Reverently, Quietly...

Brian had to give a talk on Sunday about being reverent in Church. (Hmmm, I wonder why they asked him to do that?) Later that afternoon the kids made a list of things he probably shouldn't be doing during church meetings from now on. Here's what they've come up with so far:

• no more making faces at the deacon sitting on the stand to try and make him laugh
• no more playing "peek-a-boo" with the deacon on the stand behind the elderly lady's head who always sits in front of us
• no more taking pictures with the cell phone of our family down the pew
• definitely no more doing the wave...
• "yoda" voices while singing hymns, he'll have to stop that as well
• no more shouting out "Yea" when someone reads a scripture (yes, he does that)

That's our list so far, but there are others. It's going to be hard to be reverent, but we are certain the talk being assigned to him wasn't random. Most likely it was encouraged by the people sitting in the rows next to us. We'll see how long the commitment to reverence lasts. Hopefully I'll be pleasantly surprised.

Christmas Wrap-up

Christmas is over. For this I am sure: it is 70 degrees outside. But as I vacuum up the last of the needles from our Christmas tree, I thought about the highlights from Christmas 2008.

All the kids got some great things, but as Sarah was popping the bubble wrap from one of her presents, Nicholas yelled out, "How come she got bubble wrap?" We could have saved ourselves hundreds of dollars this year, if we would've just bought a roll of bubble wrap...who would've thunk? Oh well, there's always next year...

The next highlight is definitely "Rock Band." Combinations of the family have been playing that over the past few days and have had so much fun. Sarah is on "Expert" level on the guitar and seems to have no desire to try the drums--which are her "thing"--go figure. I've even joined in on the vocals, and let me tell you: I do NOT rock. In fact, I stink. But it is still fun to watch them play and learn new songs.

Both Sarah and Heather got high tech calculators. The night before Christmas they were negotiating the time they could wake up to open their presents. They wanted 5am (which is late for them) I was pushing for 7am. What was the rush, wake up to open their calculators? Very exciting...but they were excited. Heather said that's how you can tell a true geek: Someone who gets a calculator, pencils, erasers and books for Christmas and got everything they wanted...I'm so happy she is so easily pleased, and I don't think she's a geek.

Well our Christmas seemed to go by too quick. The kids all slept in the same room Christmas Eve in anticipation of Santa coming. They left him cookies and cheese (they have ever since the commercial "Behold the power of cheese") and milk, as well as a nice letter, which was one of the biggest highlights:

Dear Santa,

Thanks for stopping at our house, it means so much to our dad. Since you have unlimited time and everything, please feel free to stay at our house and eat all the food we left for you. I know the time travel thing must be hungering.

Sincerely,

The McKibben Four

Not sure if an intervention is necessary...

Hello, my name is Mindy and I have a problem. There, admitting I have a problem is the first step, right? It's noon on Christmas day and all the Christmas decorations are put away. I took all the ornaments and lights off the tree, but the tree is still up. Only because no one will help me and the cats keep giving me dirty looks when I try. (They are sleeping underneath it.)

It's not like I don't enjoy the Christmas decorations. I've been enjoying them for a month now. But Christmas is over and I guess I'm done...I rationalized by telling myself I needed to be organized and see what replacement lights, etc. I need to buy, at the after Christmas sales. But really, I just want all the Christmas stuff cleaned up and put away. It feels so much better now that it's done. Now I can relax. Except for the tree, sigh. I guess it can wait until tomorrow. Or maybe tonight...

So, I know there are those of you out there who have no intention of taking down your decorations. In fact, some people leave their lights up year round. I'm not doing anything right now. The kids are busy playing with the stuff Santa brought, so I can come over right now and help you, if you want... It's no problem really. By then maybe when I get home, the cats will be eating or something and I can get my tree taken down...

Room for Everyone

Shopping made easy

We had to run into Walmart to get a few things. Two days until Christmas---not the best day to be at Walmart, I know. I had Nicholas and Heather with me and told them the four things we needed. Before I could turn around, Nicholas had grabbed a cart and was running down the aisle.

Heather and I ran behind him, watching as he threw the items we needed into the cart and continued on to the next item on the list. He was amazing. Running next to Heather, she shook her head. "No one can keep up with him in the halls at school either, he's too fast," she exclaimed.

Looking at the last item we needed, I couldn't decide between two things which to get. It was no problem for Nicholas. He just grabbed one, threw it in the cart and was off to the checkout stand. By the time I reached the car, he had unloaded the bags, returned the cart and was sitting in the car waiting for me.

From now on, I think I'll need to start taking him out of school on the mornings I do my big grocery shopping. He made my shopping experience so much easier. Driving home I commented how nice it had been. "What, you mean running through Walmart after Nicholas?" Heather replied. Yup.

Nicholas unloaded the car when we got home. Everyone definitely needs a Nicholas, I never want to go shopping again without him!

Wake Up Call

Sarah sat up all evening constructing a map of the state and coloring in all the different counties as they were cancelled and delayed, in anticipation. There was very cold weather being predicted for this morning and here in West Virginia we get almost a guaranteed 2-hour delay for below zero temperatures.

Needless to say, we were keeping track of the school situation. In fact, we knew about our delay before we went to bed last night and I smiled as I set the alarm for 8:30am instead of the usual 5:20am (no early morning seminary on school delay days)!

So imagine my surprise to hear the phone ring at 6:06am this morning. And I was more than a little annoyed to find out it was a recording from our school, kindly informing me that there was a two hour delay. (Basically they were waking me up to tell me I could go back to sleep.) BUT I KNEW THAT BEFORE I WENT TO BED LAST NIGHT!

Not able to get back to sleep, my nice feelings that they would call so early haven't faded any. This is the third time I've received a six am phone call from the school and it's getting tiresome. I politely waited until 8am (only because I knew I'd just get a recording if I called earlier) and explained that I don't appreciate the phone calls and want them to stop. The nice lady informed me that she didn't think that was possible and connected me to someone else that I could leave a voice mail with.

They were probably home asleep---like I should still be! It reminds me of the line from a movie, "Wake up, it's time to take your sleeping pill." And it's just the beginning of the cold weather, I have many early morning phone calls to look forward to.

Something that Nick wrote!

The best part about the music in Nick's head, is that he can write it down and I get to hear it too!

If Martha Stewart was dead she'd roll over in her grave...

I was dropping off some gifts and added a bow on top---but they still didn't look quite right. One was, after all, for a good friend who is moving to Utah. I wouldn't have been so concerned, except that she can just look at something and make it look amazing. I am rather impaired in the decorating department. For me, I consider something wrapped, if I am fortunate enough to take the receipt out of the Walmart bag before I hand it over. So, by adding a bow you can see I was really trying.

I remembered I had some fancy schmancy ribbon I bought after Christmas last year at 90% off (love a good bargain). I enlisted my daughter Heather's help and we sat down to see what damage we could do. After several minutes with no luck---the ribbon was too slick and the tape wouldn't keep it stuck down---my other daughter, working across the table on homework, finally suggested getting out the staple gun. I think she was joking. It was brilliant and more importantly it worked!

