While the Mommy's Away . . . .

Yesterday I spent the afternoon working on scrapbooks with a friend. It was National Scrapbook Day, by the way, but I will spare you any details. It's not that kind of blog.

This, however, is the pix message that came to me during Mommy's day out. And now you know why I need Mommy's day out.

Overheard at Home Pre-School

"Jesus made our bodies." Yes, He did, I affirmed in the simplest explanation available to a barely three year-old, who is not my child. Her statement made me slightly guilty. Our theme today was, in part, the letter "E" and for snack we were making elephant ears. Fry bread the size of a basketball hoop covered in sugar. Guilty because it isn't exactly the healthiest snack for little God-given bodies.

It's all about the theme right?

Around a mouthful of fry-bread she added, "Jesus gave me a boba."

Um . . . okay?

"And Jesus gave my brother a penis."

Oh! So at your house you use the correct word for male anatomy, but not female, apparently.

My own baby Jedi pipes up and says, "Boba is green."

"No!! My boba's not green. It's by my bum."

"Yes. Boba is green."

I realized, in time to break up any further argument or proof from the little girl ready to pull her pants down, that THIS:



was the Boba in question.

And The Youngling is right. His armor is green. I'll have to take Miss Visitor's word for the rest.

Almost as funny as the language misunderstanding between two pre-schoolers however, was finding this picture while looking for Mr. Fett.


The title of this gem? "Boba Fett is My Dad." And while my inclination is to offer my condolences, it is important to note that the child looks ridiculously happy. This picture came from a blog post boasting 40 BOBA FETTS. It is more than possible that nobody here (except maybe TamathyC) geeks out on this kind of stuff the way I do, but can anyone offer an explanation, psychological or cultural or otherwise, for how Boba Fett, a character with only a single line in the original trilogy, became such a cult-classic?

28 Days of L-O-V-E

Day 20

I love a clean garage. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Plantboy. We've had the freezer less than a week, but it is filling up fast. What on earth were we doing before?


Day 21

I love the funny things kids say. Here are some recent highlights:

Jedi Knight, "Mommy, doesn't it make your heart feel so tender that I will always be your oldest son?"

Padawan, to The Youngling while they are playing with their Star Wars Lego guys, "This is Episode 3000, Revenge of the Ewoks and its all about when the Ewoks have to fight the clones."

Last week at church Plantboy whispered to me that he thinks the beloved wubby is part of the source of The Youngling's naughtiness, to which I replied that there is no chance I'm taking it until he is potty trained. The Youngling happened to be sitting between us and yelled, as loud as he could, during the passing of the sacrament, "I HATE POTTY TRAIN! I NOT POTTY TRAIN EVER!!!!" Uh. . . .

My youngest is a pillbox. I have to keep reminding myself to be firm with him because his grouchiness is sometimes ridiculously cute. Cute at two is not so much at say, age 5. My oldest learned "naughty" words later (hate, butt, stupid, idiot, etc.), my second learned them early but had this hilarious way of saying them under his breath or trailing off his sentences. Not boy number three, no sir. He likes to shout them. "I NOT EAT DINNER! I HATE DINNER!" "I NOT HAPPY I SAD; SAD MEANS I GRUMPY!" "NO KISSES MOMMY! I HATE ICKY, SOOPID KISSES!" "I DID STINKY TOOT!" (That last was during dinner, of course, and was followed by the laughter of three little boys.) "I NOT GO ON TIME OUT. NO WAY, SOOPID MOMMY!" These choice phrases may or may not be followed by the throwing of whatever toy is handy. And the little flipper has an arm.

Charming. Just charming. His other favorite recent thing is to run around naked, stopping every ten feet or so, turning his adorable little butt right around to me, shaking it while looking over his shoulder and saying, "Shake you booty. Naked baby, I shake booty." Oh my gosh, he's cute. Does anybody want to borrow him for the day?

I Just Love Technology--Except When I Don't

Last week we had another one of those perfect days. We drove to Portland, where a friend watched our kids so that Plantboy and I could go to the temple. It is the first time we have been together to the temple in nearly a year. The weather was looking a bit awful in the morning, but by the time we got back to pick up the kids, it had cleared beautifully.

The zoo was our next stop. And, despite having left the directions at home (with a list on the back about all the things not to forget on our day-trip), we did not get lost on the way to the zoo. We had two awesome hours to roam around, which was just about enough for the age of my kids. It was easily the best trip we've ever taken to the zoo.

We haven't been to the zoo since Houston, when Jedi Knight was far more interested in the train and the Padawan was just a baby who always seemed in need of a nap when we went to see the animals. Though the Youngling is just a few months older than two, he rarely naps any more and loves animals. At each stop, he jumped out of the stroller, ran right up to the animal pens and tried to spot what we were looking at. As he doesn't exactly talk yet, it was completely hilarious and charming to watch him "describe" what we were looking at using a combination of his limited language and creative signing.

Even days later when I brought up going to the zoo, the Youngling's memory was accurate. I said, "Do you remember the bats?" (There was a wonderful indoor display of fruit bats in the semi-darkness, so that the bats were extremely active.) The Youngling nodded and blurted, "Bat!" He then wrinkled up his nose and sniffed and said, "Poop! Bat poop." He then flapped his arms around and said, "Banananananna," while sticking out his tongue. He was entirely accurate: the bats were flying, pooping and eating bananas. It is almost as adorable to watch him describe the zoo's baby elephant, which rivals my own kidlets in hairy perfection.

