Memory Monday, because I'm a copycat.

My sis, Nat, does the cutest thing on her blog - Memory Monday. Here is her most recent Memory Monday post. Cute, cute, cute.

I was thinking about a long lost friend of mine the other day - Bec. This Memory Monday post is dedicated to her, wherever she is. I've tried to find her on facebook, I've tried to google her.... nada. I miss her lots and lots.

Bec was in my French class my sophomore year of college. She was so stinkin' FUN. I needed fun that year. All my guy friends were on missions and I felt a little weird. Thank goodness for Bec.

She was teeny, like, four-foot-eleven. She shopped in the kids' section of the Gap and got clothes like half off that way. She had really full lips, like Angelina Jolie. And her eyebrows arched way high, like she was always happily surprised.

Bec always made me feel so good about myself. She treated me like I was the smartest person she had ever met. She was always so excited to see me. She had, like, ten bazillion friends, but she treated me like I was the most interesting, fun person she had ever met.

Four funny stories about Bec.

We had to study French for like ten hours per week, I swear. It was tough stuff. I had to take so much stinkin' French. It was because I chose to get a Bachelor of Arts degree instead of a Bachelor of Science degree. It was, take a billion math classes that you'll never use, or take a billion foreign language classes that you'll never use. I chose foreign language, French, because I had already taken it in high school and thought it would be easier. Boy, was I wrong. By the time I finished my foreign language requirement, I was taking 400-level French classes. We were reading French novels, and taking 3-hour-long essay exams, all in French. Killer. The minute I walked out of my last essay exam, I mentally shoved French out of my brain. I know a few phrases now, but could I ever converse with a French person? No way.

Anyways. One night, Bec and I were studying, and I was quizzing her on some vocabulary. I asked her for the French word for something, and she closed her eyes for just a sec. And then the second turned into a few seconds. Finally, I go, "Um, Bec?" She woke up with a start and said, "Whoa, I just had the coolest dream!!!" I still laugh about that. She had a full dream in just a few seconds. Dreams are weird.

Second story. There was this weird, skinny, closet-like room in her apartment that nobody used for anything. She and her roommates dubbed it The Spooning Room. That is where they would all go to spoon with their boyfriends. They put a black light in there. It was funny.

Third story. Bec and I had a friend in our class named Aaron. He was really skinny and serious. He reminded me of Michael Stipe, but with kind of a weird bowl haircut. He actually ended up going to France on his mission! So did our other friend from French class, Mike O. I wonder if I would have been called to France, had I applied for a mission. Anyways, Aaron was supposed to study with us one night, but he blew us off to go on a date with some girl. We decided to get back at him. We showed up at his apartment, and his roommate let us in. We asked his roommate to show us which food in the refridgerator was Aaron's. There wasn't much in there. We noticed that he had some packaged, shredded cheese. We looked at each other and grinned wickedly. We went into Aaron's room, put the shredded cheese under his pillow on his bed, and hightailed it out of there, laughing hysterically.

We couldn't wait to see him the next day in class. When he walked in, we both had huge smiles on our faces, eyebrows raised in anticipation (Bec's were already raised). He sat down casually, glanced at us, then looked away, saying, "Well, I sure had a cheesy night last night...." We laughed and laughed.

Fourth story. I wasn't there when this happened, but this shows how spazzy Bec and her roomies were. They had a fish tank in their apartment. All of their friends would buy fish that represented them, and put them in the tank. It was a cute idea. I never got around to it. Anyways. There was this one fish that was a huge jerk. He would pick on all of the other fish. One night, Bec and her roomies were up late, watching the jerk fish. They decided to put him in Time Out by trapping him in the little net against the wall. So funny. When they let him out of time out, he hadn't learned his lesson. So (and this is where it gets really weird, but still funny) Bec's roomie decides to really teach this fish a lesson. She poured herself a glass of water, caught the fish in the net, put it in the water, and then swallowed the fish!!! Who would do this? I don't know. A crazy person. I guess it was too much for her, because after a few minutes, she ran to the toilet and barfed the fish out. And guess what? The fish was still alive!!!! In the toilet bowl! So they hurried and caught it in the net and put it back in the fish tank. After that incident, the fish would have little convulsions every now and then. It was really, really funny. What weirdos!