The real question is whether or not my friends will ever be able to get their presents open. There are probably 50 staples holding each bow in place (okay, I got a little carried away with the stapling.) The downside was, on the way to deliver it, my daughter accidentally sat on one of the bows and before delivering the gift, I had to ask one of my friends if she had a stapler I could borrow to fix it. Tacky, maybe...just another reminder of why I leave all the wrapping to my husband.

One of those mornings...

We try to make mornings as easy as possible at our house. We make lunches the night before, have the backpacks packed and waiting by the door. When the kids were smaller, I used to lay out their clothes, (but now they don't appreciate it, for some reason.) So, needless to say, we don't like surprises early in the morning.

I got the early morning seminary kids up and off at 5:30am and clearly remember resetting my alarm to wake up the youngest an hour later. Laying in bed I was thinking my alarm would be going off any minute but decided to peek and check to see exactly how many more minutes I had left in my warm bed: 7:06am. EEEEEEKKKKK! The neighbor would be at our house in 4 minutes, as it was my month to drive for the carpool. I ran, screaming downstairs to wake up Anna to tell her she had exactly 4 minutes to get dressed and into the car, as I grabbed her coat, shoes and a muffin for her to eat on the way.

Of course she was ready in time, she usually stays in bed until about that time and then hurries to get ready. I, on the other hand, prefer to be dressed. Starting the car, I remembered my husband had left a note, "car needs gas." The gas light lit up. Great, so as I dropped the kids off at school, I prayed the whole way I wouldn't have to walk to the gas station in my p.j.'s.

The kids are all at school and I have a full tank of gas. I'm still not dressed, but what's the rush, everyone's already seen me in my pajamas today already...We did so well, tomorrow I think I'll set the alarm for 7:07am, add a flat tire to the mix and see how we do. Come on, give me something challenging next time, I didn't even work up a sweat!

Make it go away

I've had enough, can it be over yet? I took the kids to the mall again, to try one more time for them to buy gifts for each other and their friends. We went yesterday and we made it through one store and left.

Today we went with a plan. We divided up, everyone had cell phones which they promised they had turned on and we got started. (I failed to specify to have their phones on ring instead of silent, my fault of course, when they didn't answer.) The lines were horrendous, I waited for twenty minutes to purchase one item, only to find myself in the exact same store, with another child waiting in the same line, only miraculously longer this time.

And if I felt like it had been a happy, bonding, memory making time with the kids, maybe it would've been worth it. Two of them had headaches and complained the whole time and the youngest wanted to stay and shop all day. So, not finishing our shopping again, we decided to leave. As if to add insult to injury, the line to exit the mall was backed up and we had to wait in line for twenty minutes just to leave.

I'm thinking homemade items for any remaining gifts the kids didn't buy---at least they aren't going to get ME to take them to the mall again. Macaroni necklaces, pretty pictures, painted rocks...doesn't that sound special?

Who doesn't love a parade!

Brrrrr! It's cold outside. After marching in the Christmas parade in below freezing temperatures, Sarah and Nicholas (the entire snare line) pose for this picture. I think they should seriously reconsider letting the drumline wear gloves. Brian and I ran beside the band the whole way, not just to take pictures, but to stay warm:)

Oops, I did it again

Something I've decided to work on is not complaining so much. When I start paying attention to what actually comes out of my mouth, I've realized that I complain a lot. The problem is, I tend to speak before I think about what I'm saying.

Take last Sunday, for instance. We had a joint Relief Society/Priesthood lesson, which was really good, by the way (that was a positive comment!), where the teacher mentioned that, like the body, which has natural hormones to help us sleep, the gospel also has elements that help us (sleep???). Without thinking, I volunteered: "It's called Isaiah," which got several scowls from the people sitting around me, as well as a whisper of disapproval from someone behind me: "She didn't even raise her hand." Of course that wasn't the answer the teacher was looking for.

Recommitting myself once again to try and censor my negativity and focus on positive thoughts and comments, I'm finding it's hard. (Only I would complain about trying not to complain.) I've come up with a few ideas to help facilitate my efforts.

1. Make note cards with positive comments. However, note to self: when positive comments are said sarcastically they don't count as being positive.

2. Limit time around other people. This is actually my best bet for success.

Well that's pretty much all I have. Some people are always so peppy and positive---I can't stand people like that. I mean, I wish I was more like that.

Jingle All the Way

Right before the ward Christmas party tonight someone called and asked if Heather would bring her violin. She asked Brian to tag along...Pretty good for spur of the moment. Anna did a great job of catching it all on film---sort of.

Different is good

I've lived in West Virginia for over 13 years now. We're happy here and it's beautiful. There are a few things I've noticed over the years that seem unique to this state, or at least I've never seen in other states I've lived in or visited.

There are the little things like learning that a toboggan is not a sled but a hat. Or when someone mentions a sweeper, they are referring to a vacuum. Something interesting I discovered last year was our seasonal speed bump.

At first we weren't sure what happened. For some reason, my son and the neighbor really detested the new speed bump that was installed at the bottom of our hill. They complained every time we went over it. So, one day when it was no longer there, I looked in the rear view mirror to see from the looks on their faces if they had actually followed through with their threats of sneaking out during the night with shovels and removing it. They seemed as surprised as I was to find it missing.

Our beloved speed bump returned the following spring. Last week it once again disappeared. My friend complained that she wasn't able to find my house because she knew she was supposed to turn after the speed bump. "How can they remove a landmark?" she demanded.

I don't know, it's just a strange phenomenon. Another one is the optional stop signs. And yes, here in West Virginia they do exist! Growing up in Nebraska they were just a myth perpetuated to torture beginning drivers.

Throughout the state are stop signs with additional signs that say "Except when turning right," hence optional stop signs. I can't help smiling as I press the gas and speed through the stop sign. It reminds me of sitting in the car with my dad. He would have one of his feet on the dash board, the other one wedged against the window, holding on for dear life to the hand rest, breathing deeply.

"I'm going to start the car now, dad," I'd warn him. He hadn't quite recovered from his previous driving experience with me. I'd barrelled through a stop sign without even the slightest thought of yielding. "It's okay, there's a white rim around it, it's optional," I'd told him confidently, practically giving him a heart attack. Needless to say I was given time off from my driving practice and the boys who had told me the little nugget about the stop signs, were given a talking to...Ahhh, memories. So, you can see why it's so validating to come here and find that optional stop signs really do exist! Woo hoo!

Yttrium Unplugged

What's a rock band to do when their lead singer is on vacation? Break out the wind instruments and play a "Pulsar" march, of course. And you can't go wrong with the Sombreros.

And now for something completely different: I think it has a "Three Amigo's" feel to it, myself...

Hiding in Plain Sight

I was finished with what I hoped to be the last of my Christmas shopping and ran upstairs with the loot to stow it away. I heard my kids in the kitchen as I passed through, however. They were discussing the various places I would probably be hiding the bags I was carrying.

"Probably the closet," Heather guessed.

