Halloweenies

Another Halloween come, and gone. I just threw out the remainder of last year's Halloween candy to make room for this year's "score". Here's to another year's worth of candy!

This is the first year Chase has used a store bought character for his costume. I have to admit, I was a little disappointed when Chase announced in August that he wanted to be Scooby for Halloween. I thought for sure I had plenty of time to change his creative mind. I even tried shameless tactics. One afternoon, I sat him in front of the computer and showed him the coolest costume ever, that I just "happened to stumble upon". He was in complete awe. He whooped and hollered. He burst out, "Oh, man, that is the coolest costume EVER! I TOTALLY want to be that for Halloween...NEXT year...AFTER Scooby!" Dang it. Almost had him.




Chase and I made a quick appearance at school for his Halloween party. I was able to stay and read a Halloween story to his class. My favorite part of the party, however, was when one of Chase's classmates started squealing and jumping up and down while donning a genuine "I can't believe I won!" expression on her face...when her number was called during their Cupcake Walk. So stinkin' cute.





In preparation for this evening's free candy drive, I put clean wrap on Chase's hands. As I wrapped his left hand (which is his dominate hand), he showed his true champion spirit. He said proudly,


"Well, it's a good thing that I am left handed AND right handed for picking up candy."


My multi-talented trick-or-treater and I had a good time tonight. I was, however, getting a little tired and crabby when the end was nearing. Chase caught up to me at one point tonight and slipped his hand in mine and stated,


"Man! I can't BELIEVE I still have THIS much energy! I could trick or treat ALL night!"


Mom petered out waaaaaaay too early to find out if he could actually make good on that threat. I am taking the fact that he was asleep before I left the room at betime as a big "nope".


And, to our neighbor's and friends...if your children have horrible nightmares of big scary pumpkin heads tonight...I truly am sorry. I seriously can't leave Jeff unattended for even one second.

Generation Gap, or Synaptic Gap

While passing some time during the many days Chase and I were holed up in the house together, we decided to play a game on the computer. The game was found on the Lego's web site for kids. So, keep in mind, it wasn't rocket science.



Chase was growing increasingly frustrated with my inability to pass a certain obstacle. His angst was thrust into hyper-drive since I was supposed to be helping him advance to another level. At one point, he lost complete control of his faculties and snipped at me. I threw "the look" at him, aiming for a beaning square between the eyes.



I realized that I had hit my target dead on when, a few seconds later, I conquered the aforementioned obstacle. Chase's tone was completely sincere, and a tad bit incredulous, when he said,



"Well, looky there!"

The Busy, The Wounded, The Pansy

When one gets caught up in fevers, medications, naps, nose blowing, coughs, burn wrapping and other fun pooh, one tends to forget the fun stuff. Here it is, almost Halloween, and we have to start celebrating in hyper drive!

On Sunday, I mapped out a fun week of all things Autumn and all things Halloween that are fun must-do's for kiddles. We had some serious ground to make up since we were waylayed with burned hands last week. Then, BLAM. Chase gets a viral throat infection. Seriously? Who were we even around, anyway?! I am prone to think that sickness for this squirt was eminent since we weren't able to wash his hands for a week. But, let's be honest here. It's because he's a boy. And, let's face it. Most boys, if they could, would have their fingers permanently attached...up their noses. After almost two weeks of missed school, the comforting Mom is quickly slipping away. Fever-schmever. You're going to school! Kidding. Kinda.

So, anyway, for FHE on Monday, the one day of freedom we were allowed from the infirmary, we managed to get in a round of mini golf while the place was still decked out in Halloween garb. That was only the first thing on our list. I am thinking we will visit the corn maze next year. Sigh.

We had to adapt our list to accommodate Halloweenie activites that could be accomplished at home, since this has become our lot. Another sigh. With Jeff having scouts coming here last night, Chase wrapped in gauze, and Mom not being a big pumpkin gut toucher or smeller (hence the post title), the chances of us getting a Jack-O-Lantern to adorn our doorstep were slowly fading away. For Chase's sake, I sucked it up. He and I went for it, by ourselves, sans power tools.

I do have to say, that the thought crossed my mind that if we ended up in the ER with wounds caused by this ritual, I was checking myself into the nearest institution. Jeff completely agreed to be the one to drive me there.

Luckily, Jack was completed without incident. Editor's note. Chase DID start out standing on a stool.



My favorite part of this Contemporary work of art? Chase designed the face. I gave him a sharpie and this is what he created. I am pretty sure this is my favorite Jack-O-Lantern ever.

Just so you know, I did have Jeff take pictures of Chase and I together. Wanna venture a guess as to what happens when you add one part man-has-never-used-a-camera with the fact that it was dark so you couldn't see where you were aiming, mixed in with him holding the leash of a frozen hyper puppy who is wrapping herself insanely around the wanna-be photographer's legs?