Anyways, that's my friend Bec. One of my favorite gals. She and I lost contact after I got back from London. She stayed at Ricks because she had met a boy she loved, and I headed down to BYU. I tried to keep in touch, but it was just one of those things. I've learned that most friends come and go. I will find her someday, though.

Don't Give Me No Hand-Me-Down Love

I found the above picture when I googled "hand-me-downs." I thought it was funny.

Anyways, my adorable little Gagey grew out of his 3- to 6-month clothes, so I packed them up into two big garbage bags and took them to Once Upon a Child. I was hoping that maybe I could make $20 or so, just to pad my grocery budget a little bit. (Or squander it all on eating out for lunch, tee-hee.)

They only took two things, out of those two whole bags. I made $1.80. Ridiculous. That's probably how much I spent driving there and back.

I sighed and lugged the bags to the house of a gal in my ward who has a baby about four months younger than mine. I think that's what I'll do first thing from now on. Forget this "$1.80" crap...

So, Senator, So, Janitor...

Dear men who use the restrooms at the office I clean:

The very youngest of you is in his late twenties. That means, presumably, that you have been potty-trained for several years. Perhaps you've forgotten what your mamas taught you. You pee in the toilet. You aim, and you pee. And it's a pretty big target, that toilet bowl. I'm trying to figure out why there is pee all over the surrounding walls (up to waist height) and all over the floor. I gag every time I have to clean your bathrooms. Do you not feel embarrassed when you pee on the walls, or do you even NOTICE?? I know you know who I am, and that I clean up after you. How about a little kindness?

It does not take seventeen kleenexes to blow one's nose. Just one; maybe two, tops. And when you blow your nose, you need to blow. Not just kind of wipe while sucking in. I'm seeing seventeen kleenexes in a bunch with just one drop of dried boogers on it. I'm literally changing kleenex boxes every single day. Waste not, want not, dudes.

And the reason I'm seeing these kleenexes, used seventeen at a time, is because you aren't throwing your garbage in the garbage can. You're throwing it in the general direction of the garbage can. And you're not making it. There are kleenexes and paper towels all over the floor in that corner. So I have to touch your nasty germy used paper supplies every day when I take out the trash. Thanks for that.

Lastly, which of you is reading People Magazine on the pot? Isn't that a little...girly??? There aren't any People magazines on the reception room table, because they're in the men's bathroom. And I'm sure the women who come in to our office don't appreciate that. I don't know lots of women who like to read Sports Illustrated. I have to touch your potty germs again to return those magazines back to the reception room. And I wonder if I should spray them with Lysol before putting them back on the table, seriously. I also am sure that the women who come into our office don't want to touch your potty germs, either.

My husband's boss says that everyone should be a janitor sometime; that they would be more considerate of janitors if they only knew what we have to deal with. True dat.

Sincerely,
Your Janitress, Kar

Raw Fish and Swear Words

Benny Bones and I did nothing on Valentine's Day (which was a little sad...) - we wanted to go out the following Friday night to celebrate, so we did. We were thinking of going to our ward's annual Sweetheart Ball, but I don't know... I guess I wasn't in the mood. I kind of wanted to celebrate Valentine's Day with just Ben, not with Ben and the entire ward. I mean, I love my ward, but you know...

Ben's been wanting to check out a new sushi restaurant in town, so I suggested we go, hoping that they had some non-sushi stuff on their menu, as well. The atmosphere is awesome. There's this koi pond, with this little waterfall going down into it, and the seating is, like, down into the floor. You kind of climb down in. So you feel like you're sitting on the floor, in true Japanese style, but you're still really just sitting on a bench normally. Hard to explain. Anyways, luckily, they had some hibachi-style food, so I ordered hibachi chicken, hoping that it would be as good as the hibachi chicken at Benihana.