"Or inside the window seat," Sarah voiced.

"Don't forget underneath the quilt rack," Anna added.

So much for my top secret hiding places. They were so busted. They shouldn't know where my hiding places were, unless of course, they had been looking. Since there was no safe place left, I did the only thing I could do. I decided to hide presents in plain sight. Who knows, maybe they won't even notice the various piles throughout the house...hey, at least the presents are wrapped...

Mandatory Family Fun

How much fun can you fit into one evening? When it's mandatory, the possibilities are endless! We decorated our advent calendars and put up our Christmas tree and everyone was cheerful and festive---or else!

Sarah and Nicholas before the Alderson-Broaddus Honor Band Concert; Nicholas was giving his "Look at me---I just got my braces off" smile. (Even though he's never worn braces.)Heather wasn't feeling well and sitting on the other side next to me before the concert started.

Because when you are serious about practicing; one microphone just isn't enough.

Feeling like the Grinch, but it's not my fault!

I've gotten two Christmas cards already. I just want to state for the record that it's still November. So to all you people who are sending out Christmas cards a month before Christmas---please stop! Or at least wait until December, so it doesn't make the rest of us feel quite so much like utter slackers and complete losers. That's not too much to ask, is it?

I know there are always the few over-achievers out there who can't seem to help themselves. And on the other end of the spectrum there are those who will finally get their seasons greetings out in time for Valentine's day. But it isn't even Thanksgiving, for crying out loud!

So, in the spirit of love, unity, peace on earth, and all that other merriness like that, I am kindly requesting for everyone to PLEASE hang on to your fancy, handmade holiday cards (with accompanying photos) at least until December.

Ahhh, I feel so much better. So now that I have that off my chest I just wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy holiday!

It's just a Blemish...

We were driving in the car this evening and my daughter Heather informed me, "You have ruined me, mom." "Probably," I agreed. But figuring she must have a point to her statement, I bit. "What did I do this time?"

"Every time I see a white head on someone else's face, I have an irresistible urge to pop it," she exclaimed. That's not my fault, I told her, that is human nature. Right? I think everyone secretly wants to rid the world of white heads---whether they are on their own face or on the face of a random stranger. Gross? No, it's just one of those things.

Relieved that I had not in fact ruined my daughter's life---yet, I was able to continue on, feeling much better about myself. But just for the record, that's true, right?

Movie Madness!

Twilight premiere was last night at midnight. My friend got my daughters and I tickets to go with them last night to see it. The rational part of me knew it was too late for a school night, but the Twilight fan in me, quickly overrode the rational part. And it was awesome. Okay, so we're tired, but it was definitely worth it. Besides, I figured the kids could find time to sneak a nap in one of their classes today...

We got home at 2:30am and were up four hours later. The no-sleep headache buzzing around will eventually go away. But, the movie will last a lifetime....ahhhh...

After the initial zinger of "I'm sure you'll all enjoy the special showing of "Bolt 3D" we have for you all tonight," (ha ha, that went over really well,) the theater manager announced that they had two movies going on with only one copy of the film (is that legal?). He assured us that they would do everything they could to make sure both movies went off without a glitch. So anyway, we started off with a bang---the previews were all silent. My daughter leaned over and said that she had figured it out. We got the video and the theater next door got the sound...Lovely...but luckily we did end up getting sound by the time the movie started. (Even though we were fully prepared to do some serious lip reading to make the most of our midnight movie experience.)

And it was awesome. Most of the characters were how I imagined them, there were a few disappointments. But overall, I give it two thumbs up. Which is good, since my opinion is important---that, and we're going to be going to see it again tonight...

I knew that!

Either kids are getting smarter at an earlier age, or I'm rapidly losing brain cells. I think I'll go with the kids are getting smarter theory. I was taking my friend's grandkids to the Burger King playland today, so they could get their grocery shopping done. Trying to think of something to talk about, I grabbed the pair of fuzzy dice out of my glove compartment and showed it to them, right before we got started on the drive over to BK.

"Your cousin calls these coconuts!" I told the kids in the backseat, remembering a similar trip I'd had a few months ago with their cousin who was about their same age. "Those aren't coconuts," the little girl piped up in her small voice. "Those are fuzzy dice---you can tell because they are square," she informed me. (A good tip.)

Okay. Trying to keep the conversation going, I unfortunately stuck with the coconut theme. "At least if it was a coconut, if we got thirsty, we could stick in a straw and drink some coconut juice," I told her, obviously not thinking about what I was saying.

"Nope," her small all-knowing voice replied. "Coconuts have milk inside them." Feeling like I was now a complete idiot, I wanted to change the subject, but didn't know what else she was an expert on. Luckily, Burger King was close by, with kids' meal toys for them and free refills for me. We would all be fine---no conversation required. Are two and three year olds born knowing random facts nowadays or have I just forgotten since my own kids were little?

Now that's what sisters are for. If you can't use them as a pillow, what good are they?

I love this picture of Sarah and Heather on a super long bus trip. Sisterly love at it's finest (drool and all)...

Should I stay or should I go now...

I dropped Sarah, Heather and Nicholas off at AB college Honor Band this morning. They went to their various warm-up areas before their auditions and I went to tell them goodbye. Heather and Nicholas both had people they knew from school with them. I went into the auditorium where Sarah was warming up and she was the only one in there. I guess none of the other percussionists had arrived yet.

"Do you want me to wait in here with you until someone else comes?" I asked her. I wasn't sure if she would think it was better to be alone or have her mother sitting with her. "I don't care," she mumbled. I translated and my closest approximation was that she would love it if I stayed. I sat there pondering the big universal question: "Should I stay or should I go now...."

You see, I am not really good at figuring out teenagers when it comes to this kind of thing. For example, last week I went to the high school to talk to the principal. Unfortunately he was on lunch duty so I had to walk through the cafeteria to talk to him. I have found that teenagers don't like it when adults show them recognition in front of their friends, so I looked at the floor as I walked through the cafeteria. That way I wouldn't accidentally smile or wave at someone I knew. I repeated to myself, "I don't exist, I don't exist," over and over again as I made my way over to the principal.

I was surprised to hear, "Mrs. McKibben, hey Nick's mom," shouted by several kids. I looked up and soon found myself smiling, waving and getting high fives from several kids in the lunch room. "I DO EXIST," I thought proudly. By the time I had finished talking the principal, I was quite full of myself. But don't worry, I had to walk back through the hall on my way to my car and had enough glares of "I don't know you---you don't know me" to sufficiently knock my ego back down to size.

So, back to my dilemma. I waited in the auditorium with Sarah until another percussionist arrived. But I still wasn't sure if I should stay. Finally, I got up and told Sarah to call me after her audition. Did I make the right decision? Who knows? Maybe I should have stayed. I'll worry about it for the rest of the day, I'm sure. But if I'd stayed, I would have worried that I should have left...

Anna and her friend Shelby Trick or Treating. It was their last Halloween since they both turned twelve this year. Anna went as a "Cat Burgler" (Notice the stuffed cat she is carrying) and Shelby is an artsy theater type, who reads poems and snaps.