Maybe next time. Maybe next time.

Hand Signals

The other day, Chase's hot wheel was running in the Gran Prix around my kitchen island. Chase and car ran tirelessly, and noisily, one lap at a time. Nothing new, really. This boy is always moving, while emitting at least one noise out of at least one place on his body. This day's race in my kitchen was pretty much par for the course, except for the fact that dinner prep seemed to be happening in the middle of the raceway. Not to be thwarted, Mr. Earnhardt just ran his car right over my backside, each time he passed. After several noisy laps, the little driver stopped suddenly. When I turned to see what had caused the sudden pit stop, I found the driver standing still, with an awed expression on his face. When I asked him what was wrong, he said,





"Whoa, Mom! Your bum is totally shrinking!"





Poor thing. Apparently, the numbness in his hands is more severe than we thought. What's worse, it's seems to have affected his eye sight, as well.

Da Burns

How sad is it that every time I take a picture of...anything, Chase asks, "Is that for the blog?"


I took pictures of Chase's burns the other day, just for posterity's sake. Chase wanted me to make sure I shared the pictures of his mayhem with my fellow bloggers. So, here they are.









These were actually quite difficult to photograph, and not just because I am an extremely untalented photographer. Chase decided to do some method acting for me. After about thirty takes, it dawned on me what Chase was doing. I finally had to say, "Chase, I am just trying to take a picture of your burns, not a picture of the face you made when you RECEIVED the burns." Oh.


I failed at getting a close-up picture of his left hand, due to the extreme sucking noise emitted from Chase's face any time I got any where near his hand. His left hand's burn is smaller, but seems to come with a more powerful punch. He was in pain most of the day on Saturday. The blister in the crease of his thumb is nearing infection. My next course of action is going to have to be bubble wrap and oven mitts. I am not sure how to tell an energetic boy who is tired of being cooped up while zippy on pain medication...to slow down. He is actually doing really well with this whole bag of pooh, and so is his mom...mostly.


He is headed back to school today; it's his turn to be the star student of the week. I had to remind him that it was his scheduled week to be the star, and not just a result of his teacher having great sympathy for his new accessories. I am not sure he's completely convinced.

What Really Counts

To my husband, I am "beautiful". To my son, I am "the best".

According to my pantyhose, I am a "queen"; according to my shoes, a "10".

My friends say I'm "fun", my shampoo says I'm "shiny". The label on my jeans tells me I'm "relaxed".

My parents think I'm "great", babies think I'm "comfy". The score on my eye chart tells me I'm "perfect".

My height on a growth chart tells me I am "above average"; my Heavenly Father, "choice".

According to my ten dollar bathroom scale, I am "obese".



Huh.




What does it know?

I put away my scale today. It only knows HOW to count. I already know WHAT counts. I'll use all of the labels above to see how I measure up. Besides, the way my bum looks in my new jeans makes me way happier than any dumb bathroom appliance that serves no higher purpose than to get stepped on by stinky feet. Dumb scale.

Walk the Line

You want your children to grow up well-rounded and well-balanced. You want them to be tough, but not a bully. You want them to be sensitive, but not a wuss. You want them to cry with you during a good Hallmark commercial, and be able to grunt, spit and slam their opponents during a good football game. We don't ask too much... do we?

To help your child find that delicate balance, you expose them to life. You don't sugar coat their life lessons, i.e., you name your family's pet cow, Dinner. You set a delicate balance of rules, i.e., bugs live outside, don't hurt bugs in their home; when the bug has the nerve to cross into my territory, squish it dead...and hurry, please. You teach your child about the Circle of Life, teaching them that all creatures have a purpose. Some have the sole purpose of being someone else's food. That's just how it works.

Chase and his friend were watching a Planet Earth movie while playing at our house. Chase has demonstrated a good understanding of the Circle of Life, so far. Watching an elephant turn into a meal for 30 ravenous lions doesn't gross him out, yet. I did, however, realize that there was a need for me to demonstrate some parental guidance in the viewing of this smorgasbord when Chase's friend was found watching the video with one hand over his eyes, under the counter, where he was "just eating his grapes". Wanting to ensure that my son didn't permanently lose one of his best buddies, I used my most comforting voice and began explaining the Circle of Life and how natural it is in the animal kingdom. I then became aware of how overly comfortable my Sensitive Sam is with animals feasting on other animals when he blurted out,

"Yup, It's the 'Circle of Death'. It's the Circle of YOUR Death, Mr. Elephant."

We turned off the movie and pulled out the Lego's. Unless you count the little head of your Lego guy falling off, the Circle of Death does not reign with plastic blocks.