So why all of this pleasant description and none of Plantboy's wonderful pictures of our whole family dressed in matchy clothes so the pictures would be extra cute? Where is the hilarious picture I took just for ChrisW because I was standing next to the big sign leading into the re-created subterranean niche of the Naked Mole Rat? What about the kids eating elephant ear scones as big as their heads? Alas . . . I went to load the pictures today and all seemed to be going according to plan for the 130 pictures on the camera. When the last picture loaded, an error message came up saying that for whatever reason, the pictures would not load and that I should try again. Okay, no problem.

Only when I went to try again, the error message THIS time tells me that there are actually NO pictures on my camera. It must have deleted the photos during the first attempt at downloading, as we have directed it to erase the pictures after loading them. I didn't realize that I had to create a separate designation in case the camera was of a mind to thwart my plans by just deleting photos willy-nilly that it had no intention of actually adding to my computer.

Yesterday, Doreen posted a hilarious bit from the Conan O'Brien show on her Facebook page. The tagline on the clips says, "Everything is amazing and nobody is happy." The comic being hosted by O'Brien is talking about all of our modern conveniences and just how little we actually appreciate any of it, and how all this convenience hasn't served to make us better people.

So in an effort to demonstrate that my bum camera doesn't have the power to take away my appreciation for the wonderful and real things in life, here are some joy-giving daily moments that have little to do with modern convenience:

* We watched Herbie the Love Bug for Family Movie Night on Friday. I wasn't sure if the kids would like it, but I was gladly mistaken. There were parts where they were, quite literally, falling off the couch with their giggles. During the montage bits with the silly-Disney-music-in-all-of-their-movies-from-the-1960's, the kids got up and danced around. Jedi Knight very closely resembled Elaine from Seinfeld when he was dancing, at which point Plantboy and I fell off the couch with our giggles.

* During family home evening we were talking about the flu and its symptoms. I talked about glands and where they were and how they might feel if one of the kids got the flu. When I pointed to the general groin area for glands, Padawan said, "In my weenie! There's glands in my weenie?" This is even funnier when I point out that we have never actually used the word "weenie" in our family. Oh, we aren't so uptight, we have plenty of our own euphemisms, but this one never made the lexicon. More uncontrolled laughter.

* I talked Padawan through his part for the Primary Program just twice (It is a five-sentence paragraph) and then he did the entire thing, word for word, from memory. He was able to do the whole thing from memory even several days later. In a related story, Jedi Knight is actually going to read his talk this year.

*I keep catching Jedi Knight trying to stay up late to read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. It is impossible for me to get after him in these moments. In fact, it makes me want to weep for joy when I gently remind him about bedtime. When will his suddenly wildfire reading get so commonplace that it ceases to delight my heart? I hope never.

*The Youngling sings the clean up song. "Eanup. Eanup." It is a nice edition to the "oh, oh's" he knows during the Cold Play song, Viva la Vida and the similar lyrics in Beyonce's Single Ladies. Not to worry, the adorable aspects of his personality are entirely balanced by his desire to always play the part of Darth Maul ("Arf Ma") in the boys' Star Wars games.

* This morning I had a particularly violent sneeze and Padawan said to me, "You and dad do really enormous sneezes, and it kind of FREAKS me out."

Good grief they are cute.

STOOPID camera.

Star Wars Mispronunciations

No doubt, if you have ever seen young children play Star Wars you have listened while they fight Dark Fader using their Light Savers, or even Life Savers. If you have seen children REALLY into this, then you have probably also heard "Vice-droid" for Viceroy or "The Fanta Menace" for Phantom Menace (From the lesser-known Episode VII: The Soda Wars) or "Dead Star" for Death Star. You have know doubt heard the word "Force" used as a verb: as in, I'm going to Force you with my hand/mind, or I'm going to Force that book off the shelf to hit you in the heard. The very direct, "I'm Forcing you!!!!!" is maybe my favorite.

Watching the "Clone Wars" regularly has also given them a whole new array of mis-pronunciations and nicknames. R-2 is "Aretooie," for example. I've also learned the subtle differences in Assassin droids, battle droids and fighter droids. I've learned that the barely perceptible striping patterns and the colors on the clones determine if they are commanders or regular clones, and that you can even tell the names of the clones depending on these same obscure markings. And yes, my friends, the clones have names.

I have not, however, figured out the pattern for deciding who is "bad" and who is "good." Not as easy as you think, my friends. Clones are always good, Storm Troopers are always bad, yet if you have seen the movies (as we have, 44 times, all but Episode III), you know that Clones and Storm Troopers are THE SAME. And Anakin, of course, becomes The Darth. Apparently after being treated for emphysema.

But yesterday, I heard a new favorite, while the Lego droid fighters were cruising around my house, the droids were yelling, "WATCH OUT FOR THE REPUBLICAN WARSHIPS!" For all you non-geeks out there, it should be "Republic."