Hurry up to wait in line...

I love to wait. Which is really fortunate, because there are so many things I get to wait for: stop lights, grocery lines, doctor appointments and sometimes I even get a two-fer. Like when you wait in line to buy a movie ticket and then get to wait in line again when the movie starts, for your seat---those are my favorite.

Anyway, I have always wondered why businesses find the unfriendliest and nastiest people on the face of the earth, to hire to meet you at the end of those lines. Not that I don't like waiting in those lines, mind you. But at the end, it would be nice to be greeted with a friendly smiling face. It seems like every receptionist and store clerk go out of their way to make my wonderful waiting experience, end up feeling unfulfilled, like a bad taste left in my mouth I can't get rid of.

Like an old dentist I used to go to, who I loved, for example. He had a ten-minute late policy. I wouldn't dream of showing up late to a dentist appointment, but not because of his policy. I would have had to face the dragon lady and receive her evil glare, which would've probably melted me on the spot. (No need for dental work, I guess). One day after ten minutes of waiting, I got up and headed for the back to see the dentist. "Where are you going," dragon lady screeched. "Ten minute policy," I told her sweetly. "I figure if I can't be more than ten minutes late, neither can you." But after seeing that clearly she could not take my little joke, I went back to my seat and was rewarded with EXTRA waiting time, just for my sense of humor, I'm sure. But that's okay, because if I wasn't waiting for my appointment there, I'd just be waiting for something else. The laundry to finish, water to boil, Godo...

So, when my friend told me about her experience of being thirty minutes late for her doctor's appointment the other day, I was flabbergasted. "And you still went?" I asked her. I couldn't believe she would have the nerve to show up that late! Apparently neither could the receptionist, who was not very happy. "Why are you so late," the receptionist asked my friend rudely. "I was in line at Walmart for over twenty minutes," my friend answered honestly. Instantly the receptionist was a new woman. "Oh no," she cooed. "That is awful, it happens to me all the time. Have a seat and I'll get you right in." Huh. I guess waiting in line is something everyone can relate to. It's a good thing I don't mind.

Mysteries of Life

Whenever I hear the song by John Mayer on the radio, I keep hoping that he will just say whatever it is he needs to say and get it off his chest. Obviously it is really bothering him or he could say it and move on. Until then, I'm afraid we're going to have to listen to the song over and over again, waiting to see if this will be the time he will actually get up enough nerve to say it---whatever that is.

Okay, JUST SAY IT ALREADY! But, the song ends and he still never said it. It's one of those things that will stay on my list of life's mysteries.

Like belts, they hold up pants. And belt loops hold up the belts, so it really isn't clear who the real hero is down there. I was never even aware of belt loops, totally disregarded them until Heather brought up this disturbing fact. Now it bothers me. Belts have been getting the credit all these years and no one ever thinks about belt loops. Don't they matter? I just don't know---another mystery.

And spam. I hate to even think about it, but who eats that and why do they even make it, anyway? I figure if you have to pop open a can of meat that isn't even self-respecting enough to go by the name of meat it is, how can you feel good about eating it. Besides, why would you eat spam---if you were truly bent on meat in a can, there is always canned chicken or tuna?

Alas another mystery to ponder.

Standards? What standards...

Two weeks ago, on Halloween night the candy bowl was overflowing and we had our pick of all the good stuff: Snickers, Mr. Goodbars, Kit-Kat Bars---you know what I'm talking about. The good candy. In fact, we were candy snobs.

Now we're left with the dregs. The coconut and cotton candy flavored Dum-Dums, Heavenly Hash marshmallow eggs (who buys those anyway), gummy body parts; okay I think you get the general idea.

And yet every day there is less and less of this candy in the bowl. It gets picked through more and more each day and the candy that two weeks ago we once turned our noses up at, now doesn't seem quite so bad. In fact all of the tropical fruit flavored Starbursts are now gone as well as an assortment of previously untouchable candy.

I'm guessing that by this time next week, even the disgusting candy will finally, as a last resort to eating something healthier, be eaten. Honestly, in good conscience, I should just throw the rest of the candy away now---no one in their right mind would eat it anyway. It's just that you never know how tempting a hard-as-a-rock, extremely sour, Sourhead will taste when you're coming down off a three week sugar high...

Fast Food Musings

I was dropping the kids off at a morning choir performance across town and afterwards, we decided to stop by McDonald's to grab lunch on our way back over to school. The kids are older now and haven't had Happy Meals in a while, so we thought we'd order them and see if they had changed in the past few years.

Anna and her friend were shocked when they opened up the plastic barbie toys that were included with the meals. They were wearing short skirts and their mid-drifts were showing. You'd think McDonald's could afford to give Barbie a sweater to cover her up a little more.

The girls were going to throw the dolls away, but I told them I would give them to a little girl who comes over to play sometimes with her mom. "As long as you tell her not to use Barbie as a role model," Anna instructed---the little girl is only a year old and will probably only drool on it, but okay. In fact I did tell her mom to refrain from dressing them in matching outfits. But it did make me wonder why McDonalds has "Immodest Barbie" in their collection of happy meal toys.

Anyway, just for future reference, even with the disappointing toy aside, the girls did feel slightly more happy after eating the happy meal than before they had eaten it. So, go happy meals! (Just get some better toys, okay?)

Good Morning one and all

We were running this morning and as we passed by other people we noticed something very interesting. When did people stop saying "Good" with their greetings? Everyone called "Morning" as they passed, but no one said "Good morning." At least that we could find anyway.

Is it because we are too lazy to add the good part at the beginning or is it because mornings are no longer good? Or maybe a little of both... Just something to think about as you eat your cereal tomorrow morning.

It's that time again

Today is the big voting day---trust me, there is no way I can forget. Someone has called me ten times a day all week. Every time the phone rings one of the kids will answer it, pause for a few moments and then hang up. "It was for McCain," they tell me. "Why didn't you tell them he isn't here anymore?" I ask them. (It's a joke from when we had a cardboard cut out of him in our bathroom for over a week). I'll be glad to put an end to the phone calls, they even leave messages, which I think is over the top.

At school the kids even got a chance to vote in a mock election. Of course, Anna voted for Ralph Nader. "How cool would it be to have a president with the name Ralph?" she wanted to know. If names were really all that mattered, the candidates would have re-thunk their signs. I drive by and see: "McCain Pain" and can't help but think "Osama Bin Laden" for the other one. Bad signs this year.

Hopefully not in more ways than one.

loose screws are the least of my problems...

The dreaded call home from school. It always makes me panic because it never means something good.

"Mom, my glasses broke," my daughter informed me. "Okay, that's not too bad." I asked her where her contacts were and she told me which bathroom and which cupboard they were in. I was fairly confident I could drop them off without too much problem.

I got to the school office and told the secretary that I needed to drop off my daughter's contacts. She waited for me to give them to her. "That would be easier, but you'll have to call her to come to the office," I told the secretary. She decided rather than try to figure me out, she'd just have Anna come to the office.