Pecking Order

Mom bosses Chase.


Chase bosses...well...


Pepper.


Mom overhears some serious bellyaching happening out the back door.



"I don't THINK so, girl. If you don't stop that, you are going to be in BIG trouble with Mommy! Seriously, Pepper, you are going to be in big trouble if you don't stop. You want to be in big trouble? I said stop! You want me to go get Mommy? I will if you don't stop!"


I couldn't tell you what heinous thing the puppy was doing to receive such a tongue lashing. Apparently, she is not as lucky as Chase. Chase's mom would never talk to him like that!


Poor thing. It makes perfect sense that she went across the street and royally chewed out the neighbor's kitten.

Look Who Knows So Much

The other day, Chase was sitting at the island being creative with his good buddy, Adam. They were coloring and writing and cutting and pasting and just being plain cute.

I was listening to them have such a grown-up conversation and was really enjoying their chatter. I was then pulled back into their five-year old world when I heard Adam ask,

"Tricity...what's tricity?"

My intelligent son quickly corrected,

"Leck-tricity, Adam. LECK-tricity. You know leck-tricity; it means power."

"Oh...yeah. Nope, still don't know what leck-tricity means."

"Ah, never mind then!"

I could have intervened, but I saw no reason to show-off.


As Chase and I were driving home tonight, we were having a conversation about the flu. We were talking about washing our hands and using hand sanitizer in order to stave off the yucky symptoms of fabulous influenza. Chase was reminding me about his little bout a few weeks ago. He made it sound so seemingly easy.

"Nothing hurt on me except for my bag".

Cough, sputter, choke, giggle.

"Your WHAT?"

"My bag, Mom. Remember?"

"No, I guess I don't remember, Chase. What on earth is your 'bag'?"

"My stomach bag! You don't remember my bag hurting?"

Oh, silly me. I do remember your stomach hurting. But apparently, I momentarily forgot how smart and descriptive you are. I will bone up on synonyms for the digestive system for next time, Mr. Smarty-Pants.

Yo, Adriannn!

My little Rocky Balboa burned his hands last night. We were all out as a neighborhood riding Jeff's go-cart. Chase showed his two little buddies the go-cart by saying, "My dad said that when I grow up, he is going to pass this down to me.", and proceeded to plant both of his hands on the muffler. When I initially looked at his hands, they looked like they had been dusted with chalk on every finger and his two palms. After standing at the sink in water for several minutes, we decided that I would just take Chase to Insta-Care to make sure he was okay. On my way there, I stopped at my friend's house (who is an EMT) for a quick second opinion, and I was ordered nicely to take my suffering child to the ER as fast as legally possible. I felt like a schmuck when the ER Dr. told me that he had 2nd degree burns on his palms and the screaming was because 2nd degree burns are seriously painful. Nice, Mom.


We went back today for a follow up at the hospital and his hands look REALLY good. They looked so much better than the hamburger flesh I was imagining under the boxing gloves. I still need to keep him out of school for another day for the obvious reason that he can't hold a pencil, and for the fact kids are germ magnents. Days 2 and 3 are the days when burns are suceptible to infections. We will unwrap and rewrap his hands for two more days, then move to bandages on his palms for two days. By Monday, we should be good to go, if the healing goes well.



The other good news is that the wrap they put on today is about 3 inches less thick than last night's. Chase can now use his hands ,somewhat. Phew. I was not sure how long I would be able to enjoy being nursemaid to his itchy nostrils and having to run pell-mell from the porcelain pot to scratch his tummy. He has discovered that the guaze on his hands is abrasive enough that it works really well as an itcher. Much more time with the thick wraps and I would discover even further how talented I really am. Since I was feeding him, clothing him, and tending to every little need, I had to multi-task and work very quickly. This morning, I blew my hair dry, while on the toilet.


He has such a good attitude about this adventure today. He was a little less than stellar in the ER, understandably. After a quick pep talk, he has decided, now that he is doped up on Lortab, that this could be a fun adventure together if we want it to be. Tonight, we are all eating dinner with no hands, and tomorrow, we are trying "toe" painting, and other things that we think would be fun to try with our toes. Within reason. Grossing Mom out is not part of the deal.

Chase has been seeing all of the silver linings in this mishap. He said that what a good thing it was that he didn't burn his lips. He can still talk! Yes, that is a blessing. I think.

"And...it's a MISS!"

