Drewby Doobie Doo

My Drew unofficially turned four today.  Today isn't his real birthday, but it was close enough and a convenient day to invite a few of his same-age cousins over.  If we had a bigger living room we could have invited them all - alas, we do not.

When he woke up, he was crowned King For A Day, and was presented with handmade cards from his older brothers.  Both contained a dollar and one also had a Pokemon card inside.  (Generous brothers.)  He felt pretty special, as you can see.

Later on he got a bike from Nana and Papa and Mom and Dad.  He seemed to think it was an ok day so far.

And because Trent is so close in age to Drew and just as big, we thought he needed a bike to ride, too.  Otherwise, he'd just knock Drew down and steal his.  So he covered his eyes while we brought his trike in from the garage.  What a ham.

I love this kid!

Both boys were excited and eventually did ride the bikes outdoors.  With a lot more success, I might add.

Later on there were even more presents - like this box of Legos from Grandma.  Big hit.

Iron Thor.  He's the supreme super hero, in case you didn't know.

And finally, it was time for cake.  Except my kids don't eat cake, so I thought it was a waste to make one.  I asked Drew what he wanted instead, and he asked for Sticky Popcorn, (carmel corn), and ice cream sandwiches.  I got ticked at the price of ice cream sandwiches in the store and made them myself.  Looking back, the store price would have been worth it.  But Drew was happy, and that's all that counts today.

Easter String Thing

Let's talk about Easter before it's too late, shall we? 

We have an odd tradition in our house.  I'm not sure how it got started, but it's the way things have been done since I was a kid, at least.  I loved it as a kid, but I had no clue what a pain in the butt it is for the adult performing the Easter Bunny duties.

The night before the Easter Bunny comes, each child leaves one of his shoes outside his bedroom door.  The Easter Bunny comes, ties a string to the shoe, and then trails it all over the house.  And I mean all over the house.  Under doors, through the bushes in the backyard, between the rungs of the ladder back chairs... You get the idea.  Easter morning, when everyone is awake, (6:10 AM this year, because my kids have a death wish), each kid follows his string, winding it up as they go, to the end of the line.  Wherever their string ends - their Easter basket is sure to be near.

And here's where the whole thing can go very, very wrong.

It was the Easter of 2007, (I think), and my husband and I had traveled to Idaho to spend Easter with his brother's family.  We had remembered to pack up all the Easter basket paraphernalia; and were thus very proud of ourselves. 

The night before Easter, one of my boys said, "I can't wait for Easter to be here!  I love the string!"  And I then remembered that I had forgotten to bring any string. 

No biggie - I just sent the husband off to buy some.  At 10:00 on a Saturday night.  Of course, the only store that was open was Albertson's, and oddly enough, they don't stock string.  Not even with their Easter wares!  They also did not carry yarn, rope, thread, jump ropes, or anything that could double as string.  But they did have dental floss.  So the husband bought four packages of 100 yards of dental floss and smilingly presented it to me back at the house.

It wasn't string, but it would have to do.  We can't be disappointing the children, now.

The next morning we had church really, really early, and with gobs of people to get ready, we decided to tell the kids that the Easter Bunny would come while we were at church.  I came home between Sacrament Meeting and Sunday School to weave the magic "string" through the house.  (We go to church for three hours every Sunday.  We have awesome attention spans and are very holy.) 

And then everyone came home from church.  Some of the floss wound it's way through the carport, and that idiotic Easter Bunny put some of that floss at about neck level of an average adult.

Oops.

Thing about dental floss is that it isn't very stretchy, and it certainly doesn't cut well without the aid of that metal do-dad on it's packaging.  Also, it's really difficult stuff to see when it's strung across an open space.

My poor sister in law walked through the carport and caught some of that floss right across the throat.

It looked like she had been decapitated.  It bled a little, got really red, and was certainly very sore.  (Sorry Marcy.)

Moral of the story:  Stupid Easter Bunny should never use dental floss in lieu of string. (And take pictures of grotesque injuries.  I wish I had one of Marcy's neck to show you.)