If you know a child that loves all things Star Wars, you must check out this link. And this link. Be prepared for laughter, lots of it. And it might not all be coming from your super-fan child. It makes more and more sense to me every day why I was gifted with boys.

Perfectly Polite Pirates

Here is a faithful transcript of a conversation overheard yesterday on the back patio at my house. My oldest, 7 1/2 will be referred to as #1; my middle child, 4 1/2, will be referred to as #2.

#1: Welcome to our ship, new pirate. What is your name?

#2: Um . . . . Argy Mate.

#1: Argy Mate?

Mom (from inside): Yeah! Like ARRGGHH-y Mate.

#1: Oh, right. Welcome, Argy Mate. We are delighted to have you as one of our new pirates. Tell us about yourself.

#2: (Rambled on at some length about a boating accident that killed nearly his entire crew.) Some of us found a life raft and we survived.

#1: What about your first mate?

#2: Dead.

#1: What about your second mate?

#2: Dead.

#1: What about the cookers?

#2: The cookers are dead too.

#1: That's terrible. (Gives #2 a hug.)

#2: Yeah, it's pretty terrible all right.

#1: Wait! What is that on the horizon!?! It's another small boat! It's your cookers! They survived!

#2: My. Cookers. Survived!?!

#1: Yes! Oh, I'm so happy for you!!! (More hugging.)

I don't think my little pirates are going to be considered the Terrors of the Seven Seas any time soon: they may not even be considered the Terrors of the Bathtub. But aren't their manners impeccable? I'm happy to report that at some point later in the afternoon there were actually some bad guys to best, and they acted like proper little wild boys then. Yelling, screaming, brandishing weapons, making a skull and crossbones flag, threats, etc.

Boys LIKE To Be Naked

Youngling got out of the tub the other night and ran down the hall squealing and giggling. I chased him, and he only giggled louder. He loves this game. After about a minute, he corners himself on purpose with a look that can only be described as pure mischief. Then he lets you catch him. Once caught, he expects to be held down, tickled and covered in kisses. Then the giggling really starts. Almost two years old is such a fantastic age.

He especially likes this game when he's naked: after all, what is better than tummy kisses? Anyway, back to the other night. As he lays there giggling and fighting off the diaper I'm trying to put on him, my seven year-old comes running down the hall. Also naked. He is fresh from the shower and he has obviously taken the time to dry off and comb his hair, but he somehow failed to put on the clothes I left sitting outside the shower for him. He threw his arms wide, shook his buns and yelled, "What do you think of ME!"

I yelled right back, in my most amused mommy yell, "I think you're naked! Put some clothes on." (There is a lot of volume set to high in our house.) He ran back to the bathroom.

Just as I got Youngling's diaper on, child number two made an appearance, underwear on his head singing a song he and Jedi made up called "My Underpants." This song has few lyrics but you can only sing it while naked or in the process of putting your underwear on.

I turned to Plantboy, who was watching a basketball game, and said, "You know, I think boys like to be naked."

He nodded and said, "I can prove it."

Scienceteachermommy loves proof. "Okay," I challenged.

"You always went to girls camp, right?" Nod. "Did you ever pee to put out the fire?"

"No."

"Did you ever run naked around the fire, chanting and yelling? And don't even ask me where the leaders were--probably hopped up on benadryl in their tent."

"Never ran around the fire naked."

"Well, did you ever burn your underwear while roasting it on a hot dog stick over open flames?"

"No."

"All of these things happen at Boy Scout Camp."

So. Boys do like nudity. And fire.

I'm now going to add a couple of anecdotes to add to my overwhelming proof for my boys-like-to-be-naked-(and-also-love-fire) theory.

In high school, a large-ish group of us went camping after graduation. The fire was dying low and it was getting very late. We decided to head to bed--boys in one tent, girls in another, if you wanted to know--but the guys hung around for a little while. Finally one of them said, "Girls, we need to put this fire out and you need to go to bed." A few girls had clued in to what was about to go down and helped get the rest of us herded into our tent.

I can't even describe how horrible flame-broiled logs covered in urine smell.

This next story really happened, but if you don't believe me, I don't blame you. If I hadn't experienced this story for myself I'm not sure I could buy it either. I can appeal to Tiffany (who checks in occasionally) to vouch for my honesty here. Chrisw probably also heard this story very shortly after it happened and can back me up too.

In Logan there is lawyer's office with an indoor pool. Apparently the partners wanted to build a pool for their families to use, and since you can only swim outdoors in N. Utah about two months of the year, the practice was the obvious place to put it. They built a small basement apartment with a separate entrance from the office and rented it out to a couple who then maintained the pool in exchange for cheap rent and scheduling rights to the pool.

Tiffany was my roommate (along with PammyLee, Pocohantas and Pocahantas' cousin, Steph), and her sister happened to be living in the pool apartment at the time. For several weeks she had promised we could come, and finally was able to get a Friday night free for us. She put our names on the calendar and gave Tiffany the key, as she was out of town that night.

It was a dark and stormy night (I swear I am not making this up), and freezing outside. As soon as we walked in the door at the law office, we knew something was wrong. We could hear a bunch of voices coming from the pool. We were so bugged. We'd had the pool scheduled for like two weeks and some spoiled lawyer-brats were using our pool time! We debated on staying or going, but righteous indignation won out.