Yesterday, I was in my bathroom drying my hair when I called Chase in for a motivational pep talk. You know the one. The speech that we parents feel compelled to deliver, in between every teenie, tiny, itty, bitty, little piece of instruction...in hopes of keeping the child on task...free from distraction. When I saw that Chase had arrived, I gave him his instructions over the hum of my hair fryer, while bent over in the "attempting-to-add-more-body-to-my-lifeless-hair" position. I didn't make actual eye contact with my one-person pep rally until I turned off the dryer and flipped up.
Knowing full well that this blow-drying ritual makes my quaff explode to the point of rivaling a 1980's troll doll pencil topper after a complete twist cycle, I tried to channel the funny kid who resides on Chase's humorous side. I looked at my gawking son and went fishing for compliments. I asked,

"What do you think? Do I look pretty?"

After a little smirk and a little eye roll, Chase turned and walked away, just shaking his head. I heard his little voice trailing out of the bedroom, as if in a last ditch effort to save his crazy mom,

"You have to look IN the mirror, Mom."

I missed...by a long shot.

You Might Be Parenting a Five-Year Old If...

1...your sweet child does an exhausting high-step OVER the object he/she was sent to look for, and still has the energy to turn and shout, "I CAN'T see it, Mom!"

2...your 5-year old's attitude is turning 15 on their next birthday.

3...when looking at your child, you are not sure where the mirror came from. Mini-me has you pegged...the good, the bad, and the ugly.

4...your child has a lightening fast brain...and tongue. While still trying to explain the answer to the first question, your child fires off another question...on a subject not even closely related.

5...your child loves your more than anything in the world. Your child would walk to China on his/her elbows and lips, just to please you.

6...you are worm spit, and getting your child to be happy doing anything would require a bribe that puts all other bribes to shame...or a cattle prod.

7...you have to follow your child around with a pen and paper, afraid you will miss the incredibly hilarious stuff flowing from their ever-expanding brains.

8...if it has been necessary to set up a "bad words" jar...and it's for you.

9...your child is a sponge, literally soaking up every learning opportunity this wonderful world could throw at him/her.

10...when asked why he/she didn't do what you just asked him/her to do, they shoot you the "I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about, lady. I don't speak Cantonese", look.

11...your child exhibits worrisome hearing abilities when asked to do anything erring a little on the side of "not fun".

12...your child possesses bionic hearing capabilities when you open a candy wrapper, under a pillow, three rooms away, through two shut doors.

13...Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are not unfamiliar science fiction characters anymore; "they" reside down the hall, and have just been asked to make "their" bed.

14...if the dial of your child's volume knob has been broken, while set on Maximum.

15...your child accomplishes amazing things everyday.

16...you can still get away with kisses...in public...from Mom. Hand-holding is still cool, as well.

17...their "pleases" and "thank-yous" nearly melt your heart.

18..."Whine" is a regular beverage at your house.

19...playing tag with your high and endless energy child causes a collapsed lung and paralysis for a week.

20...their "I love yous", as you put them to bed at night, erase any mis-steps, bumps, or mishaps of the day. Almost.


My 5-year old is amazing. How does yours add up? ;)

The Hearts of the Children

Last week, Chase and I went on an adventure to a little town about 25 minutes from here. The whole purpose of our trip was to visit a little cemetery in Willard to find the headstone of my great-great-great grandfather George Welton Ward. We planned a fun day of genealogy, autumn fruit stands, and the ever-popular McDonald's lunch for the car ride home.

We had such a good day together. At our first stop, we scored some precious last-of-the-season tomatoes and a cherry sucker from the sucker-for-cute-little-boys-with-moppy-long-hair at a produce stand. Next, we visited the very tiny pioneer cemetery with only 6 headstones, due to the 1923 flood in that area. One of the headstones was for my g-g-g grandfather's first wife, Ann Trulock. We drove to the current Willard cemetery and drove right to the headstones of my g-g-g grandparents George Welton and Mary Hankinson Ward. Their headstones were so close to us, we could have rolled down the windows in the car and come close to touching them. We were both pretty thrilled.

What thrills me, even more then finding these headstones, is the fact that my son loves to do this with me. He has accompanied me to many a cemetery since he was two. I have fabulous pictures of this boy on headstone hunts. We have started a fun tradition in the Hyrum cemetery for Memorial weekend, placing silk flowers on the near two dozen headstones of our ancestors there. He is learning, at a young age, the importance of family history, binding families together, the legacy we inherit, and the importance of the name he bears. I feel incredibly lucky to be living smack dab in the roots of so many our ancestors.

Pioneer Cemetery, with Ann Trulock's headstone in the right background.

George Welton Ward, with my cute ward

Our fabulous Phippen find in July, with Gpa and Clark...Gma being photographer

These genealogy field trips have sparked some cherished conversations between Chase and I. On the way home from our adventure, Chase was completely obsessed with the flood of 1923. If you know Chase pretty well, you will understand this obsession (Hmm, I may need to post
THAT story some time). I lost count of how many questions I had to field on this subject I know absolutely nothing about.