A River Of Vomit

The hubs and I have never had a Thanksgiving dinner in our own home.  Having family around for the holidays is both a blessing and a curse.  I can't imagine not being with my loved ones for Thanksgiving, but going somewhere else for the feast means never having turkey and trimmings leftovers.

So every stinking year we have to cook our own Thanksgiving turkey, dressing, yams, etc, the day after Thanksgiving so that we can have a turkey sandwich and the very best of all - turkey soup.  The whole thing is a bit of a pain, and not much fun after the real deal has been done, but it's worth it.  

You may not know it, but there are many phases of leftover turkey.  Allow me to expound.

Phase 1 - Roasted turkey, of course. (As in, the whole bird taken in it's virgin form from the oven.)

Phase 2 - Plain old leftover turkey.

Phase 3 - Fried turkey.  Oh, yum.

Phase 4 - Mashed potatoes with turkey gravy.  Just like they used to make in the school cafeteria, minus stray hairs. 

Phase 5 - Turkey sandwiches.  (And for lunch for the next two days as well.)

Phase 6 - Turkey soup.

Phase 7 - Turkey soup with a block of cream cheese melted into it.  It's the culmunation of all things beautiful about Thanksgiving turkey.

So this year we cooked our turkey on the Saturday after Thanksgiving and then skipped phases three through six and went straight for the joyous and fattening cream cheese turkey soup.

Cameron is a huge fan of Phase 7 Turkey.  He drooled all afternoon while smelling the soup simmering on the stove.  And when dinner hit the table he attacked the soup with a vigor usually reserved for delicacies like baskets full of fresh summer strawberries and banana splits (hold the banana).

Not long after dinner Cameron complained of a stomach ache.  I told him he'd probably eaten too much too fast and to just take it easy until he felt better.  About an hour after that I heard him call me from the bathroom.  I was in the middle of a very important task and couldn't personally attend to him.  I figured he needed a toilet paper refill or something.  So I sent Ethan to find out what he wanted.  

The next thing I hear is Ethan screaming, "MOM!!!!" and retreating back down the hallway.

Jumping from my computer chair, I bolted to the hallway and found a river of turkey soup vomit flowing out from under the bathroom door and oozing slowly toward me.  I straddled the river and flung open the bathroom door.  There stood Cameron looking somewhat relieved, but mostly afraid.  As well he should have.

Who stands in a bathroom and pukes on the door instead of in the toilet?  My kid, apparently.

There was so much vomit I honestly couldn't believe Cameron's stomach had held that much liquid.  There were unchewed baby carrots floating on the bathroom floor, and some of the bow-tie noodles I had put in the soup had miraculously gotten underneath the bathroom door and were drifting down the hall - also unchewed.  Good hell, that kid must have really wolfed that soup down.

Andrew and I stood there and tried to figure out how to clean up a mess that size.  We considered the shop vac, but opted for bath towels that we could just toss into the trash afterward.  Two bath towels, six rags, half a roll of paper towels, and one bottle of Lysol later, the bathroom still smelled like Lake Vomit.  

I tried sprinkling baking soda on the floor and all down the hallway to get rid of the smell, but that didn't work either.  The problem is, we have a tile floor in our bathroom, and the bozo who laid it didn't bother to seal the grout, so the vomit just kinda soaked in and set up camp.  

I finally had to call my mom for suggestions, and she said I should try vinegar.  I basically just dumped an entire bottle of the stuff on the floor, and that worked in the end.

I am happy to say that the experience did not kill my love for Cream Cheese Turkey Soup.  I had some for lunch the next day, and it tasted just as divine as it did before I associated it with barf.

Ten Lessons Learned On My First Black Friday

1.  If you don't like waiting in two hour lines, Toys R Us is not the best idea on Black Friday.

2.  Toys R Us hates their customers.  They demonstrate this by only letting 50 people in their store at a time (when the maximum capacity is much higher than that) and leaving their other patrons out in the nine degree weather.

