not my boss. I just don't know what else to call him. Maybe I can call him "My Don". Such a nice ring. And I love him. I love him so much that if he lived here, I would kiss him. Which he doesn't. So I can say that.

And since it's not likely that I'll ever actually meet him, I feel even safer.

To what does he owe the bestowing of my love? Last Friday, he fixed my SPAM problem. Because he's awesome.

Here's the chat that followed:

Me: I'm thinking I'll be dedicating a blog post to you tomorrow

12:23 PM Don: cool, maybe I'll get around to reading it. I had a lot of catch up to do.

me: Because I love you a whole whole lot right now.

Don: LMAO, why is that.

me:for the first time in months, I am not getting 300-500 (or more) email a day

12:24 PM Don: wow if i was that simple I would have stopped all of your email ;)

me: as far as I can tell, anyway. Maybe I should see what happens overnight before gracing you with my presence. . .

Don: yup

me: (by referring readers to your blog)

12:25 PM Don: ok, it wasn't creepy until after the disclaimer, but then I imagined you flying in and standing over the bed in the middle of the night ... then I got scared.

me: standing over your bed with what?

with a hatchet?

or a chainsaw?

but I LOOOOOVE you!

12:26 PM I'm a little giddy at the thought of leaving email hell

Don: as long as it's not a dismembered rabbit, it's probably ok to choose one of the other images.

12:27 PM me: you know, I never saw that movie. Maybe it's worth it to procure that from Netflix

12:29 PM Don: it is a little freaky. You could see it being a co-worker instead of a mistress.

Which makes me want to go to my room and die. Just a little, inside. Because I LOOOVE him and he only sees me as a crazy stalker. . .

But I can survive it, now that I don't have to wait an hour for SPAM to download every morning. And every mid-morning. And every noon. And every afternoon. . . A blackberry might even be a viable option now. Although come to think of it, I haven't been invited to update my penis for days now, which leaves me feeling hollow inside. What if I end up with the ONLY outdated penis in my circle of friends?

Is that worse or better than email hell?

The Tooth What?

2008-06-07T07:38:00.000-07:00

Please notice the permanent tooth visible behind the line of baby teeth

Nate: Mom! Mom! I lost my very first tooth! But not if you count the one the dentist took out. . .

Mom: Right. You lost the loose one that didn't rot and have to be pulled because you refused to brush it. Awesome! Go put it under your pillow.

Nate: Well. . . I already did put it under your pillow.

Mom: Really? Because the tooth fairy will never find it there. She's going to look under your pillow and see nothing and not leave any money. (might I possibly just maybe get a night without his feet in my back?)

Nate: Well. . . I can put my pillow in your bed and then she can find me there.

Mom: Nope, no go dude. She's headed for your bed, so if you want the cash, you'd better be in your bed with the tooth.

7 hours later, still lobbying to sleep in my bed:

Nate: Mom, why do you think I believe the tooth fairy is real? I think she is a myth. Because fairies aren't real. So I guess she is a fairy tale.

Mom: Really?

Nate: Yes, I think it is just a parent that lives in the house with the kids and takes the tooth and sneaks it to the garbage and doesn't let any of the kids see them and then takes some money from their pocket and leaves it under a pillow. So they don't have to sleep in their bed. Because your bed is softer and they could sleep better there. And besides, do you remember that fairies don't exist? So could you just let me put it under your pillow and I can go to sleep?

Mom: Nope. Go to your bed.

Nate: But why not? Then you don't even have to get out of bed to be the tooth fairy. You can just wait until I fall asleep and put the tooth in the garbage and give me money. How much money do you think you will give me?

Mom: Hey Nate. Do I look like the tooth fairy? I don't know what the going rate is for overused baby teeth and I can't tell you the tooth fairy can find you in my bed. Go to your bed, pull the covers up and go to sleep, or the tooth fairy ain't coming and there's no money for you. Whatever you choose is fine. Except you must be in your room.

Nate: OHHH KAAAAY. But I bet Dad's the tooth fairy then.

I can't wait to tell Dave that Nate called him a fairy. . .

Friends of Scouting

2008-06-06T00:18:00.000-07:00

So, let's talk about Scouts. Specifically, let's talk about Cub Scouts and their upcoming summer camp in our area.

Because I love the full disclosure bit, I should take this opportunity to remind everyone that I am Mormon, or LDS, or belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, or any other respectful way you would like to refer to my religion. It comes into play here.

Next week, I have the pleasure of attending Cub Scout Day Camp for the 5th or 90th year in a row. It certainly feels like 90 years, but since we mostly wander after boys making sure they don't poke arrows into soft places or walk in front of a loaded BB gun, it's not the end of the world. Hot, tiring, a wee bit on the boring side, but hey. I can do anything once a year. Except for this particular camp, ever again. Because these guys are a little nuts.

Silly me, when a mandatory meeting for everyone attending CS camp as adult volunteers was announced, I figured I could handle it. Little did I know the other side of scouting. And for those of you who are lifelong avid scouters, congratulations. I do believe it takes a special someone to have this kind of passion. I do not posses it. And don't bother trying to talk me into it. Not gonna happen.

There were around 50 of us at the meeting, at least half of whom look like the typical soccer mom, doing her LDS duty of attending CS camp with her 2 age- appropriate sons once per year. The other half of the crowd had on uniforms. Complete with green calf socks with red bands around the tops. They mean business, dammit. And they most certainly prefer the "traditional scouters" over the "LDS scouters", as they referred to us in the packet. I call religious discrimination! But hey, I can't really blame them. By and large, the Mormons like scouting, but we just don't do so well at the rules and regulations. We don't wear the exact uniform. In fact, most of us can't find any pieces of the uniform when it comes time to deck the boys out. We just have too many kids to effectively process laundry between the monthly pack meetings, and scouts is more about the fun than it is the badges. Which is not to say we aren't avid badge grabbers. We do love the belt loops and beads and pins and plastic flappy things (I just made half the scouting population in the world cringe. The other half are Mormon and don't care what things are called if they can just freaking find them and tack them to the uniform before the kids has to be seen in public) as much as any other scout. We just don't get hung up on it, as we are also carting kids to church, piano lessons, sports, the pool, and all other childhood functions.

Well, I'm not, but I have a therapy fund. So I don't have to try and be the perfect mom.

This meeting begins, basic rules are spoken of, we are told all of the kids will be expected to wear the same thing. I knew I was in trouble when we were handed a 6 page packet and the first paragraph states that there will be around 300 boys, 150 adult volunteers, 20 staff members, and 20 boy scout helpers. In case you don't add so fast, that's 300 boys and 190 "helpers". Which seems like overkill. Even better is the paragraph regarding attire.

"In the event that a person is seen in the camp area without a camp shirt or nametag, they will be assumed to be an intruder. . .This includes anyone who is dressed in part or fully in an official BSA scout uniform. . .Contact should not be made with the person by anyone other than the Camp Security Director unless he/she becomes a clear and immediate danger to campers, staff, or guests." Listen people. Boy scouts get kidnapped and/or dismembered at cub camp ALL OF THE TIME. By perfect strangers dressed in scouting gear. But do not approach these random dangerous strangers while they are rational . By all means, wait until they open fire on the crowd, and then take one for the team. Get in there and disarm him before Cub lives are lost! We're the Navy Seals and we expect. . . wait. Sorry, a little flashback there.

Then the "Camp Security Director" stands up. And he had all of the charm of a prison guard trying to give up cigarettes.

After going on for a moment about not getting in the middle of boys fighting, because that undermines their den leader, he draws attention to the person we should go and get if a fight breaks out. Of course. We all know that 6-10 year olds are a rough crowd and must be handled professionally. Apparently by someone who was once a boy scout in a fight. A fight that wasn't broken up until a parent could haul butt across a city block, find the only person in a light blue shirt and haul butt back before death occurred. It must not have ended well for him since his front tooth or three was missing. Because if 2 boys are trying to kill each other it is always a great idea to leave them alone and wander among 490 people to find the solitary person "allowed" to break up the fight. Right. Not so much my style. Plus, I really don't need my kid to lose any permanent teeth. His baby teeth are in bad enough shape.

But, all of that said, things happen when you have 300 boys in the same place. Especially when you add another 190 adults trying to steer clear of violent strangers and dangerous cub scout fights. So it's reasonable that, "All accidents will be brought to the attention of the Health Officer on-site and the Camp Director" But, just to be sure, let it also be said that they are serious about their accident policy. Because:

"Any accident resulting in major injury or death must be reported to the Camp Director immediately."

What?!?!? No fair! I was planning on bringing my shovel so that if one of those fights ended badly, I could just bury the poor kid and continue on with my camp experience. I mean honestly, reporting a death would just be such a downer for the other scouters, why bother? But sadly, my back hoe is not allowed. I cannot say such things to my son as, "You'd better knock it off with the fighting or you're gonna regret it. I'll just bury you with the backhoe if you keep it up. . ." because that is against the rules. The packet says. (Also against the rules is "physical closeness, flirting, pinching, kissing, suggestive letters, lewd motions, obscene language, etc." Which totally sucks because I was also intent on reciting the Margaret Cho skits I have memorized, complete with hand motions and a dry-erase board. In addition, there is "no physical contact suggesting enamored feelings between staff/leaders." Which ruins my plans for hooking up with the gap-toothed wonder. It's just crap. A raw deal. Nor will they allow me to gamble, be under the influence of a controlled substance, intimidate others, fight, drive drunk, shoplift, use a weapon, or sell the kids drugs. What the hell good is Cub Scout camp?)

It is at this point, that we get the lecture on "missing persons". And here is an excerpt from the packet:
"Upon determining that a group has a lost, missing, or runaway boy, the leader shall conduct an immediate search of camp," (presumably looking for the back hoe or a freshly dug grave) And, "the leader will give a description of the boy, including what he is wearing." Umm. . . come again? Didn't you just tell us they're all going to be dressed alike? I'm pretty sure there's a flaw in that plan. Which I'm loving. I see the shovel idea right back on. When one of those crazy dangerous aggressive 6 year olds comes up missing, I just grab the nearest kid and say, "Here's one that matches the description. Same approximate age, close in height, same hat, and look. . . his t-shirt matches the description exactly! That's uncanny how well his leader remembered what he was wearing!"