Uh, no. Not even close. Doesn't hibachi anything connote "grilled"? It was clearly just baked, cut up chicken, with this bland sauce on it. Not impressive. I brought my leftovers home, but I didn't even eat them the next day. That chicken just didn't do much for me. But it's better than raw fish, any day of the week. Ben wasn't terribly impressed with the sushi, either. He said the rolls were really small, and that they weren't firm enough. So whatever. We tried it, and now we know to go to our usual sushi place (which has a wonderful meal for non-raw-fish-eaters that resembles mongolian barbecue).

We had some time to kill between dinner and our movie, so we hung out at Barnes and Noble. Ben was looking for an architecture magazine, but they didn't really have any. They had a really cool bungalow magazine, but he wasn't looking for that kind of stuff, I guess. I bought myself The Remains of the Day. I've been wanting to read that ever since I saw the movie last fall on TV. I love Anthony Hopkins. And Emma Thompson. It was a fascinating movie, so I'm excited to read the book from whence it came. It turns out that book was my Valentine's Day present. That I picked out for myself. Four days after Valentine's Day. Maybe Ben worked so hard at making our anniversary special that he was all used up in the Gift/Holiday Forethought area of his life. Oh well. At least I got something, right?

So then we went to The Green Hornet:

Um, it was alright. The Chinese guy in the movie has really beautiful lips. I mean, I wasn't like, oh, baby, I like you, Chinese Guy, but I just kept thinking, "Wow, he has really unusual and beautiful lips. They look so smooth." And I kept thinking, "Good job, Seth Rogen, for losing weight. It's hard work. I'm proud of you." And I kept thinking, "Cameron Diaz, you're looking a little bit older. And you're not that much older than me. Yikes. Bikes."

When we got out of the movie, Ben was like, "Whoa, that movie had a ton of swear words in it." I looked at him in surprise. Really? I didn't even notice! That's so bad! Am I desensitized???

Anyways. Even though the food and the movie (and my late, self-selected Valentine's Day gift) were a little subpar, it was nice to hang out with Ben, sans kids, for a few hours. Someday we'll be able to go on dates more often. When Dylan is old enough to watch the kiddos. And when we have more money. Dang, dates are expensive...

Forgetful Jones, 2011 Edition

So dude. Ben got groceries like a week ago, and after he unloaded them, he totally left the back hatchback to our car WIDE open. All night long. It's a miracle our car stereo didn't get stolen, considering our drug-dealing neighbors and their, um, customers. Another lucky thing - our car's inner light automatically turns off after a few minutes, so our battery didn't die.

For more adventures in The Land of the Forgetful (a.k.a. our household), see Forgetful Jones - 2009 and Forgetful Jones - 2010

A Confession

Okay. This happened like two months ago, but I'm still so upset about it that I haven't blogged about it yet. But it's time. Time to let it out. Time for catharsis.

The scene: Papa Kelseys. Beads was still here, and the whole fam damily went there to eat. Grandkids, kids, parents, spouses, the whole she-bang. Ben met us there after work, so he was in a different car. So when we were all leaving, he got in his car and headed home, and I started loading my kids in my car. The kids were being huge jerks, yelling, screaming, sitting in each others' seats, blah blah blah. Same old crap. And Beads was talking to me, and my parents were talking to me, and Nat was talking to me, and it was just crazy.

So I get my kids loaded up and in the car, and I drive home. Lex called me, I think, so I was chatting with her, and someone kept beeping on my other line, but I don't like to answer the other line when I'm talking to someone. I think it's rude. Unless I'm expecting a really, really important call from a doctor or something. So I'm like, sheesh, who keeps calling me over and over? So I got off with Lex. I was like one minute from my house when the mysterious caller called again.

It was Dad. And it had been Dad, like ten times before that. "Kar," he said, "Um, you left your baby in the parking lot."

Oh. My. GOSH.