Anna arrived and I handed her a sack full of contact cases. Yes there were contacts in the bathroom. In fact there were several of them, all containing contacts. Apparently my children didn't realize that disposable contacts meant that when you were finished wearing them, you threw them away. She dug through the bag. "Nope, none of these are mine," she had the nerve to tell me, handing the bag back to me.

I had gotten every last contact, so there was nothing else I could do---and I knew Anna was blind without her glasses. "Let me see your glasses," I told her in frustration. "These aren't broken!" I exclaimed trying to see what the problem was. "The screw is gone," she pointed to the loose arm. That was nothing a little tape couldn't fix. A couple of minutes later she was all set to go back to class. I could pick up a screw later.

"It turns out I just have a screw loose," I told the secretary as I turned to leave, taking the bag of contacts with me. They would come in handy later that night at dinner when I asked the kids if any of them could define "disposable" for me...

Am I interrupting something?

Arriving at the Goodwill drop off, loaded to the hilt (with everything for the boy scout yard sale, they had cancelled for the last time) I went to the side door like the sign instructed. Going inside, I asked if this was where I could drop off my stuff. The man said he was busy (he was reading---maybe it was his break time), but a lady groaned, got off her chair and followed me back outside.

She held the door for me and took the first bag of stuff then disappeared inside for about five minutes. I was about to go inside to look for her when she finally reappeared. "Oh, you have more stuff?" she asked. With my trunk open she couldn't have helped but notice all the stuff piled into the back of my car.

I handed her another bag and again she disappeared inside. Guessing she must have been sorting and pricing each individual item as I waited, I began to get impatient. It had been two bags and ten minutes, and I still had about twenty bags left. I started piling bags by the side of the building when the helpful lady returned. "Oh, there's still more," she commented with a sigh. A man appeared telling me that I couldn't stack anything outside because if it got wet, they would just have to throw it away, then went back inside to sit down. Thanks.

Finally, I had to leave to pick up my kids from school. I had successfully handed the lady at the door two more bags but things were not looking good. No longer caring, I tossed bags from my car over towards the building. The man reappeared to tell me yet again that I couldn't do that. It was enough.

"Actually, I don't care if they get thrown away, or you sell them," I told him as friendly as I could while throwing bags from my car. He must have believed me because he returned with several friends from inside the building and within minutes my whole car was unloaded. Amazing, they had been in there the whole time, so sorry to disturb them.

I smell Oranges!

It was almost noon and my husband was coming home for lunch. I look forward to the quiet time we get during the day without kids. I eyed the oranges on the counter (a gift from Brian's dad when we visited last weekend) and felt guilty as I peeled a couple to eat with our lunch. We haven't eaten oranges at our house for years. Not that Brian and I don't like oranges---we actually enjoy them. Our daughter Anna, however, has issues with how they smell.

It started out mild: she would leave the room when we ate them, then refuse to be at the kitchen table. Then occasionally she would come home in tears from school. Thinking something was horribly wrong I rushed to ask her what had happened. "The girl next to me ate oranges with her lunch." It spiraled downward after that.

We ate our oranges at lunch feeling giddy in our deceit---thinking we'd really gotten away with something big. When Anna came home from school that day, she crinkled up her nose and asked disgustedly, "Who's been eating oranges?" and stomped outside until things aired out a bit more.

It made me seriously wonder. When did I lose control, or did I ever have it... I always swore I would never let my kids make me rearrange my life for their whims and quirky behaviors. Yet I am fairly certain at one point we used to even drink orange juice---but it is becoming just a fading memory. I guess I decided it was just easier to do without than deal with the drama, but I have to draw the line somewhere. Oranges are one thing and seem innocent enough, but where will it end?

All Aboard the Crazy Train

Nicholas' band Yttrium played as part of the "Concert in the Park" performance last month. This is a short clip of each of the songs they played. My favorites were "Louie, Louie" where Nicholas sang lead with Alex. And also, "Crazy Train" where Nicholas traded his drum sticks for an electric bass guitar. Since he is usually hidden behind the drum set, it was fun to see him up front for a change, and he can ROCK! Thanks to the success of this concert, they were asked to play for several additional gigs in the coming months.

Would you like a piece of candy, little girl?

Two things we always tell our kids: don't go in the street and don't take can't candy from strangers.

We were at the homecoming parade yesterday to watch two of our kids in the marching band. All the kids ran into the street---sometimes just in front of the oncoming floats, to pick up candy thrown by strangers. Hummm.

Is it supposed to make me feel better?

It's "Safety in Our Schools" week. The kids came home and told me they had a "Code Orange" drill during class that day.

Heather said after the code was announced, she immediately stood up, gathered her things and proceeded to the door. "What are you doing?" her teacher demanded. "Code Orange, Bomb threat, I'm evacuating," she informed him. "Oh."

Do I think it odd that Heather was the only one in her class that knew what a "Code Orange" was? No. She saw the list of codes a few years ago sitting on a teacher's desk and memorized it. She likes to memorize things, so it doesn't surprise me at all. I do find it odd that none of the teachers know what to do when various codes are announced.

For example. Sarah's teacher locked the door and closed the blinds, as soon as "Code Orange" was called. Which would have been very helpful if it had been a real bomb threat. However, to his credit it was better than my son's teacher---she didn't even pause, but continued on teaching. Finally the school police officer had to come and make them leave the building

For some reason, Heather was once again one of a few students taken during the drill and sent to a special room. These students, if not noticed missing by their teachers, "perish" from the pretend disaster. Last year Heather "died" in a pretend fire when her teacher failed to report her missing. This year, however, her teacher did notice her missing. Most likely he was looking for her to find out when they were supposed to finish evacuating and return to their classroom.

I am not comforted by these drills. If these are improvements from previous years, in the case of a real disaster, my children will never make it out of the school alive---except Heather that is.

It's pumpkin time!

If the shoes fits wear it, if the shoe doesn't fit...wear it anyway.

We were eating dinner the other night. Sarah, my sixteen year old surprised us by speaking: "Why are you wearing my shirt?"she asked Anna, who is eleven.

Anna shrugged her shoulders, "It was in my drawer." That explained everything. So, Heather, who is five foot eight, looked across the table and asked, "Why are you wearing my jeans?" to Sarah who is only five foot three inches tall.

Sarah looked sheepish, admitting that they had been way too long, and she had to keep pulling them up all day. "Uh, they were in my drawer?" she answered---everyone immediately turning to look at me.

So, fine. I was distracted one day while putting away laundry. But they were missing the main point. First, when you open your drawer and see something that you don't recognize, or isn't yours in there, it doesn't mean you are obligated to wear it. And second, if you put on a pair of pants, pulling them up to your arm-pits and they still don't fit, DON'T WEAR THEM! It's not that hard, really, is it?

But if it makes them feel better to blame the person who washed, folded and put away the clothes (albeit in the wrong place) I'm okay with that. As long as they realize they are the geniuses who spent the day pulling their pants up...