It's all coming together now. Except that "in the event of a flood, leaders shall prepare the campers to evacuate immediately." They aren't going to turn a flood into a swimming lesson? What kind of crappy permanent Boy Scouts are they anyway? A stupid little flood might ruin camp entirely? Maybe I should just cancel now. Frankly, I'm a little worried about how Tyler will fair against the prison inmates he will be mingling with. Yes, those 6-10 year olds can be a rough crowd.

Chat Session

2008-06-05T06:38:00.000-07:00

There seems to be this weird phenomenon where people think that because they are communicating via a somewhat anonymous source, it is OK to force their opinions upon me. Not that their opinions are wrong, but always with the attitude that I need them to help me out- almost as if I asked for their opinion. . .

The fact that this comes from a 14 year old boy* makes this one even funnier. And let's just pretend all of his spelling mistakes are typos, shall we?

*Names have been changed to protect the annoying ~~boy who knows nothing about home schooling~~

10:10 pm Boy
what are you ding up so late on the computer

10:11pm Melissa
I don't have school tomorrow. What's your excuse?

10:12pm Boy
checking things

10:12pm Melissa:
are you ready for summer to be here already?

10:13pm Boy
YES

10:14pm Melissa
what day is school officially out?

10:16pm Boy
School's officially out next friday but my friend E graduated from middle school today and is done he keeps rubbing my face in it too and he's really making me mad

10:17pm Melissa
yeah, my kids were done last Thursday. are you in 9th?

10:17pm Boy
yeah and do you have to rub it in?

10:18pm Melissa
lol. sure. just another benefit of home school

10:18pm Boy
yeah well they don't get the social interaction of normal school though

10:21pm Melissa
nice try. They probably get more social time with all of the groups and activities they go to. The only thing they don't get is loads of busy work

10:22pm Boy
shut up

10:22pm Melissa
not if you're going to make false statements. . .

10:23pm Boy
They won't get to go to many high school activities which many people consider to be of vital importance to the development of the growing child

10:24pm Melissa
again, I laugh. What are we developing? the ability to consume large amounts of alcohol? Swearing? giving in to peer pressure? bumping and grinding at the school dances?

They have plenty of activities through their home school group which give them the experience they need while allowing them to do course work appropriate to their learning styles and levels. Last week, they went bowling with a group on Wednesday and to Disneyland with a different group on Friday. I think they're getting plenty of social development. But thanks for being concerned.

10:25 Boy
there's lots of other stuff. they can't be homeschooled through collage and they will lack the neccessary abilities needed to function in a classroom not of thier own choosing and through a method not tier own

10:27pm Melissa
Rebi is starting college in the fall, so I'm not too worried

And believe it or not, if you choose, you can indeed get a degree by doing entirely correspondence (from home) college courses. I could have done it when I was in college.

10:29pm Boy
she's 13 for goodness sake she doesn't belong in that kind of enviroment, she's growing up without a normal childhood. I know I had to make this choice myself I was going going to be tested like this but i said no because I wanted to be able to have a childhood

10:30pm Melissa
you should probably do more research before making those statements. She has a perfectly fine childhood and she's making the choices for herself. She's happy with her decision. And there's nothing wrong with a college environment. Why would you assume it's a bad idea?

10:31pm Boy
just you wait and see, there's plenty of examples of this if you look for it

10:31pm Melissa
my point is not that our way is right for you, but that you shouldn't assert that your way is the only way.

There are plenty of examples of kids who go through 4 years of high school and end up total losers who can't hold down jobs. Or they get addicted to drugs or go to prison.

10:32pm Boy
i'm not asseerting that myway is the only way but that my way seems like the more logical of the ways from the way i'm looking at it.

10:33pm Melissa
Because that's the only way you've ever known

10:33pm Boy
and albert einstien's teacher said he was going to be a janitor when he grew up but now he's the most renowned scientist in the world
(note from Melissa: I need someone to explain how that supports his assertion that school is best for all kids.)

10:33pm Melissa
but if you assert that failure is obvious for home schoolers in our situation, then it is also true that failure is obvious in traditional schoolers, if you look for it.

right. what did his teacher know? That he didn't focus on the stuff she thought he should?

10:35pm Boy
my mommy says I have to go to bed
bye

And I'm still giggling, not at his assumption that school is the only logical choice for him, but that he is so very sure that Rebi is ruined forever going to community college. I'm willing to bet our school choices have been discussed around their dinner table!

Thank goodness we still get to choose. . . I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Spoiled Youngest Kid

2008-06-04T13:24:00.000-07:00

He got to decorate his own cake, eschewing the sprinkles and opting for his motto, "I'm cool" instead.

He quite enjoyed opening his presents in the restaurant where all tables could see him.

And was clearly thrilled with them. All of them received excited gasps, including the towel and the shirt.

The employees then placed a coffee filter on his head and a toilet seat cover around his neck and sang to him. Of course for him, it was all about the ice cream sundae.

But the snorkel set was such a HUGE hit, we decided to go night swimming so he could try out his new present. And when I say we, please know I mean they.

I triple love this photo. It is officially my new favorite of him.

Evan had to drag him from the pool because the rest of us were ready for cake.

Six attempts later, the candles were out and cake was consumed. And then everyone went quickly and quietly to bed. Right.

Attention! Attention!

2008-06-03T23:11:00.000-07:00

We interrupt this birthday celebration to bring you a very important message:

A friend of mine visits an orphanage in Tijuana on a regular basis. At least once a month, she and some friends take food down, prepare a meal, leave food for the kids to eat until they make it back again, and spend the day playing with the kids. We are hoping to join them once a month from now on.

Currently, the orphanage has a need for electrical appliances. They need things like crock pots, large capacity griddles and electric skillets, and possibly even a big rice cooker. Something is wrong with the oven and they can't have it repaired, so they have been using 2 small electric burners to prepare food for all of the kids.

If any of you have electric items like these that are in good shape but you don't use, please let me know. I will happily arrange to pick them up (unless you live overseas. I will happily arrange to pick those up too, but then I will need additional help with the airfare. . .). If you would like to help financially, please leave me a comment or email me at astlefamily at gmail dot com.

And, Yay! Our trip to Africa next year might be off the table, if we can make a difference here and how were we going to come up with that kind of money anyway?

Happy Birthday Nate!

2008-06-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

Again?? Already? It was only a year ago that I posted this and this and this. And as the youngest, time really does just fly by. But not to worry, he has so many funny things he says, I promise to keep adding them to the blog. I'm looking forward to when he starts dating and I can point his girlfriends to all of these posts. Way better than the naked baby bum photos parents love to share. Poor kid.

Happy Birthday Nate!

Festivity photos to follow, just as soon as I wrap the presents and bake the cake.

Edit: Both sets of Grandparents sent Nate the exact same birthday card. I guess it's pretty obvious who loves yellow lions. . .

Freedom!

2008-06-02T11:02:00.000-07:00

We checked in all of our books and turned in the last of our school work today. Surprisingly, I didn't owe any money for lost materials. Which makes the new wing I'm financing at the library a little easier to swallow.

It's summer! No more begging the kids to sit and produce work, no more asking if their school work is done, no more sitting on top of Nate to get him to write. Anything.

At least not until September, when we insanely start all over again. And next year we're adding geography and foreign languages. . .

Me, a Procrastinator?

2008-06-01T23:24:00.000-07:00

So, it's 11:30 Sunday night and I am realizing just how very much I have to get done before 8:15 am tomorrow morning. As in less than 9 hours from now. Why? Because I fully live by the motto, "Why get done today what you can put off until tomorrow?" And now that I am literally in the 11th hour, I realize just how much my motto sucks. Seriously. I need a new one.

Not helping me one little bit is this fatigue that makes me feel like I am pregnant again. And you women know what I mean. It's the kind of fatigue that makes you fall sharply into sleep without even realizing you have closed your eyes. Typically for me, that is in the middle of an intense conversation or over a stack of amazingly dull paper work.

The paperwork is losing. But I have to fill out 4 enrollment packets for kids for their charter school, finish tracking their learning on 3 separate sheets of paper, print out a P.E. log- and since it should accurately reflect the time they have spent exercising all month, I ought to add some information to it- and finish collecting all of their text books to turn in. Sadly, some of the text books have been living in my house since 2006. I kid you not. 2 years and 5 months of being lost in the de-cluttered clutter. As if I will ever find those. . . I won't even tell you that our last batch of library books were all returned over two weeks late and there is indeed one missing again. (Anyone seen an owl book? No?)

Someday, I am going to learn my lesson about procrastinating. At least I finally learned my lesson about pregnancy.

And most amusingly, I am going to sit down at some point tomorrow and think to myself, "Hmm. . . I wonder why I'm so tired." Because I have given all of my brain cells to my kids and cannot remember things that have happened in the last 24 hours.

Rain, and the first magician attempt

2008-06-01T11:00:00.000-07:00

It poured rain here last week. In the 5+ years we've lived here, I'm not sure I'm ever seen it rain this hard.

Ellie, Tyler and Nate had a great time playing through the neighborhood. Naturally, they avoided the drainage holes. Or as we like to call them, the Lost and Gone Forever Holes.

The streets were totally flooded. And I'm not sure how that umbrella is helping her.

Tyler made rain clothes out of trash bags. He was still soaked, but he felt good about his invention.

And this is the first try at the magic show. I love this video as it really shows his personality. Especially the point where he starts smacking himself. Priceless.