Tiffany said that she just wanted to see what was going on before we started kicking people out, so we went into her sister's apartment and Tiffany walked up a short flight of stairs to the back pool entrance. She crept very quietly.

Twenty seconds later she came shooting back down the stairs like she had seen a ghost. "Naked," she said, rather breathlessly, "All naked. Probably 20 guys. All naked."

AAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!! That is when the giggling started; but of course, the question of kicking them out was answered. Being naked in the pool is like licking the sucker--man, you own it.

Steph, who had seen a bit more of the world than the rest of us, didn't buy into the "let's leave now" proposal. She'd come from Dixie College to the land of the frozen chosen without even a sweater. She had a bikini drawer, for crying out loud! Steph was not afraid of the melee up the stairs.

She walked right past us, and we saw her stand at the top of the stairs, hand on her hip, and we just knew she was giving the eyebrow as only Steph could. Oh, and she was a total babe.

About fifteen seconds after she planted her hot self on the top stair, the screaming began. And then the running. We heard a lot of swearing and at least 20 variations on the "Dude! It's a chick!" theme. Wild Steph, her hand on the hip and the eyebrow had cleared the room in less than a minute. She didn't say a word.

All of these naked guys were now holed up in the law office. She walked over the door, ripped it open and very sweetly asked who was hosting the party. A very sheepish looking individual, probably a college freshman, made his way through the crowd and she told him, in those same honeyed tones that WE had the pool reserved and they had about five minutes to be dressed and GONE before we started making some phone calls.

She flounced her lovely curly head back down to where we huddled, laughing our heads off at the bottom of the stairs. We waited five minutes, swept the last few out of the office, locked the doors and changed--one at a time, behind locked doors, thank you very much. No group nudity for us.

As if this is not all weird enough, we think that some of them actually came back and were looking in through the windows. Other than Steph, and maybe Pocahontas, none of us were girls that you would seriously scout out in their swimming suits. Especially if you had to climb a hedge to do it. In February. In the snow. So they were exhibitionists, desperate AND creepy. Still, if I was going to write a horror novel this would probably be a great start. At one point we thought we saw both hands and faces pushed against the glass poolhouse through the steam and condensation.

So fire, nudity . . . and, oh, yes, lightsabers. We had a Dos de Mayo party at Tabula Rasa and Jamin's house Saturday. She and I wanted to make homemade tamales and it is always fun to hang out with them. Between us, there are five boys: we watched a lightsaber fight that probably went on for a good hour--two if you count the Wii. My favorite is when Jedi yells, "Now in slow motion!" and everybody fights in slo-mo. The facials are awesome. When I asked Jedi the other night why he wasn't firing his dart gun back at me, he said, "Mom, my bullets won't defeat you! My moves will." Ah. I think his moves need a little bit of work. I probably hit him forty times.

So I guess my boys like to be naked, but maybe this momma likes violence.

Anticipation

Several weeks back I wrote a post about looking forward to things. The post was prompted by our vacation plans. We leave tomorrow.

As I rush around today to finish the rest of the myriad things that need doing, I have realized something. In my great anticipation for the next big event, I have failed to recognize a lot of the wonderful things about daily, mundane living as well. I've been a rather hands off mother for the past several days--worrying more about my laundry and my vacuuming and packing than my kidlets. My sleeping patterns in the past two weeks are nearly as poor as if I have a newborn baby in the house, and I was in full grouch mode yesterday.

I'm trying harder today to just breathe and tell myself that even if it is not all perfect, it will certainly all work out. I'm learning the hard way (as too many of my lessons come) that while it is important to look forward to something, it is perhaps more important to not look beyond the something we already have. The future is worth planning for, but only the present is worth living in.

In the spirit of focusing on the little things that made this week interesting, here are some entirely random thoughts.

My last post pointed out Plantboy's gift for ruining (or improving?) any chick-thing I might be interested in watching. Last week at the Goodwill I was looking for old Disney movies on VHS. The kids don't care a whit for about the poor picture quality and I can pick them up for a couple of bucks apiece. I scored Emperor's New Groove. The big boys got giggling so hard at one point they could hardly hear the movie. I also picked up this:


Plantboy saw it in the stack and said, "That is a cool movie, but its soundtrack is terrible." Soundtrack? What was he talking about? He can't even remember his kids' birthdays. How can he remember the soundtrack of a movie made in like 1985?

"So do you want to watch it or not?" Says I. A little bit testily I might add.

"Of course. I always love doing anything with you." Plantboy has a way of taking the wind out of any tirade I might be prepped to start. So while I was in the middle of making Hazelnut Ring-a-Lings, we decided to give in a try.

Plantboy said nothing as the music started up and just waited for its utter cheesiness to sink into my astonished psyche. After about ten minutes I said, "It is really like Manheim Steamroller meets the Boston Pops. In an elevator."

"Told ya."

The in between moments were okay, but every time that soundtrack got going at top volume I just about had to plug my ears. "I'm sorry; I think I've ruined it for you."

"How hard would it be to just orchestrate over the top?"

"Easy. They could hire John Williams."

"Or Danny Elfman."

"Or maybe they should just remake the whole thing."