As we feasted on french-fries in the canyon, we were talking about all of the family history books that I have and what they mean to me. I told Chase that these books will be important to him someday, too. I mentioned to him that we will pass them down to him so that he will get to know and love these names as much as I do. This is how our conversation went:

"Then, Chase, when you are done with them, you will pass them down to your children, so they can enjoy them."

"But, Mom, remember, I am living with you and Dad forever. I am not having any children. When I am done with them, I will pass them down to...Casey. I think HE will enjoy them."

Casey is his friend...across the street...of no relation. After a giggle-snort and a quick explanation, we had it all ironed out. Hey, no great work of art was completed in one afternoon. Line upon line, we will get there. Until then, I will work on this masterpiece, one "Lego" at a time, and watch this fabulous giant take shape before my eyes!

Thanks for a day to remember, Chase!

My Wallet is Magic...Is Yours?

Chase has been saving his greens for a REALLY long time. He has learned great restraint when hit in the face with a must-have. This hasn't always been the case. Before he developed his ablility to set aside a want in order to increase his fundage, Chase would stoop so low as to say,

"Well, could you just buy it for me this time? I am trying to save my money."

Yeah, I would like to think that we all could save a lot of money if we had the option of "No, thanks, I'll use your money today." I am proud to say that he has now learned to live without the dollar priced toy, in hopes of saving up for something bigger and better.

My cute little sweet-pea has been introduced to the world of savings accounts early in his childhood career. He has heard it explained that as his money sits in his account, it grows. It just came to my attention that I forgot to exclude his wallet from such awesome, cultivating super powers.

Chase decided he was ready to look into his wallet to see what wonderful things have been "growing" in there. He asked me to help him count his earnings. He handed me a literal wad of green stuff, and the magic began. I would unwad a bill, hand it to him, and give it a name:


"One.......Two.......Three......."


"Sixteen.........and....Seventeen".

It was quiet. Chase was literally frozen. I wish I could back this whole thing up and set a video camera on his face. PRICELESS! His mouth slowly, and I mean, SLOWLY, dropped open. His eyes grew wider. Without moving anything but his lips, he whispered,

"I'm rich."

"I'm rich."

"I am SERIOUSLY rich!"

The piece de resistance came when he broke out into a musical number, complete with operatic vibrato and dancing, while waving his lucrative pom-poms,

sung to the tune of I Believe I Can Fly,

"I believe I am rich!
I believe I am so-hoh rich!"

While I am glad that his childhood perspective allows him to let the amount of 17 dollars fling him into wealth greater than Midas (not to mention his talent of putting his own words to song), I am gently reminded that we need to further his lessons on humility.

Gourd-ita

The other day, Gourd-ita made an appearance on our front lawn. Isn't she pretty? She makes such a great addition to the existing pieces of lawn art already in place in our front yard, i.e. neighbor children's shoes and neighbor children's toys.

We really like our gift. Really, we do. We would like to know who to thank for our beautiful Gourd-ita, however. Our mysterious squash artisan deserves proper accolades. If you see fit to enlighten us, we also have a few questions for you.

We are a little confused as to what to do with her. Being the people-pleaser that I am, I want to take the appropriate action as to not offend the gifter. Are we supposed to eat her? Is the purpose of Gourd-ita to share with us the bounty that was your garden? Or, is she to add to the Autumn Ambiance that now resides on my front porch?

Either way, thank you for our treasure. We are touched by Gourd-ita's late-night appearance to our landscape via the zucchini bandit. If you choose to remain anonymous, we completely understand. We will just have to take our chances with our course of action. Our choices are to leave Gourd-ita where she lies, for all to enjoy. She will meet a frosty end, however. Too much more time out there and her produce parts will freeze. Or, we can eat her, one piece at a time, opting to deeply offend our Produce Picasso.


At any rate, thanks for thinking of us! We love the creative lengths you went through to to try to deplete your squash-plants-run-a-muck. It is way more impressive than the old standby of coming out of church on Sunday to a front seat full of overrun veggies!

Child Psychology Misfire

You know, it's a sad day when all of the psycho-babble and manipulating double-talk that we rely on as a parent, fails to work. We work so hard to perfect this that it seems unfair our children get smart so quickly and catch on to what we are doing.

Last week, Chase was a homework-lovin', pencil-totin' whiz kid. He came home last Monday with his homework folder and asked if it was okay if he did it ALL in ONE day. He was a MACHINE. No fire-poker needed to jump start that kindergartner. This week, thanks to the wide-swinging pendulum that resides in the mood-setting part of 5-year old brains, we are back to teeth-pulling, cattle-prodding and a generous helping of you-want-some-cheese-with-that-whine.