The small things

The car in front of me stopped at the drop off in front of the school. Several kids got out of the car, if possible, each one looking more sullen and lifeless than the one before.

"That must be the happiness mobile," I commented to my daughter Anna. Seeing the blank expressions on the kids' faces and the slump of their shoulders as they shuffled towards the school, Anna looked at me for an explanation.

"That car must suck all the joy and life out of everyone who rides in it---not allowing any happiness to leave," I surmised. How else could I explain the children exiting the vehicle in front of me?

Then I suddenly realized: That was probably exactly what my own kids looked like getting out of my car! I panicked. "Anna---Smile!" I commanded. "When you get out of the car exude happiness!"

"What does exude mean?" she asked. I told her that she could think of it like radiating happiness from every pore. "You want me to sweat happiness?" she asked giving me a look. (Pretty much, whatever it takes so I don't have to feel like I have sucked all the joy from your soul...)

I'm not sure my pep talk helped much, but I did get a lopsided smile from her when she got out of the car. Which is better than nothing!

Small victories

Family prayer, sigh. I can't really complain, I mean all of the kids show up at 8:45pm each night. It's just that no matter how many times we ask our oldest daughter, Sarah to speak a little louder when she prays, we get no improvement. I know, I sound like I'm being critical but take last week for example.

It was Sarah's night to pray and she shoved her face so far down into the couch that we honestly couldn't hear a word she was saying. In fact, she got up and left while the rest of the family stayed kneeling around the couch. Finally we heard her bedroom door slam and looked up to realize she had not only finished praying, but left! We decided that we definitely had to do something...

My husband got an idea and could barely wait until this week when it was Sarah' s turn to pray again. As we finished reading scriptures and kneeled down, he casually asked whose night it was. When Sarah said it was her night, he kept a straight face and handed her the microphone he had set up next to the couch. And luckily everyone, including Sarah busted out laughing.

"Great, amplified muttering," Heather commented. But amplified muttering or not, at least we knew when she was finished praying.

Something is amiss...

Some friends and I run in the park behind the high school every morning. Now that school is back in session, we undercover mom's are back in business. We are naturally nosy and involved in everyone else's business: who are those kids not in class, why are those kids going into the woods, etc. If you think about it, we really are perfect for our self-appointed task.

Today we saw a couple of boys slink off into the woods behind the park after school had started along with a very strong, bitter smell. After our first lap, we called OJ (Officer Jamie) to let her know the situation. We have called her a lot in the past, in fact her number is on our speed dial.

We continued exercising and one friend commented that sin was stupid. "Yah, and those kids aren't too bright either," I added. I mean if you think about it, they had a car and were skipping school to smoke pot. So, they drove to the park behind the high school filled with people.

"Plus, they could have at least picked a decent day to skip," another friend added, referring to the light drizzle and cold weather. The nasty dope smoke just hung in the air and coated the back of my throat and tongue, burning my nose.

As we finished our last lap a second police car pulled into the parking lot. Usually we liked to stick around and watch the drama unfold. Today we hurried to our cars to drive away. We were covered with incriminating smoke and didn't want to take any chances that the dog in the back of the newly arriving police car would sniff in our direction. I tried not to let my tires squeal on the way out of the parking lot as I raced home to take a shower. Another day of successful undercover work...

The truth hurts.

I remember having to take one of my little kids with me to a doctor appointment. When the doctor came in, my child rummaged through my pile of clothes, and ran around the room waving my underwear. "Look, my mommy wears WHITE underwear." It's safe to say that I have been embarrassed by my children.

Owing me, you would think they would cut me a little slack. Not so. I walked through the high school parking lot to deliver a cell phone and pencil bag to my kids, which they had forgotten this morning. Imagine my surprise when, instead of gratitude, I was met with embarrassment and panicked looks for me to quickly leave.

It was true that I hadn't expected other kids to still be sitting in their cars---the couple in the car next to my kids stopped making out to see what parent was walking by...but it wasn't like I was wearing my pajamas. And it wasn't like I always go hang out by their car in the morning (I did drop off a forgotten lunch last week). So, feeling the sting of rejection and knowing that I was no longer the "cool mom," I took my wounded pride and limped back to the park to exercise.

I often do things to embarrass my children, but it is always on purpose. It is much harder to find that my kids are embarrassed by me. I don't know how to feel about that. Whether to go back tomorrow in my bathrobe and slippers carrying a large bottle of deodorant to give them, forget about the whole thing or to cry. Gotta love them.

No flash photography allowed

Heather came home from school in a tizzy. "I have finally figured out why they don't allow cameras at school," she informed me.

Well I know the answer to that one. Seemed simple enough anyway, they don't want kids taking pictures of tests and giving the answers to other kids. But this was Heather, so okay, I'll bite.

"If we had cameras at school, someone might take pictures of the food and send it to the health department," she declared with disgust.

They must have had a bad lunch today at school. Remind me not to let my kids have cameras at the dinner table...

What's on your mind?

My son was composing music last night on the computer. He let me listen to what he'd written and it was amazing. No, I mean really mind boggling, as in, he shouldn't be able to be doing this kind of stuff, amazing. "So, this music is just in your head?" I asked him. "Well, Yah," he acted like it was obvious.

Hey, that kind of stuff is not in MY head. It made me stop and think. What exactly is going on in my head? No, really. I'm not joking. Thinking about it I came up with Lists. I have files and files of lists in my brain. Lists of things I need to do, buy, save, clean, etc. You name it, I have a list filed away about it.

I guess I figured that was how everyone else's brain worked. Not so. I asked my daughter Heather what was in her brain. "The periodic table," she replied. Okay. I wouldn't have guessed that. So now I have another list started, the things people think about...fascinating!

So, what's in YOUR brain!

Scratch it where it itches

Heather spread out all her leaf samples on the floor. She needed 15 different varieties of leaves for her Biology class and was hoping we could help her identify them.

"This one turned out well," Heather observed showing us one of her leaf samples. "Yes, except it is poison ivy," my husband informed her. Oops, that might not be a good one to bring to class. Her collection also included several sizes of the same leaves, as well as several nice weed specimens. After we counted up the good ones, she ended up needing a few more to make up her 15 required. (But they needed to be pressed and dried...)

Luckily, Anna saved the day. Apparently she'd been bored this summer and had dried leaves of many various trees. If not, Heather may have been forced to bring in her poison ivy...

Heather being excellent!

Sigh...

I'm restless today. I sat in relief society staring at the clock. I just couldn't get myself to pay attention to the lesson. The young women had joined us for class, so I was sitting next to my daughter and got an idea.

"Heather, pretend to have a seizure---then I can take you out of class," I whispered into her ear. I was feeling desperate. Sitting for three hours seems almost impossible for me anymore...Heather looked at me like I was crazy and rolled her eyes. She thought I was kidding. Too bad. It seemed like class would never end and when it finally did, it went ten minutes over time (probably punishment for my seizure idea).

Is it just me or does anyone else have trouble sitting through such a long church schedule? Maybe everyone else just hides it better---or they are better at getting their kids to take them out...