"I don't think anybody but Michelle Pfieffer could do this part. And this is easily Matthew Broderick's best movie."

"But Rutger Hauer?"

Long pause. "Why is he the only one without an accent?"

Anyway, it is official: Ladyhawke is the coolest movie with the worst soundtrack. And don't even get me started on why there is and extra "e" on Hawke. Ye Olde Bad Musique.

We had a couple of supremely gorgeous days this week. Sunday afternoon it hit 75 degrees. We don't normally do the park thing on a Sunday, but we just couldn't help it this week. It was too nice to stay home. I think part of my anticipation thoughts today have to do with the bleakish weather forecasts we are reading for our destination. Even with the best preparation and dearest excitement, there is nothing to be done about chance.

The garden doesn't look like much, at least this portion of it, but in a few weeks it will be growing like crazy. As long as it isn't too warm and dry while we are gone, this whole area should be sprouting by the time we get home. You'll have to excuse the ugly grass. My darling water-boy has it in his head that we should be growing food instead of grass. Go figure.

In my last salute to living in the moment, I have to attribute the funniest phrase of the week to Jedi Master. We have had some extremely serious and highly frustrating potty training issues with my oldest darling. Just when we think the problems are over and past, something will happen to set us back. Sure enough, he wet his pants TWICE at school this week. After the second time, when I was finally calm enough to discuss it with him, I asked him about what happened. He explained, "I was on my way to the potty both times and I just didn't make it."

"Did you go to your teacher then?"

"No. I went straight to the office."

"To the secretary?"

"No, there is a special office you can go in if you have problems." I said nothing for a moment figuring he probably meant the counselor's office. In my pause he must have decided I was confused because he clarified, dropping his voice to a whisper for some reason, "Not math problems, Mom. Other kinds of problems." I wish we all had an office like that.

The video is of the kids dancing to Beyonce. The baby wants to listen to my iPod all the time, but only if I put on "Single Ladies." 1000 songs to choose from and he wants the only piece of dance music in the bunch. I guess The Youngling likes his music bouncy.

The children are looking forward to seeing grandma and grandpa too--how could they not? But I need to try harder to make sure that they are just looking forward to getting out of bed each day, and that my enthusiasm matches their own.

Size Matters, Even When You Are Four

I watched a friend's four year-old yesterday. James and Padawan are in the same primary class; James is about three months older. Here is the transcript of their conversation within six seconds of the time he walked in the door.

Padawan: Hey, James, you know what? I'm four.

James: I'm four too. And I'm taller. And I've got two pocketknifes. (There was some detailed description here of said weapons; James might be taller but he still talks like he has a mouthful of marbles.)

Padawan: Guess what? Jedi Knight and me just got our red pillowcases back.

James: I'm getting a dirtbike.

Padawan: We had the white pillowcases and then we had the Christmas ones, and our Christmas ones were covered with Teddy Bears.

Silence.

James: Cool.

I'm so grateful for four years old. It is probably the last time in Padawan's entire existence that he'll think teddy bears are cooler than pocket knives or dirt bikes.

Next question, perhaps less loaded than the one posed earlier this week--what do you think of other people disciplining your children? I don't necessarily mean if you are there, but if you are gone? I'll explain: I was fairly reluctant to agree to watch James yesterday. When he comes visiting teaching with his mother I end up biting my tongue through fourteen fights and he seems to get out every toy in the house, unable to stay interested in anything for more than a few minutes. He also jumbles up the toys, which drives me extremely crazy. (Actually, my kids too--this is a habit/obsession I've gifted them with.)

I understand that kids fight, but Padawan doesn't fight with all kids, mostly just James. James is the youngest of four (two of which are in their teens) and he seems unable to open his mouth without calling names. He doesn't really tease when he says them either. He'll also say things like, "I'm going to kill you," in a totally deadpan voice. Charming. His mother is not oblivious, but I cannot figure her out. Her intervention seems to almost exacerbate every problem because she talks loud, doesn't mask her extreme impatience well and does that you-apologize-right-now-or-else-its-the-end-of-the-world thing.

Yesterday started off fairly well; without visiting teaching in the mix I was able to keep a better eye out. The big boys decided to shut a door to keep the baby out and, sure enough, within just few minutes, Padawan came running out of the room, "James called me stupid and says I have to leave the room and he won't play with me anymore."

I walked right in, squatted down in front of James and said firmly, "You will not call names in this house. This is Padawan's room and if you want to play in here you will play together." He had this really smirky expression and just glared at me. I looked very directly back at him and said in a low voice, "James; I'm absolutely serious. If you continue to be mean then you will have a turn at time out." He was as good as gold after that--even about not getting out too many toys because I told him that he would not be allowed to get out a new mess without cleaning up the previous. Again, firm, serious, but still friendly.

So what do you think? Do you let other people's kids run amok at your house, fully expecting your own to do the same, or do you intervene? And while, to me, the "good" answer seems fairly obvious, my school-teaching experience tells me that there are plenty of parents who disagree with any other person expressing disapproval to their child, regardless of how well deserved.

Stealing An Idea From Slim: Our 2008 Top Ten

This is the attachment I'm sending out on my email this week. If you get the e-mail, sorry for the repeat. And if you are a regular here, you might see a couple of anecdotes already told. Sorry about that.