Thankfully, being the fabulous mother that I am, I am fully trained and ready for such occasions. I start with psychology.

"Chase, remember that sweet boy who did his homework here last week? You know, that boy who loved his homework so much that he wanted to do it all in one day? What happened to THAT boy? Where did HE go?"

Chase turned to look at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes. He leaned in closer to my face, and said, with great intention,

"He went to town...'cause he already DID his HOMEWORK!"

Kirk and Heather, I am soooo excited for you two to get to enroll in this amazing institution called parenthood. You are going to be fabulous!! In just a few more months, you, too, will be purchasing your own life-time pass to this amusement park, full of never ending roller coaster rides and fast-talking carnies. We welcome you, whole-heartedly, TO THE CLUB!

Sympathy Pains

My thigh muscles are so sore right now. We're talking, OWEEEEE! I have no control over my leg muscles and am prone to spastic flailing as my noodle-legs buckle underneath me. Descending stairs, trying to sit on a toilet, and basically anything else, is quite painful...if not quite hilarious, embarrassing, and loud.

To assist me further in my muscle toning and prolonging the agony of sore and seizing muscles, I have bought a resistance cord. Chase has fallen in love with it. All of a sudden he has become so obsessed with doing his "exercises". He stands on the cord and pulls the handles up so hard that his little face turns red, along with an occasional squeaker that eeks out due to the excessive squeezing. I lost count of how many times my little manly-man returned back to his "exercises" yesterday. This has all come at a price, however.

This morning, Chase woke up a little concerned. He came in and told me that something was wrong with his arms. They "really hurt right here", pointing to his bicep region. Ahhh...I sighed. My baby has his first sore muscles! Then I thought...can they do that? I didn't know that the Energizer Bunny was capable of pulling something that wasn't really there to begin with. But, nonetheless, Chase had sore ones this morning. He asked me when the hurt was going to go away. I tenderly and sympathetically told him that they will start feeling better in the next few days.

I over-heard a little bit of a conversation that Chase had with his friend at church today. I heard my little Hans say to Franz, "Dude, don't touch my arm there. I have sore muscles from my exercises yesterday."

After church, Chase and I sat at the kitchen island and played "Office". This is an activity we do when Mom has a lot of choir stuff to get ready for choir practice on Sunday afternoons. He sat on one side while I sat across from him on the other side. There was an awful lot of moaning and groaning coming from the two of us. We were quite a pair, with our over-extended physique.

We have an old phone set that we use to authenticate our setting as an "office". We used the phones for many reasons today. Mom asked to borrow the stapler from her boss, and asked permission to head to the "supply room" to get some tape. She even called once to remind her boss that Skittles were being served as refreshments in the break room. The boss called a few times to invite Mom to the break room to join him in eating the refreshments, and could he please get his stapler back.

The best phone call of all came when Chase called and asked me a question.

"Um, I was just wondering when the "feeling better" was going to start feeling better? My arms HURT!"

I must have given a good answer. My sore employer told me a little later that I will never get fired...'cause I am the bestest Mommy in the whole world.

Suffering seems so much easier when you have someone to suffer with.

Creative Thinking

For a bedtime story last night, I chose a book that I remember reading from my childhood. We read Caps For Sale, by Esphyr Slobodkina. I don't remember, as a child, if I had a reaction when I read the author's name then. I would like to bet, however, that I giggled as immaturely as I did last night, as an adult.

Anyway, in this book, a cap peddler keeps his 10 caps for selling stacked on top of his head. While taking a nap, 10 monkeys steal his caps and climb a tree. The man tries to get the monkeys to return the caps by shaking a finger and shouting at them. The monkeys shake a finger and make a sound back. The man then tries shaking two fingers at them, while shouting. The monkeys then shake two fingers and make a noise back. Getting more angry, the man stamps one foot and yells even louder. The monkeys, of course, stamp one foot and rattle something back. Nearing his wits end, the man stamps both feet and really hollers at the monkeys.

Being the teacher that I am, I ask a lot of questions. I asked Chase if he could tell me, based on the developing pattern in the story, what the monkeys were going to do in return. My intently listening and completely enthralled son very seriously answered,


"Fling pooh?"


Uh, tee hee hee. No, tee hee hee. Not quite the answer I was going for, tee hee hee. BUT, very creative indeed.

Hate Mail

It has been said that if your children don't like when you exercise firm parenting on them, you are doing a great job as a parent. I must say...I AM SUPERB.

Yesterday, Chase had a Nuclear Core Meltdown. I am not even going to wonder where he learned such a blessed talent from.