SPAM a lot

2008-05-30T00:33:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned a day or two ago, I'm having a little problem with spam. We lost our business mail server last week, and since it came back up, all of the spam filters seem to be MIA. To make matters worse, my own lovingly placed and much cursed over spam blocking rules are not doing their job. At all. Because I set them up wrong. Except I followed all of the directions, and that's saying something since I never even read directions until I have screwed something up 3/4 of the way through any difficult task, assuming from the beginning that it will be too easy to require directions. And then, you should hear me cuss as I try to figure out where I went wrong and fix the error. I usually recognize the need for directions about the time I notice that 3 of the 4 shelves on the bookcase I am assembling are vertical instead of horizontal. And it never fails to amaze me that something with one purpose is engineered to do such a thing.

But anyway, I am currently wading through over 1000 email a day. For the past week, it has been in the 1500 range. Not a pretty picture when one is juggling several clients with large contracts, all of whom think they are the only client, and all of whom think that every business professional in the known world has a blackberry or other wireless device which puts email at their constant disposal and therefore should be responding instantly to email at any given time of the night or day. Excuse me, but when did email become the telephone? And why haven't I caved to the blackberry yet? Right, because I don't wish to be cited for noise pollution when 1500 messages come pinging in all day long. No matter where I am. Because one cannot have enough instant access to Viagra while picking out books at the library.

In all of the constant spam for everything from chairs and lights manufactured in a German speaking factory to any number of fake designer handbags and shoes, there is one that strikes my funny bone all 895 times I see it each day. The subject line is. . . wait for it. . .

Update your Penis

Really? And what does that take? New paint job? Some shutters? Better light fixtures? I know, carpet! Perhaps one could install tile. Better landscaping? Clearly, I am in need of house updating. Maybe it's day glow tattoos that would do the trick. Metallic eyeliner? Or does that make it retro? Does one "plug it in" to the computer and have "software" updated? A little something that makes the penis aim better when standing at a toilet? I'm killing myself here.

How exactly would one go about updating a penis, should one be an owner? I'm certainly not about to open that email to find out. . .

Rebi's Dance Recital

2008-05-29T10:18:00.000-07:00

Rebi's Dance Recital. Sorry for the dark photos. I think we've already established my need to learn how to use my camera. Some day. When I have time. HA HA HA HA HA.

Duped

2008-05-28T09:08:00.000-07:00

I'm not a big fan of shopping. Wandering aimlessly around the mall makes me a little nuts. Picking through picked over fruit at the grocery store is tedious and frustrating. I don't enjoy picking out clothes or purses or sheets or dishes or shoes. Wait, I do kinda like the shoes, but only if I'm shopping alone for shoes for me.

However, regularly I am required to procure basic necessities such as bread, milk, and cute new shirts for Rebi. For some reason, she doesn't like to buy clothes over the internet. No matter how hard I beg. Which is why I found myself stuck at the mall last Saturday. And because Dave put Rebi's black dress pants in the dryer and they became black dress capris, it was our mission to try on every single pair of petite black dress pants in the entire mall. None of which fit, naturally. And she needed them because she was working at a wedding that night.

Having exhausted the options in the reasonably priced stores, we started on the more expensive stores, finally finding a pair that fit nicely and were under $100. Barely. Of course, Dad ruined hers, so he was paying to replace them. She loves it when stuff like that happens. I do believe I heard her begging him to do laundry more often.

But, she felt badly for giving him a coronary and to appease him, she wanted to pick out a couple of new shirts for him. I am a creature of habit, so we went up to Old Navy, found the ringer T's, and picked out two.

Plain simple T's, on sale, nice colors, what's not to love?

Until Dave tried them on, only to find that they were muscle tanks masquerading as T-shirts.

The ugliness amazes me. But more than that, I am seriously grumpy that I now have to go back to the mall to return the ugly shirts. Would it have killed them to have one on display? Because trust me, I would have steered clear. As it is, I'm contemplating whether $8 is too much to pay for a cleaning rag/painting shirt. Because I am that desperate to avoid a repeat trip to the mall.

I hate shopping.

Death by Food

2008-05-26T20:16:00.000-07:00

Cheese Danishes
Costco Muffins
In and Out
Deli sandwiches (with vegetables)
Steak
Homemade Tortillas
Chicken Tacos
Cookies
Watermelon
Grapes
Cantaloupe
Ice Cream Cake
Soda
Lemonade

Memorial Day was a hit.

My stomach hurts.

Email is of the Devil

2008-05-25T14:11:00.000-07:00

Our spam filter must not be working very well on the work email server.

I spent Friday night and all day Saturday helping with a wedding at our church, so I haven't opened email since Friday afternoon. I just checked my email today, and I am staring at 551 in my inbox and 906 in my junk box. Of those, there will be 15-20 that I need to respond to. . . if I can find them.

Nate the Magician

2008-05-23T23:58:00.000-07:00

Nate, Tyler and Ellie were in a talent show tonight. Nate practiced all day in an attempt to get his "magic show" down. I have one more video. It's the first time he went through it, and it's very funny. But, blogger won't upload it. I'll try to add it in the morning.

Take 1

Take 2

Love the showing off of the teeny tiny "magic wand".

Final Take

A nearly perfect performance, until the point where he picks his nose as he goes off camera.

Opening and Closing Night

I tried to get him to do it once more and include the wand, but he was having none of it.
After he got done, he said, "Mom, when I got up there, I got really nervous"

Close Encounters

2008-05-23T07:42:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post will contain the word tampon. It might contain other embarrassing words as well. I don't know yet, because I haven't actually written it.

Recently, I realized I was nearly out of tampons. Which of course, can not be. So, on my last trip to Wal Mart, I picked up a box or 4. And while I was there, it also made sense to stock up on a few other items. So with my leaning tower of girly stuff, I went to grab some hot dogs and frozen pizzas and promptly ran into someone I knew. Oddly, even though I can discuss my tampon needs with all and sundry in the written word, I felt very awkward running into anyone I knew with an inordinate amount of the things. OK, with any number of them. Which is weird, right? Because they are advertised on TV. It's not like it's a secret that women use these things.

As I was approaching this family, I hastily placed a couple of things over the boxes so that they weren't such a glowing signal, only to realize that I had emphasized the chocolate bars, crumb donuts, castor oil (for a facial, I swear!), Doritos, vicodin, Preparation H (eye bags, cracking feet. . . I swear) and a case of diet soda. Pretty much everything I might need to survive whatever nature throws at me. . . all displayed in a mortifying array in the bottom of my basket.

Which, when I told Rebi, reminded her of another bad shopping trip for tampons. And she promptly blushed and burst out laughing at the thought.

Last year, when I stocked up on the best invention since sliced bread, it was after midnight on a Saturday. I was pretty sure I wouldn't run into anyone I knew, so Rebi agreed to join me. Because we don't believe in bedtime around here.

After piling our Empire State Building of Always and Tampax into the cart, we turned the corner and ran into a bunch of teenage boys. That knew us by name. Trying to be nonchalant about the cart of embarrassing horrors, I calmly pulled a gallon of milk out of the cooler while Rebi edged closer and closer to the door. Without looking at the big shining TAMPONS which were beaming their orange logo like a batman beacon, I calmly set the milk in the cart on top of them. Except I missed.

And spilled an entire gallon of milk all over the floor, myself, and the boys. I believe I ruined 2 pair of shoes. Which was still less embarrassing than the fact that I managed to draw their attention right to the tampons. Go Figure.

Lunch

2008-05-22T13:16:00.001-07:00

I keep seeing this great tortilla tutorial all over the internet. So I think I'm going to make them for lunch.

Hee hee hee

Poor Dolly

2008-05-22T07:25:00.000-07:00

Will somebody PLEASE take these doll clothes off of me? It's so degrading. . .

The Disgrace

2008-05-21T00:09:00.000-07:00

Let it be said, I am a HEAVY listener of Collective Soul.
Which is why I did not appreciate this hacked up version of the song.

Even if it's probably going to win the contest for him.

It was already slow. There was no reason to sing it like a bad Vegas lounge singer.

Just listen to a few minutes of the original. More depth. More interesting.

Excuse me, I have 86 Collective Soul songs calling to me. The David Cook version is certainly not one of them.

The Pursuit of Whiteness

2008-05-20T06:55:00.000-07:00

When I was 7 or 8 years old, I thought it was super cool to spin around and around in the swimming pool. I could go really fast, for a very long time. But, when I spun, it made my hair go in my eyes and I couldn't see a thing. Which is why I didn't notice the pool's edge, and upon flinging my head back to get said hair out of my eyes, I smacked my face right into the concrete and broke my front tooth off about half way up. If I allow myself, I can still remember the zinging pain that went clear up into my eyeballs. So instant. One moment, playing and having fun, the next moment, completely consumed by what I can only describe as high-pitched pain. I have no idea what that means, but believe me, it hurt.

The dentist met us at the office, stabbed a needle into the bone in the roof of my mouth (and we wonder why I don't like shots in my mouth) and gave me a beautiful fake tooth. Which lasted until I was 12, when I fell and cracked it. And that lasted until I was 15 when the whole piece got knocked off again during a game of kissing rugby (because Shane didn't really get the concept that just because girls were willing to play kissing rugby, it didn't mean the girls wanted the wind knocked out of them and their teeth cracked in the name of a kiss). And after 3 shots in the roof of my mouth, I became a lot more careful about the fake tooth.

So, 20 years later, the composite material is starting to look pretty bad. It's stained from my heavy coke addiction (the soda kind!) and the bonding is starting to look a little weak. Plus, it isn't very smooth- it has some weird ridges on the front. The time has come to redo the tooth. Except that presents us with a little complication. All of my teeth have suffered from the cola. One of my teeth looks like I've been sucking cigarettes up against it, it's so brown. Or yellow. Just ask Nate, who kindly points out my yellow tooth and mustache as often as he sits on my lap. The turd.

Which brings us to the caustic chemicals. I am now in the process of bleaching my teeth. After they have reached a decent whiteness, we will again inject the bone in the roof of my mouth, remove the old composite, clean it all up and put a new composite on. I believe I will also veneer all 4 top teeth in order to give a better color match. But I haven't decided yet.