Dear Family and Friends,

When we moved to Eugene in 2007, I told Plantboy the one thing I wanted was an entire calendar year without any major life changes--no new jobs, moves or babies. So, for Christmas, I got exactly what I wanted. 2008 was free from any huge decisions or disruptions. Plantboy, however, probably did NOT get what he wanted for Christmas. I'm sure his dream gift would involve some sort of unlimited shopping spree at REI. But if you think that 2008 was also a quiet year, then you have never lived in a house with three little boys.

Some years back, a good friend of mine started sending out her family's top ten funny moments each Christmas. I love this hilarious substitution to a "traditional" newsletter. I feel like I really know her family through their foibles and moments. It is also a great way to keep track of all those funny things your kids do and say while they are young. So here are our top ten moments of 2008.

1. In early January, STM learned that a skiff of snow or even the rumor of a freeze would cause school to be cancelled. This knowledge was painfully remembered again last week when a tiny (by Utah standards) snowstorm rocked our part of the Pacific Northwest and closed school for a good chunk of the week. Instead of a two week Christmas Break, it is now more like three weeks. Already Jedi Master looks at me with glazed over eyes when I mention the word "homework." January 6th is going to be like starting from scratch.

2. When the baby started getting mobile, STM realized that he was spending a lot of time in a certain corner of the house. She also realized that several small items had gone missing. In that particular corner, there is a small hole left over from a cable hookup we are not using. The Youngling was using the hole to hide any treasures he happened to find. This pack-rat-like behavior somehow earned him the name "snickerdoodle."

3. In March Jedi Master said, "I'm so glad for the spring break. I've been working so hard this year; I just really need a break, Mommy." He should do very well in college.

4. In July we traveled to Utah for the biannual family reunion. We stayed with STM's parents for a few days before meeting Plantboy's family in Bear Lake. The first morning, Padawan jumped on Grandpa Gus's bed to wake him up. Grandpa sat up and gave him a kiss. Padawan made a terrible face, wiped the kiss off and said, "Grandpa! That was a HORRRRRIBLE kiss!" Grandma Joanie laughed so hard I thought she'd fall off the bed. I guess she knows about Grandpa's morning kisses.

5. While in Bear Lake, we decided to go to Minnetonka cave. The pamphlet said it was something like 300 stairs. No problem. After about 8 slippery stairs, Padawan stopped and said "Mommy, it is too scary." So STM scooped him up and carried him the remaining 298. That was just going down. Grandpa and STM tag-teamed him coming back up, emerging into the bright sunlight completely out of breath. Padawan got to his feet, pretending to breathe heavy and said, "Boy mommy, I need a drink! That was sure hard work!"

6. October was the year's most eventful month. Early in the month, Jedi Master and his mom sat down to plan his birthday party. It was, of course, to be a Star Wars themed event. Jedi Master said, "We could have everyone dress up like their favorite character and bring their light sabers. Then we could have a huge light saber fight." I'm not sure which is funnier--that he honestly believes that each of his friends has a Star Wars costume AND light saber, or that a brawl was a good party activity.

7. For Halloween, we got "booed." This is when a neighbor secretly brings a goodie to eat and ghost poster to hang up in your window. You are then to "boo" two or three others in the neighborhood to keep it moving. Excitedly, we made our treats and took a walk around the block after dark. It was fun to be so sneaky. Just as we left our last drop, Jedi Master said, "This is a really fun prank. But instead of a leaving a goodie next year . . . " he trailed off and nodded, "I think we should throw bricks."

8. The parents came home in November from a date to find the babysitter literally surrounded by kids wielding Nerf guns and light sabers. She looked at them, raised her eyebrows and said drily, "Apparently I'm beginning my Jedi Training next week."

9. The Youngling doesn't talk. At least not English, anyway. But any time he picks up a light saber or a stick or a untensil, he swings it around making light saber noises. He also holds his hand like a gun and makes shooting noises while laughing. How he can be the sweetest and the meanest at the same time is a mystery.

10. Instead of "cut it out!" when someone is bothering him, Padawan says, "Cut if off!" Hm . . . . even with correction he hasn't really changed his phrase. So what, exactly, does he want the offending party to "cut off?" The world may never know.

A Time of Thanks. And Stress.

In Australia, they use the term "whinging." Like many Aussie words, it takes a bit of translation. First of all, it is pronounced "win-jing." It is similar to murmuring, complaining, and grouching. Most Aussie-isms are abbreviations or combinations of other words. This one is a like like "binge whining," which is highly descriptive. I've griped to just about everyone in the last few days, so while I'm on a binge I thought I'd whine to you a little bit here too.

Nearly a year ago, our the Enrichment counselor and I booked all of our dates for 2008. Twice now, the activities committee, scheduling just a few weeks late has either booked over our activities or within close proximity. Our summer activity had to have a last-minute move because of the ward camp out. Now the ward's Christmas party is just two days after our RS Christmas Social. (Don't even get me started on how bad I hate that we are doing a social instead of a service project at Christmas time.)

This doesn't sound too bad, except that the ward activity is easily the biggest of the year. It is probably better attended than most of our Sacrament meetings. The activities committee commandeers anyone who will say yes to help. Which, in our ward, unfortunately, is not a very large number of people.