3.  People who stand in nine degree weather for two hours in order to save twenty-five dollars are pathetic.  (Hand raised.)

4.  If you're going to be standing outside for a while in that nine degree weather, you really ought to wear more than a hoodie, a light coat, jeans, and tennis shoes.  Wool socks and blankets would be a wise choice.  As well as a head examination.

5.  Old Navy cashiers are either super slow, or everyone but me bought at least thirty things.

6.  Regret does not fully describe the emotion you feel when you realize that you waited in the cold in an Old Navy line for half an hour, and then waited in the check-out line for another hour only to return the items you bought the next day.  Except for the socks - those we're keeping.

7.  McDonalds and Burger King serve burgers and fries until four in the morning on Black Friday.  Who eats cheeseburgers at four in the morning?  So when you're really craving a hash brown and a bacon and cheese Croissanwich with a side of O.J. at three fifteen in the morning after standing in the nine degree weather for an eternity, you'll be stuck going to a gas station for a breakfast sandwich, even though your mother taught you better.  And you'll be so hungry that that sandwich will taste awesome...until you have to get out of the car to get behind a thousand people in line at Target and the chill of the air instantly zaps all the heat from your sandwich.  Then it tastes like tainted egg product.

8.  After all that time standing in line in nine degree weather wearing no gloves, tennis shoes, jeans, and a light coat, you'll only be able to stare at your feet while you pray that your toes don't break off.  And you'll wonder what possessed your little sister to bring her ice cold Dr. Pepper with her into the Target line.  But you won't be able to ask her, because your lips are frozen together.

9.  Target loves their customers much more than Toys R Us.  They don't make anyone stand in the cold while idiot women debate the merits of two different Bratz Dolls.  They let everyone in all at once.  It made me want to kiss the first clerk I saw.   And I would have, if I hadn't been busy snatching a Toy Story 3 DVD while trying not to run to the stack of Eyeclops Night Vision Binoculars for $25.

10.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that Target had adequately stocked their shelves and most things were easy to find.  I got everything on my list, and for the first time in the history of the world, every single check-out station was open.  And even though I cursed my stupidity for getting into this Black Friday mess, and wished a thousand times that I had never opened that newspaper full of ads, and wished even harder for the painful death of whatever idiot at Toys R Us came up with the fifty people at a time rule...I got in the car with Kellie when we were all finished, and we turned to look at each other, and we smiled.  And we high-fived each other.  And then we told each other that we were so glad we had done it because that five pack of Andy's Toys from Toy Story 3 for thirty bucks was totally worth it.  So what if I have frost bite on my nose?

Thanksgiving Movies

You know how Thanksgiving always gets the shaft because as soon as Trick-or-Treating is over the stores shove Christmas down our throats?  I am trying really hard not to skip Thanksgiving this year and to think of it as it's own holiday - not just a kick-off to Christmas.

I'll admit that I've been listening to Christmas music here and there...in the car or while I pack boxes.  But that's as far as it's gone.  I haven't decorated for Christmas yet, and we have not watched a single Christmas movie.  

But I have watched a couple of Thanksgiving movies.  Wow, right?!?  Did you even know there were Thanksgiving movies?  FYI - Pocahontas is not one of them.  That's just a "white man sucks" movie.  Or so my kids tell me.  

Home For the Holidays is a quirky, funny flick starring Holly Hunter and Robert Downey Jr.  I love a quirky movie.  They're the best kind.  Read the synopsis here.

Pieces of April is a low-budget  Indy film with that chick that Tom Cruise has held hostage for several years....Katie Holmes.  Sorry - couldn't think of her name for a minute there.  It's kinda heavy, but still entertaining.  Synopsis here.

Anyhow - hope you're all enjoying your pre-Thanksgiving festivities and getting stuff marked off of your "To Do" list!

Snow and Presents

There's nothing like waking up to a fresh blanket of snow.  Flakes still falling from the sky and landing in a still silent world.  No footprints across the lawn, no tire tracks down the street; just stillness. 