In the pursuit of whiteness, I am finding that I have a few issues, which I am loathe to discuss with my dentist. Because I'm pretty sure he already told me all of this, and I wasn't listening. I listened a little, but I figured the bleach would come with instructions in the package. It didn't.

If you know the answers, feel free to help a girl out. Because I can't afford to make this guy any crankier than I did when I started trash talking about his music. He's nice, but everyone has their limits. Honestly, my smile depends on you. And we all know how very vain I am.

If the bleaching is supposed to take 2 weeks and I have 8 tubes of bleach, should I be using 1/2 of a tube each day? Because honestly, that seems like a LOT of bleach.
Is it better to bleach at night?
If I bleach at night, do I brush my teeth after bleaching but before bed?
Or is it better to leave the bleach on after I take the trays out?
Does anybody really care about my bleaching dilemmas?
If I miss a day, will it set back the whole process, or will it not really make a difference?
If I miss a day and do it the next morning, will my teeth fall out if I bleach again at night?
Am I off the Coca-cola for the rest of my life? Because we all know how much I love Coke with Lime on a hot summer day.

And it's 100 degrees here. And my AC isn't working.

Laundry Monster, and Other Assorted Household Evils

2008-05-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

Short of going out and purchasing all new clothes for the family, which I am opposed to less because I am curbing our spending and more because I hate shopping, I must live in the laundry room today. And by live, I mean slowly be crushed by the weight of the 9,000 lbs of dirty clothes, socks, and underwear. But, as a reward, once I am finished with the washing and the drying, I then get to spend the next 4 days ~~beating~~ encouraging Ellie to fold and put them all away. Because it's her job. I have HIRED her to fold and put away clothes. I pay her. Well, not really, because she never actually folds and puts away the clothes. They just multiply like bunnies across the family room.

And after the laundry, I feel compelled to clean the bathrooms. Because they stink. As always. Don't worry though. The boys will be getting out cleanser and washing the walls.

Collective Soul

2008-05-18T00:11:00.000-07:00

One of the benefits of living in Southern California is that many of the casinos book bands for smaller venues in hopes of bringing people in to gamble. The tickets are usually priced well, and the crowds are small-ish. Sure the bands are often older, but I'm older so it works out great.

Tonight, in an effort to prove our stupidity, we left our home where the thermometer read 99 degrees and drove out to Palm Desert area (Hi Katz!). It was kinda similar in temperature to driving into the mouth of hell. I'm thinking it was over 110 in Indio today. But anything for Collective Soul, a band I have been listening to rather incessantly for at least 6 months now.

Because I can dance to them. But not when anyone I know is here. Not to worry. I know my limits. In fact, someone with the initials JS who likes to mess with my teeth but shall remain anonymous recently told me I dance like Elaine from Seinfeld.

I like them because they do really interesting things with their guitar lines. Except in the song Hollywood. I really don't care for the recorded version or that one. In concert though, he added a little AC/DC (I think. I'm not a huge AC/DC fan, so it's hard to be sure) in the middle and perked it right up. Ed Roland, lead singer, was also not shy about paying a little tribute to The Killers, which made me feel all sorts of better about my guilty addiction to them. It was great to hear Collective Soul live because it was obvious that not only do they have genuinely interesting music, Roland has a great voice, unmixed, and they seemed to be having a lot of fun entertaining the crowd.

On the way to the concert, Dave asked me what type of people I thought would be there. I confidently said, age group 25-40, guys in button down shirts with collars and light denim, girls showing lots of cleavage, mid-height heels, and lots of alcohol. And other than a few funky old people getting down in the bleacher type seats, I was pretty much right on. I'm gonna say the anomalies were comped by the casino. Dave was impressed by the accuracy of my prediction. I was disturbed by the 60-year old guy who danced like a big-bellied white boy, but he knew all the words. Clearly a fan. And, we fit right in, sans the cleavage and the alcohol. Dave wore the dark denim rather than the light. I boycotted fashion and wore a dirty T-shirt (because as it happens, I am also boycotting laundry), frayed jeans, and Rebi's shoes. Which were not mid-height heels and were not well received. One drunk bimbo actually eyed them derisively. Or maybe she was just grumpy that I was laughing because she looked like she had sprained both ankles on her cute shoes, and yet continued to hobble around in them.

Sadly, this is the first concert of my life where there was no mosh pit. And frankly, I really missed it. I felt old, standing there in my row, dutifully in front of my seat, trapped behind 3 people swaying with their arms locked, essentially forming a wall between me and the stage. I know I have to come to terms with my mortality at some point, but I wasn't ready to do that in the smokey haze of drums and guitar rifts. And I'm secretly afraid that I might dance like the old big bellied white guy- infinitely worse than dancing like Elaine from Seinfeld.

Always too short, I was pretty bummed when the concert ended. So Dave took pity on me and bought me a T-shirt. Rock on. I can continue to boycott laundry until Monday.

Prince Caspian

2008-05-17T11:10:00.001-07:00

I took Ellie and a friend to Prince Caspian last night. And honestly, I loved the movie. I expected to enjoy it, but not as much as I did. I think I loved it most because I was able to view it through the lens C.S. Lewis intended, with Aslan as an allegory of Christ. I'm not going to say much more about it because I don't want to spoil it the first weekend it is out. I will just say, if you view Aslan through the filter of divine deity, it brings more depth to the film. And if you choose not to, the film is excellent without it.

But this post is not about the movie. Can I talk a minute about the 11-13 year olds in my life?

We don't watch a lot of TV around here. Some Cartoons on Saturdays, some Discovery Channel on Sundays, and an occasional American Idol or so. I don't watch the news and most of my TV viewing I do over the internet, with my headphones on. But I didn't realize how different that really is from other families until the past few days. On Thursday, I was taking my oldest and her friends to dance, and they were discussing news coverage of some gang related violence somewhere in the world. (I wasn't listening very closely, apparently) They were frightened by this. Even though our community is fairly quiet and mostly harmless. I could feel genuine anxiety over potential gang violence and them getting caught in the cross-fire. However that news story was presented, it effectively made suburban tree-lined America feel specifically dangerous to these 13 year old girls.

Last night, before the movie, Ellie's friend talked about several recent things, including an interview with Madeline McCann's parents, another 20/20 story about an abduction, and then the old Elizabeth Smart abduction came up. And again, there was a palpable anxiety there. These children believe that they could be abducted by strangers at any time. "In broad daylight" was said a lot. Because somehow, the thought of stranger abduction is made more frightening by it happening during the day rather than being snatched from your bed in the middle of the night.

Are we doing our kids a disservice by allowing them to see the constant attention things like Natalie Holloway and Elizabeth Smart and Madeline McCann? Several of my children's friends have issues with continued anxiety. But my girls are largely untouched, even a little baffled by the intense emotion. I think it's because the news is not constantly on, filling our house with worry and anxiety and fear. Which I am glad of. I want them to feel that they can be kids, and play outside, and walk to friend's homes and ride bikes together and not be constantly worried that someone might kidnap them. In broad daylight.

The Eye Doctor

2008-05-16T15:53:00.000-07:00

Currently, Dave is in the process of changing jobs, so all of our insurance benefits will reset. Naturally, we want to use whatever we can of the first one, before we switch. So, everyone has been to (and is going to and will always be going to) the dentist. And 4, of the 5 kids and I were also due for eye check ups.

The office we go to is competent and we've never had any issues with our lenses or exams. But their staff is a little odd. So far, 4 of the 5 kids wear or have worn glasses in the past. Dave and I both wear glasses and Dave and Rebi and I all wear contacts. I do. It's been known to happen. So, as you can imagine, in 3 years, we have spent a fair amount of time at this place. And we see the same doctor each and every time. For 3 years. Throw in an eye trauma or two and we're roughly looking at 25 visits to this doctor. Narcissistic me, I kinda assumed we would be memorable. But, in spite of the fact that I have been in that office 3 different times in the last week, and did I mention that I see the same doctor each and every time?, I sat down in the chair and he introduced himself to me. For the third time this week.

And while looking at my chart, where his notes state that I am a good candidate for eye surgery, he said,"Have any of your previous doctors recommended corrective surgery for your vision problems?"

"Umm, yes. You did. I can see it written on my chart from here. And not only did you encourage me to get my eyes fixed last year, you also suggested it 2 years ago, and 3 years ago when I saw you the first time."

And then, he proceeds to marvel at how freakishly different my eyes are from each other, both in shape and in disability. Because the right one is close to fine and normal shaped but the left one is shaped like a football opposite of how it should be shaped like a football in someone's head, and I'm very nearly blind in it. And I realize that on my fourth visit, I can relate nearly word for word exactly what he thinks of my eye. And what a freak I am, because clearly, with an eye this abnormal, I should be running to the laser surgeon just so I can retain a little dignity.

Except that my prescription has worsened in that eye, so I'm not actually a great candidate for surgery anyway. SCRATCH and it's marked through on my chart with a big black pen. I knew I should have paid thousands of dollars to lay sedated on a chair, with my eyes taped open, while sharp pointy things were aimed at them. That makes a root canal sound fun. And now, I have missed my chance. The black mark says so. Which is OK, because I bet by next year, he will have forgotten why he marked it out anyway and I will get another chance at the knives.

And if only that was the worst part of the visit. But no, I was then required to pick out glasses. And even though there are 3 people who help with that there, I always get the bitchy broad. Every single year and with each and every kid. And, although I can not use the word hate, this is a woman I wish not to talk to about glasses ever again in my life.