Three days before Souper Saturday (NOT a misspelling) and the day before Jedi Master's birthday party, the Activities Committee Head Person calls and says, "I just need to ask you something; now I know you are busy."

"Yes. What is it?"

"Just think about it before you tell me no."

"Yes. What is it?" The panic rising in my voice now.

"I have tried to think of someone else but your name just keeps coming back to me."

"Debbie. What is it?!"

"Would you be in charge of the program for our Christmas dinner?"

The overdone, too-long, noisy production from last year flashed through my head. As well as the word "Herdmans." I am sure that she picked up on the silence at my end. She repeated, "I know you are busy, I just felt so strongly that I had to ask you."

Later I said to Jeff, "What do you say to that?" He shrugged and mouthed the word "no." When I told the story to my snarky and sometime irreligious little sis she said, "Good grief! Does she think she's the bishop? She didn't need to act like an angel had come to her and named you as the chosen vessel!"

I am not the chosen vessel, but I did not say no.

I was given a small committee who is mostly out of town for the next two or three weeks, a program I greatly disliked, and no real direction to go.

I'll spare the rest of the gory details, but between the social and the program, I think I have easily put in 20 hours for church in the last week and a half. Maybe 30. On the upside, after December 6th, I get to cruise for about six weeks. And the Youngling will enter nursery, so at least I might get to sit through a couple of church meetings for a change!

Whinging done, now on to the things I did today to find a bright spot in my too-much-Mormon-culture-universe.

I made amazing cookies this afternoon. A-flippin'-mazing. Use Ghiradelli's sweet chocolate chips and their recipe with the following modifications: Use half butter, half shortening; Increase the flour by 1/3 of cup and add 3/4 cup of oatmeal; add a cup of peanut butter chips with the chocolate. The secret to any fantastic chocolate chip cookie, however, is to cook it just until the shine is off, let them sit for about a minute on the pan and then cool. They will stay soft all week. If they last that long.

Padawan made pilgrim and Indian hats at pre-school this week. Youngling wanted to try one out, just like he saw his older brothers do.

The second this hat went on, the hand went to the mouth and "Ay, yi, yi" started. He can't talk, but he sure loves to copy.

Jedi Master then said it was time to do a little pilgrim-Indian show. He rowed the couch to the new land of America. When he arrived, Padawan greeted him and showed him how to plant a fish with his corn and helped him build a house.

Then, his headdress regained, the Youngling began chasing his brothers all over the house. As with most of our games, this one ended in a wrestling match.

It only took 500 years, but it looks like the Indians finally came out on top.

The third great thing that happened today is that my mom surprised me with the news of a spontaneous visit in mid-December. They found uber-cheap tickets and will be here for Padawan's birthday. I cannot even express how happy this makes me. This year will be the first that we have not been with family or had family with us for either Thanksgiving or Christmas. I'm a big girl now with a family of my own, but I didn't realize just how much I wanted to see family for the holidays until my mother gave me her news. Though they won't be here exactly for either of them, their visit will certainly lift my spirits after all the above rigmarole.

Like you, my posting may be fairly irregular over the next several weeks. Happy holidays everyone. May you find the peace that you crave.

It's Not Like I Did This!

Monday night I spent some serious time getting some amazing orange roll dough ready to roll out for FHE. I promised Jedi Master he could help. Orange rolls are rolled out like cinnamon rolls but filled with sugar, orange peel and dried cranberries. Our dough was all rolled out into a beautiful, soft, stretchy rectangle. We were waiting for Padawan to wash his hands so he could join us when JM did a loud sniff right over the dough telling me it smelled good.


From the sniff I could tell that there was a lot more going on inside his big-kid nose than just air and so I said, "Please don't do that; you don't want to accidentally get boogers on the dough."

He said, "It's not like I did this!" He leaned over the dough and did a farmer blow. A huge booger striped its way across the beautiful dough. I screamed. He screamed. This is a child who only learned how to blow into a tissue about three weeks ago. And yet, already, his blowing skill is very advanced.

Still, Elder Wirthland said that we needed to learn to laugh more at ourselves. It took a few minutes, but I was able to.

October was a very full month for us. Earlier in the month I put up several pictures from my parents' visit. A few days after they left, Padawan's pre-school went to the pumpkin patch. His outfit is totally ridiculous, but he is so happy. This is Padawan's best little buddy. We'll call her the Princess, and these two are just hilarious together. For all her petite cuteness, she is a bit rough and tumble and loves boy toys. Padawan kept telling her which pumpkins to pick because he didn't want to get dirty. Very gentlemanly.














Later that afternoon, my in-laws came into town for several days. While they were here, we took a trip to the coast and to another pumpkin patch. The kids also painted and carved some pumpkins, but I haven't taken those pictures yet.

The day after they left, we had the Star-Wars-Party-O-Rama here at our house. I was pretty much feeling like mother of the year: at least on THAT day. I've never seen so much 6 and 7 year old aggression when I said "light saber" and "pinata" in the same sentence.