There's also nothing like watching four little boys tramp through that snow, messing it all up.

We did a teensy, tiny bit of Christmas shopping today and it gave me terrible anxiety.  Once I start I just want to finish.  But I'm waiting for Black Friday because I told my sister I would.  I hope she appreciates the self-restraint that's costing me.  

I only have parents and my kids left to buy for.  Yeah - the hardest ones.  Andrew and I can't decide what to get for our older boys.  We feel like it needs to be something that they can use indoors because we're headed for the land of eternal rain. But it also has to be something small because there's a very good chance we'll end up in an apartment out there. And the last thing we want to do is get them video games of any kind.  I think the only option left is Barbies. Other suggestions are welcome.  

As for the parents - I think all three of them are going to get Christmas sweaters as punishment for being so hard to buy for. Someone needs to answer that age-old question - What do you get for the person who has everything?  Ten points to anyone who can solve that dilemma.  Minus ten points if you suggest something I have to make.

 

Holiday Gift Guide - Children's Books

I love to read.  I have loved it since I was a child.  I keep hoping that my children will someday unlock the magic that is being consumed by a book, and love it as I do.  So I encourage them to read by introducing them to some favorites from my childhood.  If you're looking for some good books to give this Christmas, you've come to the right place.

Heckedy Peg by Don and Audrey Wood.

I suppose this book could be a bit scary if your kids are the mamsy-pamsy type, but if they can handle a witch story that comes out all right in the end, then they'll love this.  The pictures are amazing, and the story is phenomenal.  A poor woman leaves her seven children alone while she goes to town to buy them each a gift.  The children are tricked by a witch and she turns them all into food for her feast.  The poor mother must save her children by figuring out which child is which food.  Now that I've written that, it sounds a little odd.  But trust me, it's good.  Click the picture to read the Amazon.com reviews.  (For all these books.)

Roxaboxen by Alice Mclerran.

This book is pure, simple imagination. Childhood without gadgets.  Remember when kids had imagination?  Yeah. This book is about a group of kids who make an imaginary world in the hills near their houses.  It's completely told in a narrative from one of the women who lived it in real life. Just makes ya feel good.

For the Reluctant Reader, I recommend Shel Silverstein.  His big books of silly poems are perfect for a child's humor.  Unfortunately, my sons do not like to read - especially chapter books.  My oldest is discouraged just looking at page after page of words and long chapters.  But he will sit down with Where the Sidewalk Ends and devour poem after poem after poem and not realize that he has read the equivalent of a chapter from a larger, more daunting book.  And that's just fine with me.

And finally, ANYTHING by Roald Dahl.  Seriously, that man wrote for children.  He was a gift to the world of children's literature.  My boys LOVE his stories.  Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Witches, Matilda, The BFG, Danny Champion of the World, The Twits, George's Marvelous Medicine - you honestly can't go wrong.  To further prove the brilliance of Mr. Dahl, I present to you his poem about Television....

Television

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotized by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Roald Dahl

And now, I'm headed over to check out more childrens book recommendations on Mama M.'s Holiday Gift Guide.

*If you haven't already, be sure to enter my giveaway from Get Hooked Designs!*

Gratitude Journal

In honor of Thanksgiving, my kids are keeping Gratitude Journals as part of their homeschooling.  They have to write a minimum of five sentences every day about something they are thankful for.  Allow me to share Ethan's entry from two days ago:

"I am grateful for animals.  They can help make food.  Meat and steak.  And bacon.  And pork."

Ahem.

The kid likes animals.  And we need to work on our definition of a complete sentence. But I'm with him on the steak and bacon. Can't wait to see what he's grateful for during the rest of the month.

Halloween Candy Preference

 My custom fit Halloween mask made by my father using liquid latex, paint, T.P., and paper towels.  Circa 1990.

One year for Halloween my uncle bought really small sized treat bags, blew air into them, tied them with a twistie and passed them out to kids for Halloween.  It was really sad because the bags looked like they were full of candy and the kids thought they'd hit the jackpot.