I left my baby, my precious, amazing, wonderful child, in the parking lot of Papa Kelsey's, in the dead of winter! What is WRONG with me??? I would not have realized that I left him there until I got all the way home and unloaded everyone.

To say that I freaked out is to put it mildly. Luckily, Mom, Dad, and Beads were still in the parking lot when I left without Gage, so they were able to save the poor little thing. And Beads brought him home for me. She was just a few minutes behind me. But still. What the H???

Beads thinks it's because it was so crazy, with the kids being loud, and everyone blabbing. She thinks I just got distracted.

So there you have it. My horrible, awful confession. Jeez. I don't know where my brain is sometimes.

Watch out for me.

Dude. I don't know what's wrong with me lately. A few weeks ago, I was backing out of my mom's driveway, and I totally ran into one of those big lights that light up neighborhoods. Bam. It was sooo jarring. I thought for sure my back bumper would be crumpled, but it just looks like someone cut the bumper with a knife. A clean, three-inch-long, vertical cut. Weird.

Then, like a week ago, I was at the store with the kiddos. It was a really cold, windy day, so I was naughty and didn't put the shopping cart back into those shopping cart corrals. I know, bad. I put it kind of by the front/passenger side of my car. I hopped in, then pulled forward and turned right, totally forgetting about the shopping cart, and I just totally knocked the whole thing over. Jeez.

Then, a few days ago, I backed into my friend, Apes', mailbox. Totally broke the wooden pole thingey. Apes was really sweet, saying she needed to replace the pole anyways, but Apes, I meant what I said when I said I would pay for it.

Why am I suddenly driving like I'm 90 years old? Here's the problem, I think. My kids. Yep, I'm totally blaming them. They are always yelling and slapping each other and just being huge jerks in the car. So I get distracted. And then, bam. I run into stuff.

My Surrogate Sisters

I went out to Chili's last week with two of my absolute favorite people, the L. sisters - Lindsey and Emily. Em brought her camera (I stole these off her blog).

She has this cool panorama setting on her camera that we were playing around with:

This picture makes me think of a song on Micah's favorite movie, My Little Pony - Bright Lights. The ponies sing this song called "Bright Lights":

Brights lights, how we love bright lights,
Pretty to seeeeee,
Shine down on MEEEEE!!

Anyways, I had a blast, girls. I think we need to make it a monthly tradition. I would say we should make it a daily tradition, but I think my hubby would get mad at me. :)

A Pleasant Surprise

The local firefighters do this big thing every year to promote literacy in our community - there's a coloring contest, a reading contest, they go do presentations at each school, etc. Unbeknownst to me, Dylan entered the coloring contest and won second place! I don't know if it was second place in the city or in the school district - one of the two.

(It was Pajama Day at school - just in case you were wondering what he's doing in Bakugan jammies.) Anyways, he won some art supplies, which was cool. He's turning out to be quite the little artistic kiddo. When he can sit still enough. :)

I think there are some sour grapes in his class, though. A kid named Jesus keeps telling Dylan that he's a bad artist, and that Dylan's daddy is bald. Oooooooooh. Pulling out the big guns there. Ben told Dylan to tell Jesus that, if he keeps teasing Dylan, Dylan will get his family deported back to Mexico. Jeez. Nice, Ben. Nice. I told Dylan not to say what Daddy says, but, about the "bad artist" thing, to shrug and say, "Well, that's your opinion, I guess." And, about the "bald dad" thing, to shrug and say, "I think he looks cool." I told him that, if he seems to not care about the teasing, the teasing will probably stop.

I'm having so many crazy feelings lately about the kids' schooling situation. You may recall that, last year, we almost signed the kids up for the new charter school in town, the one that Ben designed. It's a charter school based around the Montessori method of teaching. It would have been a fantastic thing for the kiddos, especially Dylan. But it just didn't feel right. I kept getting the feeling that it just wasn't right for my kids at the time. I know it was the Holy Ghost. So, against all logic, I kept them in public school.