Etiquette

We went out to eat for dinner last night. "No double dipping," my husband warned as we poured the salsa into the bowl. Just in time, I might add, as I saw Nicholas licking his tortilla chip ready for another dip.

"Wait, that counts as double dipping," my husband (the self-appointed salsa monitor) informed Heather. "No, this is the other side of my chip---germs can't run that fast," she insisted. So, this is why we are out to eat, to work on our social skills and manners. Apparently we need a lot of work.

I sigh as my husband blows his straw cover across the table at the kids. I guess he isn't concerned about his own manners---now that they are perfected, he can let loose...at least he won't be double dipping.

So, we are getting ready to leave and Sarah my sixteen-year-old complains, "I can't finish my kid's meal, it's too big," and Nicholas is wondering if we can get a doggy bag because he didn't finish his drink. I remember why we don't go out to eat very often.

Stranger things have happened

I went to a wedding reception where I didn't know many people. I don't do well making small talk, so I was kind of leery as I stood around the punch bowl waiting for the newlyweds to cut the cake.

"For my next mid-life crisis, I'm considering becoming an alcoholic," the woman next to me confided. "Okay." I made sure not to make any sudden movements and looked at her closely to see if she was smiling. She seemed to be serious. "Yes," she continued, apparently unaware of my apprehension, "They are advertising a pill that will solve all of life's problems, but I have to be an alcoholic to take it. And I want that pill," she concluded dramatically.

"Really?" I wasn't sure what to say. I elbowed my daughter and she looked at me with wide-eyes---she was just as concerned as I was. "It seems like a lot of trouble to go through for a pill," I told her, "and alcoholism seems a bit extreme," I added. "Have you tried a different angle? How stable is your mental health?" I couldn't help but ask. (They'll give you drugs for being crazy.)

Now she looked at me, to see if I was joking. Actually, I was being serious---anyone who'd consider becoming an alcoholic to get drugs was clearly not playing with a full deck. "I know, but a drug to solve all of my problems, might be worth it," she insisted.

I grabbed my daughter's arm to make a quick get-away. "Good-luck with that," I told her, reminding myself to stay away from the punch.

On the drive home it made me wonder what desperate things I would do for a "miracle" pill...and then I felt thankful that my life wasn't bad enough to even consider wanting such a pill. Yes, life is good.

The innocence of youth

At church my kids gathered around me fascinated. I'm not sure what the big deal was, but they had discovered that when they pinched the skin on the back of their hand, and they let go, it snapped right back into place. However, when they did this to my hand, it had a delayed reaction. It went down much slower and they thought this was very entertaining.

I was patient and let them have their fun. But after 15 minutes of them pinching my hand to repeatedly compare it to their own---younger, much firmer hands, I'd had enough. Instead of standing up in the middle of church and screaming "LEAVE ME ALONE!" at the top of my lungs like I wanted to, I chose a second option---a loud whisper. I'm sure it was louder than appropriate in church, but I wanted to make sure all four of my kids heard me, so I wouldn't have to repeat myself.

"When you pinch my hand and the skin doesn't go back down at all---THAT'S when you know I'm old." I told them (I'm not dead yet) and with that, I sat on my hands, game over!

I looked over to see what my kids would entertain themselves with now and saw they had gathered around their dad, pinching his hand. In fact, it looked like Heather had her watch and was timing just how long it took his skin to mold back in place. I almost felt sorry for him, but instead I thought, "Better him then me," and decided I could listen to the rest of the meeting in peace now---at least while I was young enough to still have my hearing...

There's more than one way to skin a snake

My husband is the scoutmaster for our church boy scout troop. "What are you planning to do on your hike this weekend?" I asked my husband. "First-Aid," he replied. "One of the boys needs to finish up his first aid merit badge."

I told him that now-a-days all you really need to do for first-aid, is have a cell phone to call 911. "Except, of course, if you're camping somewhere without cell phone reception," he reminded me. Oops, except then, of course.

"Then all you need is a hard rock," I told him. "If a scout gets hurt, just hit him with the rock and knock him out, until you can get him to help." Seemed simple enough to me.

"Remind me never to get hurt with you around," my daughter Heather commented from the back seat. Hey, I was just saying that if I were to get hurt and had to rely on the scouts for help, that I personally, would rather be hit in the head with a rock and put out of my misery, than have to endure whatever "techniques" the scouts would try to experiment on me. But that's just me...

"Then it's a good thing I'm going to be teaching the first-aid on the camp out," my husband said. Probably, I thought. It was probably a good thing he was the scoutmaster and not me...

Whatchamacallit

I tend to have my own names for things. Like the things you use to hang up pictures---you know, HOOKERS. That is what they do, so that is what I call them. That is also what I call the tool things you use with hat looms. When we went to visit my parents we bought several of them, so all the cousins could make hats while we sat and watched the Olympics. It worked out great except we kept losing them. I was constantly yelling through the house, "Has anyone seen my hooker?" or "How many hookers do I have to buy?"

My kids were used to me and my phraseology, but it made other people in the house uncomfortable. So it was a sweet day when I heard my mom yell out "I saw a hooker in the bedroom," loudly through the house, while my dad was having an Elders Quorum meeting on the back porch. Whether they heard her or not, I had to smile that she had unwittingly started calling them "hookers." I was ready to leave, my work there was done.

Here Kitty, Kitty

A few years ago our cat angel started licking himself. I know that cats lick themselves...but it was more than that. He was licking himself in an excessive, abnormal, out-of-control way. In a matter of weeks, except for a thin strip along his spine, he was completely bald. Definitely NOT normal.

We could deny that he had a problem no longer, so I finally took him to the vet. Apparently, he had "obsessive compulsive grooming disorder." Okay. What a waste. I tried to teach him how to channel his cleaning tendencies toward the greater good---I was thinking of the possibilities: toilets, kitchen floors, etc. But, he wasn't interested in anything other than licking himself. Selfish cat.

The vet gave him some medication. Strangely enough---dog birth control pills. Who knew that they even had those? I don't want to think about how they came up with that...But angel hated taking the pills (this involved my husband forcing it down his throat with a strange contraption) and at the end of the pill cycles he was back to licking himself bald. Eventually, after we started letting Angel outside, he stopped obsessively licking himself on his own. But our days with psychotic cats weren't over.

Our other cat, Bert is bulimic. He eats all of his food as quickly as possible and then throws it up. Lovely. Maybe his father left him as a kitten, or his mom weaned him too young, but regardless he has some unresolved issues. Our daughter Anna has learned how to mimic the sound of Bert throwing up perfectly. It is quite disturbing. I often worry that she'll do this in public and we'll have child protective services knocking at our door to investigate what we're doing in our home, to warrant such behavior.

It does make me wonder. Were our cats normal before we got them, and it was something we did to make them crazy? Or were they psychotic before they came to us? I guess we'll never know...

Heather practicing the piano.
Nicholas finishing his eagle scout project.


Sarah at Governor's School for the Arts.
Anna and her cousin Jessica riding a purple dinosaur.