I love my uncle.

When I was a kid, my parents would take my siblings and me to the ultra-rich neighborhood in Lake Oswego, Oregon to do our trick or treating.  One house used to had out cans of soda, and another had the full size candy-bars.  And those people had no yards to speak of, so the houses were really close together and we could tackle a hundred houses in about an hour.  Suh-weet.

The day after Halloween my sisters and I always used to bring TV trays into our bedroom and each of us would display our spoils like individual sweet shops.  Sometimes we had to double-deck the trays because we'd gotten so much loot the night before.  Once our candy was all displayed, we would take a few of our goods around to each other's stores and barter.  "I'll give you a Blo-Pop for that 3 Musketeers," and so forth.  I suspect our littlest sister got a raw deal being so young and gullible.  More often than not, we tricked her into trading us her Milky Way for three Smarties.  We just had to tell her that three was more than one, and she was getting a bargain.

Sometimes Dad got in on the trading.  None of us liked Mounds or Almond Joy, so if we had any of those we could take them to Dad in exchange for a Reses Peanut Butter Cup.  

This Halloween when deciding what kind of candy to hand out, I opted for things that I like rather than going for what's popular with the kids or what was cheapest.  Because we don't get many trick-or-treaters, and I'm going to have leftovers.  I want them to be good.  

(In case you were wondering, good = Baby Ruth, Butterfinger, and Wonka Fun Dip.  Yes, Fun Dip.  And those are all hidden at the bottom of the candy bowl to be used only if everything else is used up first.)

What goods are you passing out this year?

The Truth About The Tooth Fairy

"Mom, don't forget I put my tooth under my pillow."

"Why would I need to know that?"

"You know, just in case the tooth fairy doesn't exist."

Well, it happened.  Cameron is beginning to figure things out.  I felt kinda sad about this exchange we had, but I've known this was coming, and was even a little worried that he was catching on too slowly.

I sent him off to bed for one more night of believing, and tomorrow, I'll have the unfortunate task of taking the magic out of every holiday he's ever lost sleep over.

Because I can't tell the truth about the tooth fairy and expect that Santa will remain unscathed.

But if he knows the truth about the Tooth Fairy, do I still have to fork out a dollar every time he loses a molar?

Things I Learned During Our Independance Day Celebrations

1. I learned that using a porta-potty at 9:30 AM isn't so bad, but using that same porta-potty at 6:00 PM is vile.

2. It doesn't matter if you go early to the parade to set out your blankets in a good spot, everyone is just going to stand in the street and block both your view and the progression of the marching band. Also, no one listens to motorcycle cops telling them to back up, because there is salt water taffy being thrown from the floats and there are four thousand adults trying to make sure that their kid gets more than all the other kids - who cares about the people who are actually trying to watch the parade?


(This was our view of the parade. And below is my 6'2" sister and 6'5" father who could not see anything, even when they stood on each others shoulders.)


3. I have the capability to yell at perfect strangers.

4. In spite of ten thousand morons choking the life out of the parade, it was still kind of cool to see my kids having fun waving to people while they rode in the parade with the V-Dub Club of Northern Utah. (None of the VW's broke down in the street. I was surprised.)







5. Taking my one-year-old to a restaurant when he has been in the hot sun all morning and missed his nap time by two hours is a bad idea.

6. Having my grandpa come to our house for a holiday meal and fireworks feels a bit like winning. Cause there are commonly six different families fighting for his patronage. Take that, Extended Family!


(He doesn't usually wear those.)

7. Pulled pork sandwiches topped with coleslaw, plus corn on the cob, watermelon, fruit pizza, and apple pie trumps any burger you could grill.





8. My brother is pretty much the coolest uncle ever. He makes my kids weapons and lets them beat him up.





9. I have pasty-white, unshapely legs.



10. I can be the nice mom and buy the kids glow sticks, and I'm cool for about ten minutes. Then my dad buys light-up swords, and I become the cheapskate. That's ok though - grandpas are supposed to be the favorite.