And, as it turned out, it was a good choice to have my kids still in our public school this year. The charter school didn't have a busing system at the beginning of the year - they do now - so I would have had to pack up all the kids, drive out there in the morning. Come home. Drive out there at noon. Come home. Drive out there when school got out. Come home. It's a good ten minute drive each way. All of this with an infant and a slow-as-molasses toddler. I think I would have had a nervous breakdown, honestly. So in retrospect, it was a good thing that we held off.

Well, this year, some things have happened at Dylan and Sadie's school that have been...special. First, the Jesus thing (that looks weird. Meaning "hay zeus." The kid that's jealous of Dylan's artistic skillz). Second, Sadie got called an F-word by a first grader on the bus a couple of weeks ago. Nice. Third, Dylan came home last week and asked me what a vagina is. I asked him where he heard it, and guess where? A kid at school. There are many less-than-savory kids at this school. This makes me want to get the kids into the charter school. I know that most of the kids in the charter school have parents who care about them, who actually parent them and teach them right from wrong. The reason I know this is that I know several of the parents whose kids go there. And the fact alone that the parents signed the kids up for a progressive school, one that will ensure that the kiddos learn to think outside of the box, speaks volumes about the parents. Good volumes. I also know for a fact that a lot of the kids in my kids' public school aren't getting parented. Many of the parents aren't teaching their kids right from wrong.

It's time to sign the kids up for the charter school for this fall, so I printed out the forms, and.... I'm having doubts again. I'm trying to figure out if it's the Holy Ghost, or if I'm psyching myself out. I just need to do a lot of praying and thinking. And in a hurry. The forms are due soon. It's just so easy to let my inner monologue, and the craziness of my life, shout over the promptings of the Spirit. I'm not saying that the charter school is a bad place to be. Far from it. Perhaps, for some reason that I can't fathom yet, the kids need to be in public school for a reason. Maybe for a certain teacher to inspire them. Maybe so they can be an inspiration to others. I have no idea.

I told Ben of my misgivings, and he says that I'm crazy. I asked him to just think and pray with me. And I think I might head over to the temple on Saturday, just to be at peace and feel the Spirit and maybe be more open to whatever it is that Heavenly Father wants me to do. To calm that inner monologue. Does anyone want to go with me?

A Rare Occurrence

Micah and Sadie getting along. Snuggling, even. You know that saying, "Take a picture; it will last longer!" That's what I did. Excuse the mismatched jammies they're wearing. I'm having a hard time getting laundry done. As usual. So the kids have to make due with what they can find.

D + S

I got each of the kids (and Ben) a little something for V-day - it's a good excuse to get them much-needed clothing items, or in Ben's case, a totally not-needed, but fun, CD:

When the kiddos came home from school on V-day, they had tons of loot:

I don't know why this picture turned sideways when I uploaded it - it's right-side-up in my hard drive:

Anyways, this is Dylan's Valentine bag from school. As you can see, he put "D + S" at the top. I was like, "Dyl, who's 'S'?" He said, "Sadie." I think he didn't realize what putting D + S on his Valentine's bag connotes. I think he thought, I love my sister, so I'll put her initial on my bag. What a cutie.

Make Me a Sammich (2011 Edition)

To see the 2010 version, click here.

I saw some cute ideas online for how to make festive Valentine's Day food - they suggested using heart-shaped cookie cutters on grilled cheese sandwiches. We did it for lunch on Sunday, the day before V-day. It turned out cute.

Six Montharoos! (The Fun Version)

If you wish to read the non-fun version, go here. Pregnancy = not fun. Cute babies = fun.

Gage turned six months old on Feb. 10th. Time flies, man. It makes me sad. Slow down, baby!! He's now 14 pounds and 15 ounces - 8th percentile. Movin' on uuuuuup! To the East Side!!! To a deeee-luxe apartment, in the skyyyyyyyy.... The Thick-It continues to work wonderfully for him. I'm so grateful. He's actually developing a teeny little double chin! And is starting to get Thunder, Thunder, Thunder Thighs! Yeeee!!! And he has a huge buddha belly. He's actually in six-month size clothing now, too!! Goooo Gage!