Two days after Jedi Master's Party, I was in charge of our Relief Society's "Souper" Saturday. I haven't said anything about this here, though it has consumed many of my thoughts and too much of my energy since late August. I'm trying hard to have a better attitude about my calling (Enrichment Leader) and we DID end up with a really great turn out. Maybe nine months from now (it takes three months to plan the dang thing) I'll be geared up for it again. Maybe. Anyway, here are some pictures of the results of one of the craft classes that I ran:

Last night was Jedi Master's soccer banquet. It must be admitted that they were pretty much the worst team ever. (Okay, like anyone can know that . . . .) We only scored a few goals all season and got a very thorough thumping from every team we played. When I told Jedi that we were headed to have a pizza party with his soccer team he was very excited, but when I told him he was getting a trophy, he said, "Why?"

Why, indeed.

The selected trophy is a boy kicking a soccer ball. Instead of a head, he has a bobble soccer head. The trophy is personalized. Kind of. The spelling of Jedi Master's first and last name is so butchered that I'm not exactly certain if the trophy was intended for us. Whoever heard of a bobblehead trophy?

May the Fall Be With You

I love fall: the cool afternoons, the crunchy leaves, the fabulous food and the pending holidays. So here and the really fall-y things we have been up to:

We picked apples when my parents came to town over Conference weekend. The above picture can really only be titled "The Precious." It is well to remember how much I love His Preciousness when I hear him in the other room trying very hard NOT to nap. The last couple of weeks have brought major changes in our house. My gorgeous doll-baby toddles all over the house trying desperately to communicate, "talking" in his own fashion, and in general acting much more like a little person than a baby. It is funny and tender. It is liberating and heartbreaking. It is happy and sad. In light of his growing up, and his uncanny understanding of how to use a light saber, he will get a new blognym: YOUNGLING.

My nearly four year old is having a rough fall. His tantrums, which had once seemed to be subsiding are back in full force. We are trying to work our way through this one. On the upside, he loves school and is acting like he wants to try and read. I'm not really surprised: I think he is going to be my odd-man-out in some ways. His older and younger brothers so far look a lot, and even act a lot the same. He does not. He spoke and walked earlier, he is stockier. He has my fair skin and exactly my eye color. When he isn't tantrum-ing (mostly age-related) he is easily the mellowest of the three. Though all of my kids are amazing to me in their own ways, this is the one I watch with fascination over the way his mind works. His new blognym is PADAWAN. If you aren't a Star Wars fan that will mean very little, so I'll explain. In Star Wars terms, a Padawan Learner is someone who is an apprentice Jedi. This is very apt for my #2 at this phase in his life. He is anxiously soaking up everything around him. He also thinks that he must follow older brother in every particular.

Here is the "baby" with Grandma J. The best shot of these two was actually on her camera. If I could somhow teach Grandma how to send me a picture I may actually get a copy of it one day.

Plantboy got a chance to go fishing on the Alsea River the weekend before my parents came up. His parents are visiting later this week. He has been given strict instructions not to take off on my again just before company comes. I was cleaning my house until about 30 seconds before my parents' arrival. The spotlessnes lasted about 10 minutes. I will say, however, that Plantboy's 15 pound salmon was delicious.

This is kind of a lame-o soccer picture. The rest is all video footage. I will spare you. Imagine a school of hungry piranha and you get a sense of Scallywag's swarm soccer team. Or not so hungry piranha--they run after the ball, but swarming would indicate some kind of sincere interest.

Youngling hasn't been able to stay out of the apples since they were picked. Plantboy tried this particular picture about 8 times. He kept running away. I've never seen an 18 month old with such a highly developed sense of teasing. I'm sure it comes from being the youngest of three rowdy-ish boys.

This is Plantboy during a backpacking trip with the young men. The boys griped for two days solid. I think this greatly diminished hubby's own pleasure in the excursion. He came home, sank down on the couch and said, "Do all 14 year old boys complain so much? I just don't remember being such a whiner. If I'd heard one more word about how much they wanted to be home playing video games, I would have probably strangled one of them." Take home message? Don't send your boys to Scout camp with a deranged leader.

In addition to this, we did another 20 pints of applesauce and another 10 of salsa. The salsa is Plantboy's pride and joy. He is torn between hording it and generously giving it to everyone he talks to so that that can share his success. I think that hoarding will probably win the day.

The last three, however, have to be the best. Scallywag's new blognym can be non-other than JEDI MASTER. The Star Wars thing is definitely our latest kick that seems it will last for a while. I'm taping the Clone Wars every Friday night, having a special order Darth Vader pinata made for his birthday (beating it sill with their light sabers is the compromise to the full-on war he wanted all of his buddies to be a part of for the party), and wanting all the paraphernalia he can get his hands out.

I found a costume on-line and nearly ordered it, but decided at the last minute to check The Goodwill instead. Jackpot! I found a "tunic" and leggings in nearly the right size (the top a size too small and the bottom a size too large though both pieces are to the same costume), but mostly I found the Jedi master robe. He wore if for a solid 24 hours, until I warned that it might tear before he had a chance to wear it at his birthday party or on Halloween. He folded it very carefully then and is waiting patiently for a few repairs and modifications.


I imagine this is who he is fighting. Life size of course.

When I asked him why he kept holding up his hand he said, "I'm just using the Force, mom." Right, duh.