11. Trent really likes fireworks.

Do You Know What I Mean?

Today I'm doing that Five Question Friday with Mama M. So click on the button and link up your own! (After you read mine, of course.)

OK, I'm having a heck of a time getting the button to paste here, so let me scream for a second, and then you can just use this link to get to Mama M's place.

1. What is one thing you miss the most about childhood? It seems really weird, but I miss homework. That was my biggest worry in life, and it was good. I also miss getting new school clothes and supplies every year. Blank paper neatly separated by dividers in a pristine binder or Trapper Keeper. Don't you love the smell of Office Depot?

2. Are you still friends with your friends from high school? We chat on facebook a little here and a little there, but that doesn't really constitute an actual friendship, does it? It makes me kind of sad. We'll blame it on living so far apart.

3. Is there a catch phrase, cliche, or word that just drives you bonkers every time you hear it? Holy shart, Batman, there is one that I detest!! I've never heard anyone I actually know or like say this, but I overhear it in conversations all the time. I can't stand it when someone makes a statement and then follows it up with, "Do you know what I mean?" Why do I hate that? Several reasons:

A) It's insulting. "Gee, you know, I'm so stupid that I really don't know what you mean. Can you explain it to me in smaller words?"

B) When someone says it, they don't really want you to interject with your experience or feelings on the matter - they want you to nod and ooh and aahhh over their brilliance, and then shut up so they can keep talking.

C) It sounds really valley-girl. Every time I hear someone say it I expect to hear her snap her gum before she resumes her rambling.

It's a bad habit. Much like my overuse of the phrase, "Oh. My. Hell." No one's perfect.

4. What is one thing that you think symbolizes America...besides "Old Glory"? I'm going to say apple pie. But that's probably just because I'm making one today and have it on the brain.

5. What are your 4th of July weekend plans? Parade, lunch out with the family, barbecue at my place, and then walking three blocks to the fireworks show. No traffic for us!

Sweet Land of Liberty

Christmas is magical, Thanksgiving is tasty, Easter is refreshing... But the Fourth of July - it's just exciting!

We have some pretty fun traditions for the 4th - we watch our city's parade, make fun of Utah hair, swing through the carnival, we go to lunch at Red Robin, we come back to my house to hang out/play games/barbecue, (except this year it's going to be pulled pork sandwiches with coleslaw piled high on top...YUM), and then at about 8:00 we walk just three blocks from my house to the town's fireworks display. Need I tell you how nice it is to live that close? We laugh at everyone stuck in traffic.

This year all those traditions will take place on Saturday because in Utah where most of the population is LDS, (Mormon), we don't do much partying on Sunday. The cities kindly shifted the festivities to Saturday.

I love the 4th of July - the marching bands, the food, the noise and excitement, the carnivals, the fireworks, the pride in our country. I love our freedom and our history.

I hope you all have a safe, happy, wonderful Independence Day! Tell me how you're celebrating!

Commercializing Love

The first time I ever celebrated a Valentines Day with a significant other was when I had just started to date Andrew. He was a senior in high school and I was a sophomore. I took the opportunity to profess my love for Andrew by hiring a female barbershop quartet to serenade him in the middle of his CWP class. I don't know that I've ever seen Andrew as mortified as he was on that occasion. I took pictures so that we could look back on that in fifty years and try to remember who those people were. The women were all over forty, they wore sparkly red jumpsuits, and they presented Andrew with a single red rose when they were finished humiliating him. Priceless.

The first year that Andrew and I celebrated a Valentines Day as a married couple, I gave him a Portland Trailblazers jersey. He doesn't wear it very often anymore, but he refuses to let me cart it off to Goodwill. I'd like to think that it's because he's emotionally attached to it, but I know better.

This year I am giving Andrew a gift certificate to Massage Envy. He's been talking about getting a massage for years, and I am finally giving in because I realize that while I have no desire to let a stranger rub me down, he does. I hope he gets a man masseuse.