He continues to be the best baby on the planet. Hardly ever cries. The nurses at the pediatrician's office gave him his immunizations, and he cried for like one second, then was cool. The nurse at the WIC office pricked his little toe to test his hemoglobin, and he didn't even cry.

He smiles non-stop. He loves to hear the sound of his voice, so he does a whole lot of yelling: "Baaaaaah!!! BAAAAAHHHHHH!" He's almost rolling over of his own accord. Almost. He squawks at me if I don't shovel his cereal in his mouth fast enough. He's not much of a cuddler. He'd rather use me as his own personal jungle gym. He does like to sit with me and watch Arrested Development, though. (He has good taste in TV shows.) He's starting to get the fattest little fingers this side of the Pecos. They almost look like they are jammed and swollen. It's so cute. He loves his bouncy chair. He could do that all day. But I'm mean and give him lots and lots of tummy time. When he laughs, he kind of grunts. Like a person straining in the bathroom. It's funny. I'm still mesmerized by his little lips. They are sooooo full and cute. Little Gage Jolie-Pitt. He's still as bald as a cue ball, but he's got a bit of fuzz coming in. It looks to be Micah's color - bright white. He loves to suck on his fist. He's a total self-soother.

He was definitely worth eight months of Pregnancy Hell. For sure.

We love our afternoons.

For Micah, life doesn't get much better than when Sadie is away at school every afternoon. He has full access to her toys and shoes. I've gotta say, I like it, too, but for a different reason. I get a break from The Tazmanian Devil, a.k.a. Dylan. And I get a break from him incessantly playing the Wii. The three of us (Micah, Gage, and I) can relax, fold some laundry, and watch a little Bridget Jones:

Boy George

The resemblance is uncanny:

Xenie Lately

She still thinks that all of the baby toys are hers:

She thinks the inside of the dishwasher is the bomb dot com.

On really, really cold days, for some reason, she rolls around in dirt. I can tell when she's been doing this, because when I let her in, the fur on her back is actually lighter-colored. So she gets a bath, which she obviously hates. A post-bath pic:

It's a good thing she only has back claws, because dang. She fights it. During that week when every day was in the single digits, tops, and the nights were in the negative 20's and 30's, she was constantly rolling in the dirt, therefore, getting a bath at least once a day. Sometimes I got sick of it and just wiped her down with baby wipes when she came in all dusty.

If anyone is in the bathroom, she has to be in there. If I'm sitting on the pot, or shutting the door in preparation for taking a shower, she is right there at the door, meowing really, really loudly, until I let her in.

She likes to get in between the outer and inner shower curtain while I'm using the bathroom. She bats at the outer shower curtain and adores it when I bat back at her with my hand. She purrs so loudly.

She loves Sadie so, so much. Even though Sadie carries her all around and roughhouses with her - things she doesn't like - she puts up with it and sits there, because she's so in love with Sades.

She goes outside and comes in roughly seventeen thousand times per day. We seriously need a cat door. But then I worry about having all of her cat homies coming into our house all the time. She is the leader of the pack, for sure.

Hands-On

One of the things I love best about my man is how involved he is in parenting our children. He's just the best.

Oops, I did it again...

No, I didn't play with your heart. Or get lost in the game. I made sugar cookies with the kids again. Even though I vow not to, every time I do it.

This time actually turned out semi-pleasant, for the following three reasons: 1) This time, I pre-cooked the cookies by myself the night before. It went soooo much faster without having to referee fights over whose turn it is to roll the dough out, whose turn it is to cut the cookie shapes out, etc. 2) Then I went ahead and frosted like three-fourths of the cookies by myself while the older two were at school and the younger two were napping. I would have had to frost three-fourths of them anyways, because the kids lose interest really quickly. I was just preparing for that loss of interest, so I was less frustrated when they inevitably lost interest. Micah woke up when the kids got home, and all three decorated like 15 cookies, tops. And, lastly, 3) Micah was only in charge of sprinkles. I would frost a cookie, and he would sprinkle it. And I would make him stop once he was starting to build up a little mountain of sprinkles on each cookie. He was satisfied, and I was satisfied. The Garmented One, trying to frost a cookie while I was busy taking pictures:

We actually made a double batch again, because I wanted to give some to the families that I visit teach, and also the families that Ben is supposed to home teach (even though he doesn't do it).