Her: So, you need new frames.
Me: Well, these are only a year old
Her: But your prescription has changed.
Me: Right. So I need new lenses
Her: Well, the insurance will pay for new frames. (but only $150. If I only need lenses, why spend the $$)?
Me: If I can find any I like (and please know, I'm starting to feel grumpy and confronted here)
Her: There are plenty of good frames here. (and she proceeds to bring out 4 or 5 of the high end, $275-400 frames. Because I am obviously made of money by the gold and jewels dangling off of me)
Me: Yes, but they are too narrow. It gives me a headache if I can see the edge of the glasses under my eye.
Her: (derisively) They don't make the big ones like yours anymore. (apparently my glasses are the size of dinner plates, even though they are not from the 80's, but from her display. Last year.) And anyway, you're going to have to change over at some point.

And now, I'm just annoyed because 2 years ago, I bought the cute skinny frames and had terrible migraines every time I put them on. I always felt like the rim was in the way of my vision in my left eye. And she is the one who half-heartedly tried to kinda sorta look like she was fixing the problem. Unsolvable, she then helped me spend an additional $300 out of pocket for bigger glasses. Hence the dinner plates currently on my face.

Me: I'm not going to purchase small glasses again just to find out they still give me migraines.
Her: Look at me
I look at her
Her: Well. There's your problem. (and would that problem be that I am STILL listening to you even though I think you're rude?) Your left eye is lower than your right.

Finally! My problems are solved! All I need to do is go to the plastic surgeon, ask him to reform my eye socket a bit higher, anchor my eyeball up towards my forehead so that I no longer resemble Quasimodo and I will be able to wear any cute little thin pair of $400 glasses she is dying to sell me. Does my vision plan cover that?

Or maybe it's time to stop being so freaking lazy and start wearing my contacts.

Me: I'm not ready to pick glasses today after all. I'll just pay for my visit and come back another time. And by that, I mean to pick up a copy of my prescription so that I can shop for glasses somewhere that the sales person can forget for a few minutes that she works on commission and pretend that she gives a rat's a** about her customer.

But you know I didn't really say that last bit. Because I'm a bigger person than that.

Barely.

I did leave. I'll call for a copy of my prescription. Maybe they can fax it to me. . .

Well Hello, All

2008-05-15T23:40:00.000-07:00

For you regular readers who aren't subscribed to the Craftzine.com blog, it seems that my tortilla tutorial has become a bit popular. Which makes me laugh a little, because I honestly had no idea over ~~500~~ 1000 people would care to learn how to make tortillas. Even more amusing is the fact that the person I posted it for, ahem Aaron, still hasn't even looked at it. Because he'll read through the tutorial about 10 minutes prior to the time he needs the tortillas.

So, I am flattered that a little help for a friend could be interesting world wide. And to everyone new to the Misfires, welcome. I believe some of our newest members will stick around. Until I bore them to death. Or get all ranty about certain holidays involving hearts. But let's not delve into THAT again, shall we?

There's just one little problem with the Misfires that I should clear up before we add a lot of new friends.

Not enough of you are leaving comments.

I know, it sounds like I selfishly expect you to spend time validating me. Which is true. But MORE than that, I love to hear someone else's take on my warped sense of humor, or my bizarre-o opinions. And for everyone who has been reading faithfully since Day 1- Mom, you know who you are- don't think you're exempt from the occasional chiming in.

Am I asking too much here? Just throw me a bone and make an observation or tell me I'm nuts. Even a little "ha=ha". You too Alex. I know you're there. . .

OK, I'm done outting everyone. Again, thanks for letting me entertain you. I do live for it just a tiny bit.

Son, Be a Dentist: Part Deux

2008-05-15T01:08:00.000-07:00

I have made my feelings for dentists quite clear. I do not dislike the dentists' chair, I loathe it. In the "detest it with a mad and fiery passion" sense of the word. Loathe.

However, I must be fair. My current dentists rock. Yes, that's plural because they share a practice. And you can choose to see one of them, or you can take what you get when your filling falls out and the hole where it was is open to the nerve and the pain is bad enough that you think of Tom Hanks and find yourself shuffling towards the garage on the look out for pliers because they will be so much easier than a skate. Can I have an amen? Either way, you are in great hands. With these dentists. Not with the pliers. Or the skate.

Which is a good thing, as my jacked up teeth will be sitting in the chair for no less than 37 years. At which point, they will complete the final dental work and promptly begin to yank them all and fit me for dentures. Couldn't we just skip a step or 30? Preferably the ones involving the scraping and the prodding and the grinding away of pieces of my body with a look of joy on your face?

Well, there are a few pieces of my body I'm willing to part with. . .with joy on my face. . .

But you don't have to take my word for it. Evan, Tyler and I all went to the dentist today. I saw both dentists while the boys each saw one. I win! Evan said he has never had better shots. What? A child praising long pointy objects being rammed into the tender flesh of his mouth? ROCK ON! And Tyler said, "You know mom, I really hate getting shots in my mouth, but I can't decide who does them best, Dr Sorge or Dr Fox." OK, I'm lying a little. He's only ever seen Dr Fox. Who looks 12, but listens to good music, so he gets my vote for the good dentist bit. But I've had shots from both dentists and not hated them either time. Another first.

In the attitude of full disclosure, I feel compelled to warn you that although Dr Sorge is kind enough to make an ipod with rocking Bose headphone available to drown out the sounds of his incessant (but to be fair, not off key) humming, the tunes themselves are a little less than rocking. Michael Buble, Norah Jones. Boston. He's killing me. I believe he was trying to lull me into a soft jazzy pop stupor so I would forget to bite him when he stabbed me with the sharp pointy probe that dentists love to stick in every soft place in your mouth. I realize I'm probably the only person in the blogoshpere that cannot stand "More Than a Feeling" playing in my ears while the drill kicks tooth dust into my nose, but I was finally forced to rescue my itouch from Tyler before Boston melted my brain into a gelatinous mess. I insisted on using the Bose 'phones. And to be fair again, there were no sharp objects randomly poked into soft flesh in my mouth. Other than the shots I barely felt. But if he reads this post, I'm betting there will be the next time I see him. Which I believe is tomorrow.

Honestly, if you don't hold his music against him-and the praise from my son has me about 3/4 of the way there- you should totally go to these dentists. They have been. . .dare I say excellent? Wait. I take that back. I don't want to be fighting all y'all for chair time for the next 37 years. And no, you can't borrow my ipod.

(Note: Neither of these dentists did the painful root canal that I wrote about a few weeks ago and then linked to in the first line of this post. Different guy. Whom I won't ever go back to because Sorge and Fox are better.)

Knott Another Typical Day

2008-05-14T18:01:00.000-07:00

Have I ever blogged about my friend Shari? She's the one who convinced me to paint my house in Salt Lake a bunch of different awesome colors. She's the one who convinced me that going to Orlando via Boston would totally rock. She's the one who talked me into changing my own alternator belt on an old Mazda. And after she talks me into stuff, she helps me carry out the plan. We poured cement in my kitchen- with the help of 8 kids under the age of 9- and tiled three rooms, we cut holes in a wall for better AC access and then finished and decorated them, we changed the alternator and the brakes, chainsawed a tree and removed a stump from her back yard, grouted her entire kitchen, and then scrubbed 2 gallons of white paint back off of it, (after her oldest child "helped" us) and 100 or more other things that I can't remember. She let me hold her newest of newborn babies, in the hospital, all night long. OK, she didn't really have a choice there, as she was too weak to make me go home so I took advantage. She let me cry on her new couches after my roommate from college died. She forgave Dave on sight when he dropped and shattered their only (expensive) television. And I sincerely hope I can find the pictures of that one because that story really does need to live on for many many moons.

And I have come to learn (and not without a fight) that Shari, much like Dad in that old sitcom, always knows best. Which is not to say I wasn't grumpy at 6 am when I got up to drive to Long Beach to get her. Never mind that she flew in exclusively to help me take a day off- something I just don't do like I should. I was still grumpy. Before dawn and rush hour just don't belong in the same sentence. Or anywhere near my life. But hey, it's a sacrifice. And when Shari says, "I'll see you in the morning", I have learned that it is in my best interest to see Shari.

When I picked her up, she said, "So what do you want to do for the day?"
And struck by inspiration, I said, "Well Knotts Berry Farms is close."

Yes, yes we did. We took our creaky hips and sticky knees and weak bladders and baby tummies and we rode every roller coaster in the park. Some of them twice.

We ate bugs, and choked on our own laughter and screamed and screamed and screamed. Shari nearly puked 3 or 4 times. And some weirdo nearly puked on me once. From the top of the tallest tower in the park. I was afraid he would puke and then we would catch it on the way back up.

We sat on the front on every ride except one. And if anyone invites you to sit on the back row on the Boomerang, please just say no. Honestly. There's some hang time on that one. And it isn't entirely painless.

Don't be fooled by the Silver Bullet. It isn't silver. What kind of joker paints a ride red, except for the struts holding the track, loads it with green, red and yellow swings, and then names it the silver bullet?

This was actually our last ride of the day, so we hobbled up the 720 steps to it, too proud to ride the elevator, too many worn joints to pretend we were teenagers, mocking ourselves the entire way for looking 90. But once it was over and our equilibrium was permanently damaged, we had to agree looking 90 going up the stairs was WAYY better than the hysterical laughter we were met with when we had to scoot on our butts to get back down 720 stairs without falling over!

And lest you should be worried about the kids, I want to reassure you that I kept them updated all day long by text messaging photos of each ride to them. I didn't want them to think I just forgot about them.

So, if I burst out laughing for no apparent reason over the next few days, I'm just reliving the insanity. Or realizing the insanity. Or reveling in the insanity. I don't know which, I get confused. But let me tell you, we had a blast!

P.S. If you ride this ride:
you absolutely HAVE to scream as you go over. It totally makes the experience. We found that out from the teenagers in the row behind us. They certainly made it the best ride of the day. I'd share the joke, but it's hysterical when you figure it out for yourself.

Signs

2008-05-13T19:59:00.001-07:00

Chicago Mike, this is for you:

Because I thought of you as soon as I saw it. In fact, I unsafely took a picture while driving just to share with you. Because I'm a giver.

We shall heretofore never refer to these as "tip jars" again.