I have always been a pain in Andrew's rear when it comes to gifts. My feeling is that if he's going to spend some money on me, he shouldn't buy something that will die. So flowers are out. I like flowers and all, but they are predictable and expensive and I'd rather see some growing in my yard than withering in a vase. (But only if someone else planted them in my yard, because I hate gardening.) Candy is a useless gift, because at any given time, I likely have a stash of chocolate and other sweets hidden in the cupboard.

This year I decided to give Andrew a hand with the process and just get myself a gift. So last night I signed myself up for Netflix on the computer, and then Andrew looked over at me from his recliner where he was watching ESPN, and said, "Happy Valentines Day!" I told him thank you for his thoughtful gift and then filled my movie queue with flicks that I want. You see, this is only a gift for me, so only I get to chose the movies. The power is totally going to my head.

First up: Heart and Souls, Signs (to watch with the kids), Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day, and Four Weddings and a Funeral. I can't wait to check the mail tomorrow!

Christmas Stockings

Growing up, my family had a tradition of filling Christmas boots instead of stockings. We each had a little plaster molded boot which looked much like the kind that you might see on Santa's foot, but ours were decorated with Christmas fabrics, coated in a shiny varnish and topped with a border of white, fluffy fur. In my youth, I had never seen a stocking filled on Christmas morning, nor had I ever been the one responsible for filling someone's stocking.

The first year that I had the privilege of filling anyone's Christmas stocking was the Christmas before Andrew and I were married. It was a new, but welcome chore. A few days before Christmas I pulled out the sacks of candies and goodies that I had purchased to fill Andrew's stocking with. There were mints and gum, an orange, some nuts, a bag of peanut butter cups and one of snickers bars, candy canes, peppermint taffy, Chapstick, and a small gift. I began to stuff the stocking with all the treats and surprises, but when I came to the end of my supplies, I found that the stocking still looked rather pathetically empty. It had stretched out a bit, but was nowhere near capacity and no treats could be seen poking out the top.

No problem, I thought, and I went back to the store, grateful that I had started this project early. I bought a few more bags of Christmas candies and took them home and put the new bags into the stocking with the others, but the stocking absorbed the new bags and still wasn't full! The thing just kept stretching! It seemed to have no limit! I think I actually cursed Andrew's grandmother for knitting the stocking in such a huge size!

Once more I went back to the store, determined to make that stocking bulge with Christmas prizes that overflowed the brim.

After that last trip to the store, the sock was still stretching to mock my ignorance, but at last, a few plastic wrappers could be seen peeking from the top, and I hung a few more candy canes from the knitted rim.

On Christmas morning, I carried that stocking downstairs and proudly laid it on the hearth, because I feared that hanging the poor thing would cause the ribbon to snap. When Andrew saw it, he enjoyed a merry laugh at my expense and asked me what on earth I had put in it? I replied that I had only filled his stocking with the traditional items, and that he ought to be grateful because it had cost me a fortune, and what was his grandmother thinking when she made it??

Andrew then informed me that those extra-large stockings were not meant to be "filled" in the way that I had thought, because they will, in fact, stretch enough to hold an elephant along with it's daily supply of food and a ball to play with.

Thanks for telling me that before I cleaned out the candy aisle at Albertson's, Andrew!

Since then, I have thought our Christmas stockings, lovingly knitted by Grandma Kestner, (and one by Aunt Heidi!), to be a priceless treasure, and not at all a dangling Yuletide money pit.

Below is the Christmas stocking poem that I always enjoyed as a child. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Stockings by Esther Kem Thomas

The funniest sight, I do believe,
Is a limpity sock on Christmas Eve--
Empty and flat and wrinkledy, too,
And maybe a mite too big for you,
Cause the bigger the stocking, the more goes in
And it's hung up tight with a safety pin,
And a note with suggestions for Santa Claus
As to whose lengthy stocking, this is, because
Old Santa might wonder if its size could be
A little too big for the size of me....
Oh, nothing looks stranger, I do believe,
Than a limpity stocking, on Christmas Eve!