I delivered the cookies the next day, and I slipped on some icy stairs of one recipient. I fell HARD right with my back on the stairs, which actually knocked the air out of me for a couple of minutes. I just lay there on the stairs, gasping for air, wondering if the recipient could see me through her window (I just left the cookies on peoples' doorsteps - I didn't have time to chat with any of them - I'll save that for my actual visit this month) or if her neighbors were staring at me. I could hear my two youngest crying in the car, but I couldn't do a dang thing for awhile.

I finally caught my breath and got up, waddling back to the car. For the rest of the day, my back just felt... scrunched. Like a bunch of loose ribs crunching all around in there. I don't know. It's still sore.

Anyways.

Yeah, we shaved off Dylan's mohawk. It looks soooo much better.

So I ate like a hundred sugar cookies just myself - seriously. I crave sugar soooooo much lately. I don't know why. I've just been so exhausted - I think part of me subconsciously craves that rush that sugar helps to create, that energy. But I know that, after the rush, comes the crash. Time to go get my thyroid checked again.

Tenacious B

I cannot believe these freakin' Box Elder bugs. They are the bane of my existence. Every autumn, we battle them for weeks and weeks. They come from the drug dealer's trees and migrate across the street to hang out on our warm, south-facing, brick house. Usually, once December rolls around, we have a reprieve until the following autumn.

Not this year. They have, somehow, been surviving this winter. I don't know how they do it. I found this little guy that week when the nights were hitting negative 20 and negative 30:

I killed him, and then his friend on the inside of our kitchen window the next day. This morning, Ben found and killed one on a kitchen cabinet. It was a baby. Dude. It's not a huge problem - it's not like there's a swarm of them. Just the three so far. But I feel like it's a little early for bug season, you know? That's the ONLY good thing about winter around here - a break from the bugs.

Look Like an Egyptian

My title is, unintentionally, drawing upon current events, no?

So, as you know, Mikey likes to wear my garments on his head. He pretends that it's his hair. Yes, it's weird. Very. And more than a little disturbing. He also likes to carry around Sadie's sparkly pink purse.

My poor mom is trying so hard to help break Micah of these bizarre habits. She actually bought Micah a Man Bag - it kind of looks like a black camera bag. And then she got him some little farm animal toys to go inside.

He hates the Man Bag and hates the farm animals.

Then she tried to help out with his garment-wearing issues. She made him some... oh, I don't know what to call it. Fake hair? A decorative hair piece? She found a piece of silky material, hemmed it all around, and put an elastic on one end so that it sits securely on one's head. A perfect solution.

He hates the hair.

Here is Ben, modeling the hair:

Micah won't touch it. When he sees it in his dresser drawer, he tosses it out with two fingers in utter disgust. Sighhhhhhhh.

I think Mom has finally given up on trying to make him manly. She gave him a girly toy for Valentine's Day today, one just like Sadie's Valentine's toy. He loves it. :)

Graffitti

We had to throw away all of our crayons. Micah wouldn't stop decorating our entire house with them. Ben has scrubbed off a bunch, but here are the more recent additions that he hasn't gotten to yet:

So now, if the kids have coloring homework, they use our colored pencils, which I keep out of reach unless it's homework time. I ONLY get them down for homework. I know, I'm such a jerk, stymie-ing their creativity, but seriously, enough is enough.

It's a good thing we got rid of the crayons, because as I have recently discovered, the other kids were having some house-decorating fun with them, too.

Dylan, in a fit of anger in his room, wrote this epithet on the wall above his bed:

"I hat dad." Lovely.