Chase's unraveling began when I kindly removed the chocolate candy, gifted to us by our neighborhood grandma, from his reach. After a polite invitation to stop now and paste a smile on his face, or keep going into a tail-spin of consequences and 5-year old suffering, he chose to tail-spin. After his chocolates were calmly thrown in the garbage, he promptly, and dramatically, invited HIMSELF to Time-Out, muttering some very mild threats that I knew I wouldn't be so lucky enough for him to actually follow through with.

With the puppy pouting in the laundry room, and Chase pouting in his bedroom, I felt like the victor in a boxing ring. I triumphantly sat down and watched the news. Chase did make a quick re-entrance, though...but only long enough to feverishly cross my name off of the project he had been working on as a gift for me. Underneath the scribble, he wrote, "DAD".

Several minutes later, Chase emerged again. With a look of reticence on his face, Chase was asked if he was done with his fit, or if he needed another minute to cool down. He said he was done. It was quickly appareant that this was not the case when a wadded-up paper ball was tossed with a non-chalant, see-me-please-but-don't-see-me-please flair, over his shoulder.

This time, Chase was ushered to his room with a polite invitation to not come out until his attitude changed, or he could be eating dinner in his cell.

I then remembered the cannonball that had been launched in my general direction and was curious as to it's content. My elation at my son's first ever attempt to sound out and write his very first sentence ever, was short lived. It read:


i dnt lk u mom


Sigh. As a five year old, he is prone to mood swings as unexplained as his sporadic use of vowels. He swung back into favor with me soon after, though. Remember, I did get a snuggle, a compliment, and a pat on my head at bedtime a few hours later.

Only one question remains. Do I scrap book this little piece of a childhood milestone? I mean, it is quite an educational breakthrough...even if it was hurled at me.

Thanks for Noticing

A little over a week ago, in one of my posts, I mentioned that our puppy Pepper tinkled on our forbidden living room carpet. Well, okay, EVERY carpet is forbidden. But our living room is exceptionally forbidden. We are not allowed to play in there, let alone deposit anything starting with the word "number".

Later in the week, my brazen Pepper completely lost her marbles and defiled the SAME spot in the SAME room with the SAME infraction. I decided my conniption fit from the last deposit must not have been dramatic and/or scary enough to get it through her doggie brain that my living room is not her personal latrine. So, I upped the ante. I lost MY marbles. I mean, I hit the fan. I used a few choice "hot sauce" words while carrying her leaky faucet intently toward the door. I threw her out , slammed the door on her furry bum, then proceeded to rant and rave. I was so blinded by my hysteria that I hadn't seen Chase. He stood stunned and horrified. I continued my blubbering, however. Soon, he was found sitting at the back door with his nose pressed on the glass, "rubbing" noses with the little criminal on the other side. I heard him quietly betraying me by tearfully whispering,

"I don't want you to freeze to death, Pepper. Please don't freeze to death, Pepper."

My sister, Heather, became the next innocent victim of my rantings and ravings when she accidentily called on the phone. Bless her heart. After she got over the shock of her insane sister's ability to let loose, she nervously asked if it was okay to laugh. I told her to go ahead, but not to be expecting me to be joining her anytime soon. That lasted for about 2 more minutes. I joined her.

We eventually did let Pepper back in. Chase and I made a pact to hit this challenge head on. We were going to be Pepper's personal potty coaches. He did make me promise, though, to never do that again. My hissy fit apparently had a pretty big impact on him. While playing in the sandbox, I heard him tell his friends that if Pepper ever pees on the carpet again, his mom is giving her away.

We laid out our plan of attack and went to work. Chase and I have been diligent. She is a quick study (we think). Late this afternoon, she completely impressed Chase and me. She got up from her assigned spot in our laundry room and went and stood at the door. Chase and I were elated! She was asking to use the potty! A breakthrough! We excitedly opened the door, all the while gushing over her achievement. As she began her descent out the door, she was hit in the face with cold and pelting sleet. She tucked her tail between her legs, threw herself into reverse, and promptly started to pee at the edge of the carpet. I then helped her "take" herself outside. I threw a very mini hissy...only to remind Pepper of the unacceptable choice of sprinkle spots...and calmly went back to Chase's homework.

Tonight, Chase and I were having a chat in his bed at bedtime. I asked him what his favorite part of the day was. He offered several great choices. To extend the conversation time, Chase volunteered his least favorite part of the day as well. My reaction to Pepper's potty caper was so understated that I had actually forgotten about it. I only remembered because Chase had chosen that as his least favorite activity of the day. He very quickly remembered to reward my good behavior by stating,

"You did REALLY good today, Mom! I am so proud of you!"

I think he went a tad bit too far when the compliment was accompanied with a scratch and a pat on my head.