Because "Karma Jars" is just so awesome. I emptied my wallet into it. AND I crossed my fingers. I hope it works. . .

I need a vacation

2008-05-12T13:25:00.000-07:00

I have been dreaming of foreign travel. And I have been researching where I could take the kids without it costing us an arm and a leg. But unless I booked tickets from Pakistan to Malaysia in some sort of fugue state, I'm pretty sure my credit card has been compromised.

Which is made even more bizarre by the fact that it's a debit card tied to an account that has very little money in it and NEVER gets used. I was anxious to talk to the bank's fraud department and find out all of the details, but I waited on hold for 15 minutes and then my phone died.

Thank goodness whoever violated my financial security could only use the numbers as a credit card and not a debit card. Otherwise, I would be $1150 poorer and still be looking at the same boring walls!

Recap

2008-05-11T22:22:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day was a huge success. Just ask Evan, who woke up with his regularly occurring bout of back pain and promptly took pain killers and went back to bed. Or you can ask Tyler, who woke up with what he could only describe as a blinding migraine. Literally. Or maybe Nate who claimed his stomach was too sick to go to church. Oh I know! Ask Ellie, who jumped off the counter (after getting out ingredients for the very delicious triple layer "Happy Madre Day" cake pictured above) and managed to bang her elbow into the granite counter top. No, she still isn't using it. Yes, it is bruised in a very weird fashion. Yes, barring a miracle I will be taking her for Xrays in the morning.

There were the typical highlights of arguing over the Wii, but over all they reigned themselves in quite nicely. Nate did not sit on my lap telling me he loved me all day, although Tyler and Evan gave me copious hugs. Then again, that could have been a direct result of the drugs they were on.

My favorite quotes of the day:

Jenne's daughter: Mom, it's not fair. Moms and Dads get two whole days dedicated to them because they get Mother's or Father's Day AND their birthdays. Kids only get their birthdays. While it might be true that Dads get 2 whole days dedicated to them every year, Jenne was pretty sure that the fact she was helping her daughter do the dishes from the meal Jenne had cooked was a pretty good indicator of the reality of Motherhood.

Nate: Mom, Happy Mother's Day! You can ask me to do any task at all and I will do it. I will do anything you ask me to. And after a brief pause, he must have realized the implications of it, because then he said, But not if it takes too long. We're still trying to define "too long". It turns out going to the garage for a can of olives is waaay over the time limit he imposed. . .

My Mom: You've had the Wii for how long and they didn't get the cleaning done? I think there's something wrong there. I don't think you've trained them very well. Because no Mother's Day would be complete without my own mother imposing a sense of failure on me, right?

And now, I think I shall go "recover" from Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day

2008-05-11T08:04:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother's Day.

As we know from my Valentine's Rant, I'm not exactly a fan of the forced holidays. And, according to this article, the founder of Mother's Day wouldn't be thrilled either:

On this 100th anniversary of Mother's Day, the woman credited with creating one of the world's most celebrated holidays probably wouldn't be pleased with all the flowers, candy or gifts.

Jarvis became known for scathing letters in which she would berate people who purchased greeting cards, saying they were too lazy to write personal letters "to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world."

But, Mother's Day is all about the leverage. So, today my kids will make a disaster in my kitchen trying to cook for me, and the boys will spend all day giving me hugs, sitting on me, and saying I love you. And within reason, doing anything I ask them to. There's really nothing better than a day of being able to say, "I don't care what you want, it's MY day, so do what I tell you!" And all iterations thereof. And while I'm not sure they have fully earned the Wii, they worked like dogs Friday and Saturday. I'm sure that had nothing to do with me threatening the post the Wii on eBay. Hopefully, after my iron will cracks and the box is opened, I will be able to use Wii time as leverage to get a little more work out of them. With only one controller, I have a sneaking suspicion that Mother's Day Wii playing will be anything but quiet. Or friendly.

Here's the answer to Friday's obscure quote. Which I didn't quote it directly. Just watch the clip. . .

PhotoShop

2008-05-10T09:16:00.000-07:00

I have a decent camera that I don't know how to use.
I have adorable kids that do funny things that I can photograph endlessly.
Lately, every photo I take is messed up somehow.

I think it might be time to make an investment into photoshop. (and maybe a class or two, but who has time for that?!)

Which version? Do any of you use it? Feel like giving a girl some advice?

Bribery Won't Work

2008-05-09T01:08:00.000-07:00

If you are ever in a position where you want to bribe my kids to do something for you, I just want to be the first to say, bribery won't work. It won't. I have trained them to be upstanding and moral and impervious to bribery. (Blackmail is a different matter.)

But Bribery won't work. And I know this because I tested it. Over 5 months ago, I bought the kids a Wii.

It was a bribe. An experiment in motivation. Which failed. Because they aren't so much upstanding and moral and impervious, as they are inherently a little lazy (which they come by naturally from their dad). And they are HUGE procrastinators (another unsightly trait that comes from their dad), and they all have a ~~big heaping inability to pay attention~~ wee bit of ADD. OK, a couple have a wee bit of the ADHHHHHHHHHHHHHHD. But there's no need to discuss where that comes from. And I am ~~completely worn down to a raw nerve with just getting them to comb their hair and put clean clothes on~~ trying to teach them to make their own choices and be responsible for themselves.

What I'm trying to say is that we STILL haven't opened the Wii. In spite of Dave and I working beside them, (C'mon, kids! The de-garbaging of the house is fun for the whole family!) we are still not done.

Finally, in desperation, I sat the kids down a few nights ago and said, "Do you know what I really want for Mother's Day?" And please, feel free to judge me for using that holiday against them. It's the only one I get any mileage out of all year. I plan my requests 6-8 months in advance. Last year, I received the "World's Best MOM" award. Yep, I effectively used that against them for months.

"What Mommy? What do you want?" 10 beautiful eyes stared at me expectantly. . .
"I really really really want to play the Wii." Because it's now just one more piece of clutter sitting around collecting dust! Because I love you and I know you are all dying to play with that amazing gaming system which has been next to the TV, ironically buried in clutter, since I bought it 5 months ago. Because if I have to spend one more day staring at piles of stuff no one uses, cares about or will miss, I might be forced to take a little vacation to the psyche ward.

And, those darling little kids proceeded to. . . do very nearly nothing. It's OK. At least I know they can not be bribed. I am proud of that achievement.

And at the rate we're going, we will be able to play the Wii about the time the next generation console, the Puu, comes out. Yep, you heard it here first. The Puu. Which is clearly fictional. Unless Nintendo has an extraordinarily infantile funny bone. And "they might, rabbit. They might". (quick. . .who can tell me where that last quote was adapted from? I'll even give a prize to the first correct guess. I'm thinking itunes credit. But I draw the line at bribes)

Quotables

2008-05-08T07:48:00.000-07:00

Rebi: Mom, PLEASE don't blog about this. (and I won't blog about what she wished me not to blog about, exactly).

Evan: Mom, this book is too sad for Tyler to read. It's even making me feel sad. (the book is The Day of Tears and follows a slave through an auction and resettling in a new home)

Ellie: Wait, when you say hot fudge, do you just mean regular fudge, but heated up? (by regular fudge, she is indeed referring to the candy type, not the topping type).

Tyler: Aren't you supposed to be in the car with the woman when she drives off? (made extremely funny because it was made in the middle of an intense Adam and Eve discussion).

Nate: Well, that was not a part of my evil plan. (pause) Not that I have an evil plan, but if I did have an evil plan, THAT would not be part of it. (long long pause) Wait! I think I really DO have an evil plan.

Tortilla Tutorial

2008-05-07T08:19:00.001-07:00

This post is dedicated to Jenne, who taught me everything I know about making tortillas, ~~destroying my ability to eat packaged tortillas forever~~ enriching my life.

You will need salt, flour, Crisco, and water. Here's the recipe for amounts.
There is a learning curve, so plan on a few practice rounds before you "go live"

Special tools you will need- a frying pan, a rolling pin, and a pastry cutter.

Put the flour in the bowl and add salt. I call it a palm full. It's hard to screw this up. Just don't add a handful or anything. Stir a little.

Dump the Crisco in the center of the flour. The more Crisco you have, the softer the tortillas will be. Unless you add too much, at which point you will not have tortillas but little grease balls.

Using the pastry cutter, cut in the Crisco until it resembles coarse crumbs (pictured below).
You can use two knives and cross cut for this as well, but pastry cutters are cheap. Obviously, I own two. We make a lot of tortillas. Once I rolled out 60 in one sitting. I don't recommend it.

Can you see the coarse crumbs? Look closely! Note to self: Next time, use flood lights. . .

Pour the hot water in all at once.

Stir until dough starts to combine.

At this point, you might need a little more water. You want the dough to be damp and soft, but not too sticky.

Get your deformed hand attached to your deformed arm in there and work that dough into a ball. If you over work the dough, it will be tough.

See the beautiful dough ball?

Now, seperate the big dough ball into 10-12 little dough balls. These are around golf ball size.

Flour the counter well and place the dough in the center.

With your awesome rolling pin, that someone who shall remain nameless used as a hammer and dinged up, roll from the center of the dough out, evenly around the circle. I found myself rolling towards my body as well as out. Go Figure. No wonder I am always completely covered in flour at the end of tortilla making.

If the dough starts to stick to the counter, pick it up and add flour to the counter. Flip the tortilla over and keep rolling. You are likely to do this 3-4 times in making 1 tortilla.

Preheat your pan to medium- on our stove it's a 5. Again, you'll figure this out as you practice. DO NOT OIL THE PAN. That step is very important. . .
Once you see bubbles like this, flip the tortilla over. You can use your fingers, a spatula, or the flapjack method. But beware, the steam in those bubbles is wicked hot.

Brown on the other side (approx 1-2 minutes per side) and eat.

DISCLAIMER: You may never be able to eat a store-bought tortilla again. . .

Edible Flies

2008-05-06T10:20:00.000-07:00

I was making tortillas for dinner last night. My constant companion, Nate was right there helping.