Random thoughts

My sister Diane sent me a note recently saying that she was sorry it took her so long to get back to me, but her mind wasn't the steel trap it used to be. Hmmm, this made me wonder---was my mind ever a steel trap? As I sat pondering this, I soon forgot what I was thinking about in the first place (this happens more often than I like to admit). I reread my sister's note and remembered---steel trap, right. No, my mind was never a steel trap.

I picture my mind more like a wooden door that doesn't close properly. I keep hoping that nothing important will escape before I can find the key to the lock so I can bolt it shut. But, I can't remember where I put the key...

Anyway, a steel trap would be nice. I wonder where I could get one.

It wasn't me...

We don't like to wear our shoes at our house. In fact, I have a nice place right inside the garage door where everyone can take their shoes off when they come inside. Which for some reason, no one likes to use...instead they like to take their shoes off and leave them in the middle of the kitchen floor---for people to walk around, step over, or even trip on...IT DRIVES ME CRAZY! But no matter what I do or say, I can't seem to get anyone to stop parking their shoes in the kitchen...

I tried to do an experiment the other day to prove that I am the only one who picks things up around the house. Someone had dropped a sock in the hallway and left it there. I wondered how long it would stay there if I didn't pick it up. It turned out to be a double-blind experiment. I asked the kids who had left their sock in the hallway---I got the standard kid answer, "It wasn't me." Apparently, some random person broke into our house and left a sock in our hallway. Did he leave the other sock at your house???

Anyway, as the day went on, I watched as every child walked by the sock countless times. This was when I realized my experiment was a double-blind one. My children did not even see the sock.

So, you may be wondering how this experiment ended. What were the results? I would love to tell you, except, by the end of the day, I caved. I was so sick of seeing that stupid sock, I picked it up myself.

I decided that I needed to focus my energy on something more important. I now encourage my kids to learn more and study harder. They will need to make A LOT of money to afford the kind of housekeeper they are going to need to walk around cleaning up after them. It's not that I'm giving up. I do insist they put their dishes in the dishwasher after every meal, but I guess I'm going to choose my battles, and clearly, this is one i'm not going to win...

"New" Math

My daughter Anna brought me her math homework last night. I was confident I could help her with it---she is in sixth grade, how difficult could it be, right?

Looking at it, however, I didn't recognize any of the terms on the paper. So, I told her to wait and ask her dad for help when he got home. I have to admit, I was relieved when he couldn't help her either. "Wait until your sisters get home," he said. The sad thing is that we are both college graduates and should be able to help our children with their homework---especially subjects like basic math.

It turns out my other children were able to help Anna with her math homework. As I looked at it, I commented that they got the same answers I did, which made me feel a little better. "But your work wasn't right," they informed me. Whatever. What math genius decided to take perfectly good math problems and while keeping the answers the same they make you do different steps in order for the problem to be correct? Surely, there is something better they can be doing with their time...

My theory is that it was a disgruntled teenage math genius who came up with this "new math." So now middle school students all over the country are going home with math homework and asking their parents for help, only to find out that they were right all along---their parents DON'T know anything! And they have proof, their parents can't even help them with something as simple as middle school math.

Calgon take me away...

As I'm dropping my kids off at school my daughter asks me, "Are you going running today?" I look down at my t-shirt, shorts and tennis shoes and somehow resist the urge to reply, "duh!"

"My mom doesn't really go running," my son tells his friend in the backseat of the car. What? I listen closer to hear what he could possibly be saying. "Yeah," his friend agrees. "She probably goes home to sit in a bubble bath, eating chocolates and reads a book all day." They laugh at their joke. Actually, they are laughing at me.

"Why would I bother getting in my running clothes, if I'm only going to go home to eat chocolates in a bubble bath?" I challenge them, not amused at all, my voice bordering on hysterical. They are silent, they know enough to quit when I use that tone of voice.

I guess what makes me so mad isn't that they are teasing me about running. It's that my kids honestly think that I lie around all day and don't do anything. Do they ever wonder how their laundry somehow gets washed, folded and back into their rooms. How dinner is ready and waiting for them when they get home and someone---and it definitely isn't them---cleans the bathrooms and vacuums the carpets.

I know motherhood is a thankless job. But sometimes, it would be nice to feel a little appreciation every now and again...

Crazy is as crazy does...

I never sleep well before I travel. The night before my last trip, I dreamt my plane had crashed and strangers were in my house doing my laundry. The laundry basket was full of holey socks and ripped up underwear. I woke up in a panic. Feeling like a burglar in my own home, armed with a garbage bag, I crept into my daughter's room.

As I sat sorting through her sock drawer, I jumped at every noise. I knew that it wasn't normal to be going from room to room throwing away all the socks with holes in them at 3am. And if my husband saw me sitting there, he would cancel my travel plans for sure! In fact, I could hear him in my mind telling me that he had arranged a long stay for me somewhere with nice padded walls...

But I could never get back to sleep after those unsettling dreams. Realistically, I knew that if someone did have to come to help my family, chances are they wouldn't be analyzing my children's underwear as they did the laundry. Unfortunately, before I travel, instead of sweeping, mopping and doing general cleaning, my irrational cleaning sprees are limited to straightening out the silverware drawer, vacuuming under the couch cushions, and organizing everyones socks and underwear---you know, the important stuff.

A while ago, I decided that before I left on a trip, I could write notes to my kids and hide them in their sock drawer so they could find them later if something happened to me. When I came home safely, I could throw them away. At least they would know that their crazy mother loves them.

Why McCain is in my Bathroom

A friend walked by our bathroom yesterday and could only yell out, "Whoa!" as she pointed in shock, fear, or maybe concern. My son called out to her, "Oh, I forgot to warn you that McCain was in our bathroom."

You may be wondering why we have a life-sized cardboard cut-out of John McCain in our bathroom. There are a couple of reasons...the first one is obvious. He simply got in the way when we had him in the kitchen---finally after bumping into him for the third time on her way to the fridge, one of my kids put him in the bathroom.

The biggest reason we have McCain in our bathroom is because his neck has sagging skin and is unnaturally white. I know that sounds mean but I'm just being honest. I spent the better part of a day blowing up a picture of my friend's son's head (who is on a mission) to just the right size so that I can glue it on top of McCain's head but because of his NECK, I have not been able to finish my project.

And no one wants to finish up this project more than I do. Besides the fact that my friend has another son who is getting married and I'm sad her missionary will be missing the wedding (hence the cardboard cut-out, so her missionary son can be in all the wedding photos), I am stuck with McCain in my bathroom. It's bad enough that he is a presidential candidate that I don't even want to vote for, but he seems to be following me around...my kids think it's funny to hide him in various places throughout the house. Will he be in my daughter's closet with her robe draped around him, in the basement, around the corner, in the bathtub with a towel around his neck...

So as I ponder ways to fade in a young missionary face with a flabby neck, the clock ticks away. I get distracted too easily---maybe McCain could just sell a couple of his houses, get some plastic surgery and solve the problem for me! I guess it couldn't hurt to send him an e-mail...