Funny Bone

I have a very exposed funny bone. Make me really tired and put me under a certain amount of pressure, with an even higher amount of sugar, and you will really get a reaction. I am not sure why, but I am a sucker for someone with a dry sense of humor. These people are stealth. They can throw a funny at you that you didn't even see coming. You have no idea what hit you...which makes it even funnier. These people are truly funny.

People have funny bones in different places. Some are on the surface. Some are where they are supposed to be. Some are buried deep, yet still accessible...once in a while. Some people, however, were not issued one at all when the optional, non-vital body parts were being handed out. I don't always do well with those kind of people. I am too irreverent for those kind of people. I just know that I love to laugh. I also know that I need to do it waymore often.

Here are a few funnies that were thrown my way this weekend. Both of these statements caught me off guard and earned a very honest reaction:

After conference today, my brother and I were discussing the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the qualifications required to be in this said, amazing group. Jeremy's reaction was a little incredulous as I mentioned some of the audition requirements that I have heard that potential choir members have to endure. One of the things I have heard that is used in auditions is the use of Solfege (which is the use of Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Ti Do in sight reading music. These words represent notes in the musical scale and the steps you hear between them). Jeremy seemed unimpressed with my telling him that choir members had to know how to use Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Ti Do. The realization that he had no idea what I was talking about came when he said,

"You mean, like in a sentence?"

Still makes me Laugh!!

As my friend and I were nearing the end of a very grueling workout Saturday morning, we could not help but be sooooo proud of each other. Between our heavy, close-to-obscene breaths, we were oozing compliments at each other as our puddin' legs wobbled down the horrific set of Old Main stairs. You could hear us saying things like, "Way to go"..."I am so proud of you!"..."I am so proud of us!"..."I can't believe we did that!"..."You are amazing!"..."YOU are amazing!"..."WE are amazing!"

My friend then enthusiastically exclaimed, "Let's go eat a pie!"

I cackled loud enough for the whole valley to hear me. I almost rolled down the remaining stairs. Did I mention this workout is at 6:00 AM?


Oh, I love to laugh. Thank you for providing me with stuff to laugh at. I REALLY appreciate it!

An Odd Sense of Humor

A few days ago, during a conversation, a women mentioned that it seemed so backwards that the older you get, the less energy you have. Children have boundless energy. Shouldn't we have more energy to keep up with them? I think she has a very valid point.

In fact, the more I think of it, the more I think that the whole thing really is backwards. For example, when you drive for a long distance in a car...with children. The kids sleep, rest, and basically bottle up all of their energy, only to be released when the car is thrown in park at the journey's end. You are exhausted. Your eyes burn and your legs feel like pudding. You are ready to hit the hay. Only, you can't. Your offspring are zipping like hummingbirds on Twinkies.

Backwards, I tell ya.

Chase and I are in the fourth day of the flu bug; the third day of being locked in the house together. We are on the down slide and this backwards distribution of energy thing is rearing it's ugly head. His energy and color are returning, and cabin fever is setting in. He is a constant mass of noises, movement and questions. Me, I'm dead. Two nights of no sleep, a mile run from Tuesday night, and the possibility of inheriting this flu bug have replaced my energy with drunk-like stupor. When I woke up this morning, rigor mortis had set in. The mile run from two days ago finally hit at full speed. Yup, dead. Jeff got up with Chase this morning and fed him breakfast. By 9 AM, guilt set in and I dragged my corpse out of my comfy bed. Yup. I am sore from my chapped lips down. As I lumbered into the kitchen, this is what I saw:

He was making me toast, to bring me breakfast in bed. His explanation of the chef sans shirt: when going out to let Pepper out of the dog run, she excitedly ran up one side and down the other, leaving a muddy trail on his p-jays. It's a good thing he knows how to make toast. His appetite is coming back with a vengance, and I have no energy to feed him.

This picture speaks volumes. He had to dial back his craziness for the photo shoot. I had to summon some.

But, energy or no, life goes on. And in the midst of our infirm hold up, Chase lost another tooth. The tooth fairy was a little loopy, though. She had taken Tylenol PM and gone to bed, hoping for the first good night's sleep in a few days. At midnight, she sat up with a start (a slooooow start) realizing that she had forgotten her visit to Chase's pillow. She staggered to his room, with offerings clutched in hand, and literally almost fell on top of her gummy victim. She had a plan, though. If her lack of coordination caused her to wake him up before her mission was accomplished, she would grab a thermometer and take his temperature.

Well, my now-richer buddy and I are going to scrapbook. We have a fun spread all over the kitchen island. We scrap booked for 4 hours yesterday. Can we try for 8 today?!

And, I am realizing that this is my third post in three days about the flu. If I go for a fourth, will someone come in, drag me out by my greasy, fuzz-ball hair and slap some sense into me? Or, you can just take me out to lunch, if you're not embarrassed by how I look, and smell.