The jolliest sight, I'd surely say,
Is a knobbledy sock on Christmas Day,
With an orange way down in its bulged out toe,
And some big walnuts where a heel should go,
And a horn, and a toy, and a lollipop,
And all sorts of things sticking out the top!
Why, the bigger its stuffed and away oversize
The better! Each bulge is a brand new surprise,
And the funniest thing, I can't believe
It's the limpity sock I hung up, Christmas Eve!

The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

The best part of pureeing zucchini and fresh tomatoes to add to the spaghetti sauce so that the kids will unknowingly eat the vegetables that they profess to hate is not the content feeling that they are getting the nutrients they need, but the victorious satisfaction of having duped them. And with that, I begin to wonder at all the lies we tell our children.


I have been told that as a young child, my parents would sometimes rouse us kids in the middle of the night, tell us that Santa Claus had come, and then watch in amusement as we stumbled from our beds, half asleep, and headed for the living room to see what treasures the jolly fellow had left us. It was not Christmas. It was not even December. I will admit to having tried that with my own kids just to see what was so hilarious, but my kids sleep like death, so I will forever have to wonder what it's like to snicker at that little joke.


Most of the lies I tell my children are not for my own amusement, but for their own happiness and well-being. (Take that Mom and Dad!) For instance, I told my oldest boys that kissing a girl before they were sixteen would turn their lips and tongues green so that everyone would know what they had done. That one didn't work for as long as I hoped it would. I've told them that Mt. Dew and energy drinks of all kinds taste like liquid garbage and that they hurt my stomach and will likely hurt theirs too, if ever they should be foolish enough to try one. (Not so much a lie, that one.) When Ethan was on a health food kick and asked me if hot dogs were good for you, I answered that they were indeed a member of the protein food group and would help him grow strong muscles. It was the beginning of the summer, aka barbecue season, and we had many hot dogs in our future at that point - I didn't want the kid to starve. When the kids do their daily reading, twenty minutes are required. So far, neither of them has decided to time themselves, and inevitably they ask me how long it's been when they have read for about fifteen minutes. I tell them it's been seven, and then they read for another ten minutes or so and ask me how much longer they have to go, and I tell them five more minutes, and then I cut them loose. That way, they read for thirty minutes, but don't know it. One day they'll wise up and check the clock for themselves. Until then, I see no harm in this little tweak of the truth. I once got 40 minutes out of Cameron, but I think that was stretching it too far. He asked me if he had to read the next day since he read for so long on that day. His perception of time must be sharpening into something fairly accurate.


With Christmas approaching, I can't help but wonder how much longer Cameron will still experience the thrill and mysterious excitement of Santa Claus. Will this year be the year that he discovers the biggest lie of all? He's eight and a half, and I know it's coming. If not this Christmas, then probably next. These years of innocence disappear all too quickly. The first Christmas that Cameron realizes that it's always been Mom and Dad leaving the presents under the tree will be the first time that I will feel like I betrayed him with my lies. I will feel like I set him up. Christmas with a Santa is like a ball of excitement and magical wonder and joy fusing together in the pit of your stomach and then bouncing around your insides for a solid month, growing larger with every nibble of sugar cookie, every carol sung on the radio and every light strung on the tree until it becomes so large that on Christmas Eve, it explodes from your body in a shower of squeals and giggles and then burns all around you until it's light becomes exhausting and you finally fall asleep wondering if you just heard reindeer hooves thumping lightly on the snow-covered roof. Christmas with no Santa is just good food and presents. I will be so sad for Cameron when that day comes.


And when he does find out the truth, I will put that guilt aside, replace one lie with another, and tell him that if he blabs to one of his brothers, then I will let him open all of his presents on Christmas morning just so he can see what might have been his, and then I will take the whole lot down to a homeless shelter in Salt Lake City and make him watch me as I give every last present to the little children who got nothing, and then won't he be sorry that he told? Whereas, if he keeps his mouth shut, I will only make him choose one present to take to the shelter.