Nate: Mom, is Crisco edible?

Me: Sure is. Here. have a taste (and yes I did place a decent sized glob of it right in his mouth. Poor kids thought he had hit the jackpot, for about 1/2 of a second.)

Nate: EEEWWW!
Please take a moment and make the worst face you can think of. Now go look in the mirror. Now pretend that's the face Nate made. But funnier

Me: Hysterical with laughter. Sorry, Honey. I didn't think you would find it THAT gross.

Nate: It tastes like FLIES!

So, apparently Nate eats flies. He thinks they are disgusting, but he eats them anyway. I was laughing too hard to get into the details, but his explanation for fly eating involved peanut butter and jelly. . .

Learning to Drive

2008-05-04T23:03:00.000-07:00

I have always felt like kids who go places without their parents on a regular basis should have a couple of things:
1) a cell phone
2) a working knowledge of a car

When I say "without their parents on a regular basis", I mean as they start going to summer camps and school trips where mom and dad just aren't close enough to be of help. When I say a working knowledge of a car, I mean the ability to drive it for short distances, in an emergency, to get to safety or to get themselves or someone else help.

Please judge that however you will. I have no problems with the fact that people do not agree with me. I will still be teaching my kids to drive. That might stem from the fact that I got a crash course in driving when my choices were to either drive myself home from the middle of nowhere (that's how I learned to drive a stick too, coincidentally) or ride passenger with a drunk driver. OK, I believe the first time I drove very slowly home, the owner of the car was stoned, but impaired nonetheless.

So, Last Tuesday, before the kids left on their excellent adventure, I put Rebi behind the wheel and had her practice easing on the gas, easing off the gas, easing on the brake. She did really well, with only a few little jerks and violent stops.

Evan was in the back seat, and got a little cocky, saying he could drive better. So, I got the van all lined up to give him a nice stretch of straight with very few obstacles on either side. He checked his mirrors, released the emergency brake, eased off the brake, and then pretty much stomped on the gas. Apparently I was not clear enough in telling him the gas pedal requires VERY LITTLE pressure. I should have said NO pressure.

Completely freaked out, his utter panic was only made worse by me saying,

"brake brake BRAKE BRAKE BRAKE!"

At this point, Evan accidentally moved the wheel a little and we started hurtling towards a tree. Which made him even more freaked out and he still couldn't get his foot to the brake pedal. I very nearly dropped the engine from the car by slamming it into neutral. And as soon as that happened, he smashed his foot into the brake pedal.

We screeched to a halt, noses to the windshield, not so much worse for wear, but with a healthier respect for mom's driving. I gave myself a few minutes to catch my breath again and put him back in the driver's seat where he was much better about easing on and off the gas and certainly moved his foot to the brake in a more timely manner.

I wonder if I could buy a used Driver's Ed car with the passenger side brake. Because that would make teaching 5 kids to drive a whole lot less nerve wracking.

Tall Ships Expedition

2008-05-03T16:46:00.000-07:00

The adventure begins

Ellie is exhausted from talking for 2 hours straight.

PLEASE no one let them steer the ship!

Finally boarding the ferry to Catalina Island.

The ship, underway.

The boat was chilly. Rebi bundled up in Jenna's jacket. Thanks Jenna!

My Evan, pulling faces? Never happens. . .

The awesome crew.

The "Sexy Piggly Something or others" I will have to find out their group name and re-caption this photo.

Oh yeah, baby! Time to snorkel! They were able to pet sharks and dive to the ocean bottom for shells. They saw sea cucumbers, sea hair, sheep crabs, sea urchins. . .and lots and lots of fish.
And probably 90 other things I don't remember. . .

A huge pod of dolphins. Although difficult to see in this photo, the kids said there were hundreds of dolphins playing around by them.

Evan and Floppy. Or Yako. I can't tell them apart.

The ship motoring into the dock at Long Beach.

Back on dry land. But they were listing sideways. . .and they all rocked back and forth through dinner.

On the way home, they talked non-stop and most of it was about new knowledge. They learned to set and strike sails, all about lines and how they differ from ropes, loads of oceanography, the correct way to use snorkel gear, the beauty of neoprene, and even a little astronomy and history. THEY TOOK NOTES!

At one point, Rebi said it was once of the most amazing things she has done so far in her life. All of them want to take the 20 day trip over the summer. At $3500 per kid, that would take a miracle. I'll just place a little "donate via Paypal" button at the top of the blog, shall I? But if I can swing it, they are going. 3 weeks without them? A little slice of heaven. . .

A Community of Love

2008-05-02T12:13:00.000-07:00

I started reading a blog called FatCyclist when Ellie and Evan started training for their 280 mile ride.

I was quickly enthralled by his writing style and his mix of personal life and cycling information. He is witty and real and engaging.

Last night, I checked in with Fatty. I was absolutely moved by this post, regarding his beautiful wife and her ongoing battle with cancer. If you read through some of the comments, you will see the beauty of the blog community.

Words fail me.

Movie review

2008-05-01T15:23:00.000-07:00

As per Kirsti's recommendation, I just rented Lars and the Real Girl. I expected a slap-stick type comedy with glimpses of real life mixed in but it was nowhere close to that. Although quirky and amusing, it was not so much a comedy. Instead, it's a tender look into mental illness. Ryan Gosling was great in it. Even better was the guy who plays brother to Lars, Gus. It's an incredible amount of acting to be supportive and bewildered and concerned and guilty all at once.

And my favorite line of the movie: After Lars has asked Gus how he knew he was grown up, Gus said to him,
"There's still a kid inside but you grow up when you decide to do right, okay? And not what's right for you, what's right for everybody, even when it hurts."

Amazingly well done. I even choked up a little at the end over the compassion Lars is shown throughout the movie.

Thanks Kirst! I never would have seen it without your plug for it.

Never Lost Again!

2008-04-30T18:41:00.000-07:00

With a title like that, I could write late night infomercials!

However, this is me singing praises for a real live product or program or whatever you want to call it. I call it joy. I will never be lost again. Unless of course my phone loses service, but that is a different post for another time.

I am currently enamored of Verizon Navigator. Why the love? Well, aside from the fact that it never once led us astray in Florida 30 days ago, it has twice now saved my sorry misdirected ahem fanny. The first time, Mapquest gave me the wrong directions (I swear!!) and I drove around for about 15 minutes getting more and more lost. Rebi and her phone of wonder weren't with me, so in a fit of desperation, I pulled out my phone and started searching the Get it Now programs. Who knew my crappy little toy-looking phone even had capabilities for turn by turn navigation?

Today, it came to the rescue again. True to our "Year of Experience" theme, I ~~cheered wildly~~ planned carefully in order to send Rebi, Evan and Ellie on a 3 day stay in the middle of the ocean. On a ship of course, where I can't hear them ~~fighting~~ ~~waging war~~ ~~gabbing on their phones~~ playing nicely together. I mean really, what could be better for experience than getting a taste of sailing a real ship 100 miles away from mom?

So, today we had to have them in Long Beach by 8:30 am. Sadly, that means that to be sure we were on time, we had to leave before 6 am. It is only 78 miles, but does indeed take up to 2 and 1/2 hours to get there in rush hour. I've never been anywhere in Long Beach except the airport and had planned on using google maps to find my way to our destination, but when the packet showed up, it specifically said not to use mapquest or google maps because every year they have led people to a different location with a similar address. Of course, the enclosed directions were from a freeway I've never heard of, being as I don't drive anywhere close to LA unless it's for the chance on 3 days of freedom.

I don't suppose anyone would believe me if I tried to claim I shed tears as I put the kids on the ship, would they? Right.

So, dutifully, I examined maps and figured out a simple way to get to the freeway where the directions start, examined the area around and near the ending destination, and went to bed for a whopping 4 hours of sleep. Because Rebi is a procrastinator and didn't finish packing until after midnight. She gets it from her dad.

Have I ever mentioned in any previous posts my inability to think before the crack of noon? Or really, any time at all. But I can only post that because 3 of my kids have no access to internet and will never see that I've admitted it openly. Today was typical.

I have driven the 91 freeway at least 20 times, and had no reason to be concerned that we wouldn't make it to the 710 and our final destination with time to spare. Which is a really long way of saying, SINCE WHEN DOES THE 91 SPLIT AND BECOME THE 55 IN THE SHORT SPACE OF TIME IT TOOK ME TO SKIP 3 OR 19 SONGS ON MY iTOUCH???

SO, realizing I am suddenly on my way to Newport, and not Long Beach, and knowing that there is an imminent threat of reaching the boat just in time to watch it sail off with my $600 and 3 empty berths, and knowing that Ellie had not stopped talking for over an hour starting BEFORE THE SUN CAME UP and that I would be listening to her sobbing the entire 2 plus hours back home AND with the threat of 3 tired, disappointed and cranky children on my hands, I totally agreed to pay the $9.99 or any amount of money to get us back to the 91 and to that stupid boat.

Except Verizon didn't recognize the 91 freeway as a destination. And, although that is the only fault I find with the joy I call navigator, I do hope they remedy that little glitch. At that point, I got out the map the field trip mom had provided and started to enter the address of our final destination, only to realize it wasn't on that sheet, but on paperwork I left at home. I entered a nearby street instead and was promptly kicked off of the 55 in order to connect with the 57 South which would take me to the 22 and I would not only miss the boat, but wander downtown Long Beach for hours. No, I didn't love the navigator directions, but I had faith it would get me close enough to find my way with my map. That is, until I got on the 57 North instead. I realized my mistake about the time the navigator started intoning, "recalculating route. recalculating route. recalculating route." I'm sure I fried the internal circuitry as it attempted to figure out how to make me execute a legal U-turn on the freeway. And did I mention it was bumper to bumper with rush hour traffic? I swear, the navigator had to bite it's tongue to keep from wondering aloud how stupid I must be to 1) follow the split to the 55 rather than staying firmly on the 91 and 2) not be able to enter a freeway headed the right direction. After all, it was telling me every turn at .1 mile intervals.