Just found Sadie's name on each of her shelves in her closet:

This must have been before school started, because now she writes her d's correctly. :)

And this is on the back of her bedroom door:

I guess I need to buy some more Magic Erasers and some extra protective gloves (since Magic Erasers are supposedly really toxic or something) and put the kiddos to work, scrubbing off their artistic expressions. Sigh. They really do know better.

DON'T Save the Drama for Your Mama

Dylan did something bad one night - I don't remember what, because let's face it - he does a zillion naughty things every single day. Ben sent him to bed early. Dylan sat in there screaming bloody murder for like an hour. He kept yelling, "YOU DON'T LOVE ME!!! YOU DON'T LOVE ME!!!" We kept going in there, saying calmly, "Yes, we do love you, but you need some time away from everyone, because you did such-and-such." But after awhile, we got tired of telling him to be quiet, so we just shut his door and tried to ignore his muffled screams.

When it was finally time to put Micah to bed (he and Dylan share a room), Dylan was sound asleep. I was tucking Micah in when I saw this sign prominently displayed on the ladder to Dylan's bunk:

Oh jeez. The thing is, he knows we love him. He's always saying stuff like, "I know you love me because you help me with my homework," or, "I know you love me because you give me hugs and kisses," etc. But he pulls out the superlatives when he's mad at us: "You NEVER let me play on the computer!" "You ALWAYS put me to bed early!" "I'll NEVER forgive you, as long as I live!!!"

Such drama. So unnecessary.

My first SNOWBALLS!!

In 1997, I went to London on a semester abroad - I'll never forget it, as long as I live. I think it was literally the best time of my entire life. I miss it tonsandtonsandtons.

Anyways, one of our professors was this very dignified, smart, amazing woman. She has published several books of poetry. She's, like, six feet tall. At least. When she taught us, I always just stared at her, my mouth open, drool dripping from my mouth (just kidding), thinking, Damn. She is just so SMART. And dignified. Always.

We were there from September through December, so obviously the seasons eventually changed from fall to winter. We stumbled down to breakfast one morning (we were always REALLY tired, because we always stayed up REALLY late. We're talking 3 a.m., every single night), scooped up our really disgusting porridge into bowls, scraped the nasty currant jelly onto the hard-as-a-rock toast, and sat down to eat. (British food - not my favorite. Sandwiches with just butter and cheese in them? What's up with that? No ranch dressing? Are you kidding me?? It was hard. Total culture shock for me. Ranch is a NECESSITY.)

The front door opens, and in runs this professor, in her jammies, with two snowballs in both of her hands. We didn't realize it had snowed for the first time the night before. She yells, at the top of her lungs, "MY FIRST SNOWBALLS!!!!!" And pelts two girls with them. We all just stared at her, dumbfounded, drool dripping from our mouths (just kidding). It was so weird to see her in that light! And awesome. I became her biggest fan after the snowball incident.

Just a couple of weeks ago, my kids and hubby threw their FIRST SNOWBALLS!!! Even though it's the middle of winter. Our non-winter months are so short around here, I think when it first snows, we go, "Aw man.... and here we go again...." instead of getting excited. And that includes the kids. We're sick of snow. We've been there, done that, gotten the t-shirt.

I didn't join them. Because I hate the snow. I've been in a state of revolt against it since it showed its sorry face around here in November. I'm just biding my time until, like, May, when it finally thaws. Just kidding. Kind of. It did blizzard on my high school graduation day in June....

It was so unusually sunny and warm that day. We don't get many days like that. Most of them are in the single digits. We've had a nasty couple of weeks, temperature-wise.

Sadie stayed out there for .2 seconds, until Dylan hit her with a snowball. Then she came in, bawling. I hugged her for awhile, and then told her to get out there and whitewash Dylan in the face. She smiled brightly at this idea.

But then she came back in, .2 seconds later, bawling again, because this time her daddy threw a snowball at her.

Ben, the man-boy. He kills me. So she and I just sat on the couch and snuggled for the rest of the afternoon. That made her feel better.