But, the fairytale has a happy ending. After less than a mile on the 57 North, navigator told me to prepare to exit onto the 91 in 1.2 miles. Woo Hoo! I screwed up and ended up right back where I wanted to be! And I even managed to get on the 91 heading west and not east. I know, miraculous. This kind of crazy NEVER happens to me. I know people who lead a charmed life, but I plan for the unexpected. Self-fulfilling prophesy? Never!

Sadly, the ship then docked 2 hours late, so we got up at 5 am and fought rush hour traffic just to sit and wait for 2 more hours. If I hadn't still been kissing my phone for getting us to our destination, I might have been frustrated.

I had to try my best not to dance a jig as they walked up the gangplank, but I forced a tear out because I just can't afford one more contribution to their therapy fund. Even if they are going to need it desperately.

My apologies if this is incoherent rambling. My lack of sleep has caught up with me.

Imagine

2008-04-29T15:01:00.001-07:00

. . .my depression to find out there is no longer a Ben and Jerry's in Temecula. Goodbye, 1253 calories per bite. I will miss you!

I do believe I will head off to the grocery store for a few items. Never mind if one or two of them happen to be of the cookie dough or phish food variety. . .

Public Service Announcement

2008-04-29T01:10:00.000-07:00

P.S. It's free cone day at Ben and Jerry's today. I am sorry in advance to those of you who do not have a Ben and Jerry's store close to you.

Calories consumed on free cone day do not count. Happy eating!

She told me!

2008-04-29T00:13:00.000-07:00

In this post, some months ago, I shared a more literate passage from a person I own a chunk of worthless land with. We hold onto this land purely for sentimental reasons. Unless of course it's because we all love to have pointless arguments over email. My sentimental reasons for continuing to own this land with my 42 or 52 or 62 cousins (right, I have no idea how many owners there are in the land. Nor do I know how many actual cousins I have. Which only makes this funnier, if you want my opinion. Which you seem to or you wouldn't still be reading this very long parenthetical statement.) are quickly being worn away by the amount of concentration and reading and rereading and rereading it takes to understand most of what is posted by this particular cousin.

After a particularly illiterate string of email in March, I replied with: Although honestly,I have a very hard time understanding most of what J_____ says in her emails, so I'm not sure what her real opposition to a _____________________ might be.

Well, I want you to know that a month later, I have been set straight. Just as I was logging off to go to bed, a new email came in from her that says (and I am sharing this with you because it actually makes sense. I just wanted to prove it happens now and then):

The value of reading and re-reading very slowly before posting is very desirable and is not to be underestimated in helping to clear up one's own lack of understanding of another.

There is a saying: The goal is not to get through a book as fast as you can, but to get the book through you (Meaning: to absorb or soak up, to really learn from it, to truly strive to understand the book)

Except, what about when you strive for that and there still are not enough verbs and nouns in correct use to get anything through anyone? So, I chuckled to myself a little because there's really no more effort I can put into understanding some of these emails, at least not without a translator, and if I ask for clarification, often the response is farther from the topic than when we started. And then, as I started to shut the browser window, I noticed several more email coming through from her. So far, she's sent through 23 separate email. And she honestly expects me to "absorb or soak up" every single one of them. Which nearly has me in tears both from the audacity of it all- as if anyone who owns the land has time for 23 convoluted emails- and the futility of it all. For both her and me.

She has finally overwhelmed me with sheer volume. Just like the Russians in WWII. I can no longer justify sending my brain cells into battle, to fight a war they are destined to lose. Not because she has outwitted me, but because just like the Russians, she has totally out manned me. I have no more heavy artillery. I have no more brilliant battle plans. She has won a battle I never realized I was fighting, because I have the nerve to wonder why the land can't just sit there doing nothing as it has done for the last 20 million years. Then again, we all know how I am about pipe dreams.

Hi Monday

2008-04-28T14:43:00.000-07:00

One of my delightful and lovely children is currently in meltdown over a back pack.

She or He is packing for a 3-day trip on the ocean on a big sailing ship, but rather than being excited and cheerful, she or he is throwing a massive fit. Over a backpack. Because it's the wrong color.

I even invited she or he to purchase themselves a new backpack with their own money but for haven's sake to stop the freaking crying over a backpack. But, of course, I am not being sympathetic to the color dilemma. Because I am old and cannot possibly understand the importance of color in one's packing decisions.

I must look into extending that trip from 3 days to 7.

Ostrich

2008-04-28T00:21:00.000-07:00

I have so many questions about this weird and twisted story.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080428/ap_on_re_eu/austria_captive_daughter

Daughter leaves home to join a cult, but the "cult" allows her to bring babies back and leave them on her parents' doorstep? But only 3.

Locked away in the basement of an apartment building. . .and no one noticed in over 24 years? There's nobody that insists on a key to a locked door?

Do all of the people living in the cellar have rickets and other diseases from malnutrition?

His wife claims she never knew there was anything at all going on? If he raped his first daughter, isn't it likely that he raped the 19-year old that was treated in the hospital? Is this dude father and great grandfather to some unlucky child out there?

And how does his wife know nothing? Give me a break! This is twisted. Twisted leaves a residue that you have to be an ostrich not to notice- or admit.

It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about the padded room.

Sorry for the depressing post about grossness. I hope to soon be back to our regularly scheduled funny.

Happy Happy Birthday Ellie!

2008-04-27T14:04:00.000-07:00

Ellie's birthday was the 21st, but I was so busy blogging about the dentist that I didn't blog about her. Poor middle kid.

We had her party yesterday, complete with 20 of her very closest friends. Here are the pics in no particular order:

And she's pretty sure that 11 is officially old enough to babysit for other people. With two older siblings as competition, she wanted to be sure I plugged that for her. Babysitting. Ellie. If you don't mind that she's 11.

Happy Birthday!

Note to Self:

2008-04-25T21:42:00.001-07:00

When your Rheumatologist prescribes prednisone prior to dental work, take the prednisone. It is a very bad idea to skip it, especially if you don't get enough sleep to begin with.

No matter how much you wish to act like the arthritis is not changing your life, the doctor actually does know best.

Reminiscent

2008-04-25T16:07:00.000-07:00

With all of the talk of Michael Jackson it reminded me of one of my favorite drinks growing up.

Does anyone else remember the Clearly Canadian beverage line? I looked for it at the store today, but there wasn't any.

Busted

2008-04-24T12:29:00.000-07:00

Rebi: Mom, I'm writing a story and one line says, "Her cell phone rang, a jangling 80's tune by an artist known as the King of Pop." Do you know who that is?
Mom: (absentmindedly working on a contract and not really listening) Uhm. No. Not really.
Rebi: You don't know who the King of Pop is? How can you not know Michael Jackson?
Mom: Well Reb, I was never a huge Michael Jackson fan.

Ellie: Yeah huh Mom, I read it in your journal that you LOVED Michael Jackson.

Which cracks me up because I honestly don't remember loving him. And, for the record, I was 9. It wasn't a recent journal or anything.

So, in looking for a fun Michael Jackson clip to post with this, I found this little gem on YouTube.

What a great way to spend all of that extra "free" time, right? Frankly, I'm way more frightened of the "girl" in the video than I am of the zombies.

Pipe Dream?

2008-04-23T22:57:00.000-07:00

Please excuse the double post today. It's just that I might actually get to sink into my bed before midnight tonight. I might even begin to slumber before 2 am. Which is news. Big news. If it's true. If it's not some horrible joke being played upon me by a cruel universe. . .

See? I need sleep. My brain cells are starting to ooze out my ears. It's pretty gross. And I can't find the Q-tips.

But 4 of my 5 kids are out of their beds for the ~~3rd~~ 965th time tonight. So maybe I will have to embrace the fact that my best dreams are indeed pipe dreams.

Momentarily I was excited about getting to bed "early", but now I've talked myself out of believing in the miracle.

Math, my least favorite subject

2008-04-23T09:53:00.000-07:00

Although there are few of us in this world crazy enough to home school our herds, I wanted to bring some attention to the unique struggles we face as parents. I like to think of it as activism. Drawing awareness to human rights abuses worldwide.

Contrary to my exaggerations in this post, my kids do not sit around watching TV and playing video games instead of attending school. I know it looks that way to anyone who visits my house on a semi-regular basis, but it is simply not true. It's an evil rumor.

Right now, it is time to start assessing all of the things we need to cover next year. Because honestly, it's spring and this year is a total bust. After 3 years of this, you would think I could remember that all of the learning has to happen before daylight savings time kicks in again. And frankly, George W isn't helping me with that any. And my energy bills don't seem to have gone down much either. Can I have an amen?

Anywhoo. . .so I'm looking at math programs. Rebi and Evan have the choice of Geometry, Number theory, Algebra 2, Probability, and probably 32 other types of math I know nothing about. Because I am not a fan. Addition and subtraction? Sure. I'll even do some multiplication and division. Fractions, parabolas and the quadratic equation all go straight over my head. OK, maybe not the fractions, but don't ask me to divide them.

In addition to the choices of subject matter, there are at least 19 different ways to teach each one. Community college? Online programs? DVD's? Straight text book? Life of Fred? Art of Problem Solving? Teaching Textbooks? Aleks? EPGY? Honestly, the possibilities are endless. And opinions on each vary just like snowflakes. Ask 30 people which math program to use and no two opinions will be the same.

So, before August, I need to take a math class. Then, I will use my newfound skills to calculate the statistical probability of success for each child based on the inverse function of cost of programs versus retention of skills. I will even factor in the cost of switching programs in January when it becomes clear that my first choice was a total failure not only for my kids, but miraculously for every home schooled child on the planet. Because that's usually the type of course I start with. Trust me when I say, bargain shopping with your children's' education is not going to benefit anyone. Well, except your toes because you will still be able to afford pedicures. But the "inexpensive" programs really are cheap for a reason.