Dec 28, 2008


I'm having a love affair with popcorn.

We used to just see each other at the movies. I would sit in the dark theater, with my hand in the warm buttery tub delighting in my guilty pleasure. Everything was rather innocent back then.

And every once in awhile I would pop some in the microwave. I would tell the kids it was for them. Like a favorite uncle, they loved it when popcorn was in our house.

But then we bought an air popper.

It's been two weeks. Two weeks of never ending popcorn.

First I made caramel corn for my kids' teachers. The good crunchy kind. I thought I could share it. I thought I would be strong enough to give some of my beloved popcorn away.

But then I started to think of excuses to make more. The neighbors needed some, and we ought to make a double batch for our family Christmas Eve party. And each time I would dip in and dive further into the affair.

I also realized how wonderful air popped popcorn with real butter was. It was like finding a deeper more meaningful side to the snack that I desperately craved. The final ingredient to fall completely under popcorn's control. And now I am lost.

Lost to popcorn.

Buttery, caramel, or even coated in red jello, I cannot get enough.

But it's not so bad. Popcorn is good with the kids. It's also healthy to have popcorn in your life (it is high in fiber, you know.) Also it doesn't bother me in bed or dirty too many dishes. Popcorn is easy to make and on adventurous days it doesn't mind if I get creative. I'm thinking about continuing the affair and just keeping my husband around to shovel the driveway and change poopy diapers.

Because popcorn is my lover now.

Dec 26, 2008

you need to see this

So I said that Monkey likes guitars, right? Santa brought him a new one. (He's trashed the old one, since he's a fan of smashing it concert style into the floor.)

He likes all kinds of rock music, but seems to be particularly fond of acid rock (hence the Guns n Roses in the video.) Is it wierd that our toddler has a preffered genre of music? And that it includes Guns n Roses?

Here's a little clip him playing this morning - snowman pj's and pink binky included. I had to slice it a bit, because being an almost 2 year old, he gets distracted. So I took out the distractions and left the guitar parts. And just so you know, he didn't pull out some of his best moves (like playing behind his head or you know, the smashing thing...)

Dec 24, 2008

Merry Christmas, ho ho ho, and all that

I finally finished. The day before Christmas everyone's gifts are done. Yeah, doing a home made Christmas -or what turned into a semi-partial home made Christmas because for the love of macaroni this is taking me FOREVER - was a total DRAG.

I don't care how poor we are next year, or any year for that matter, everyone is getting a store bought gift, even if it's just socks or underwear or I don't know, an 80's poster from Goodwill, whatever, YOU BETTER LOVE IT.

And now my Christmas gift to myself is actually going to bed before 3 AM and, of course, a lengthy sit at the computer to catch up on all the blog reading I missed.

Because I totally deserve it.

The crappiest part about all of this? My kids will probably love their cheapo store bought stuff way better than the stuff I made. Even if I put hours and hours of labor into them, and also some blood because I poke my fingers a lot, which sounds gross, ok, I wiped off the blood, but still, and also I put my soul into these gifts, ok, no I didn't, but I want to sound like I'm giving them really great stuff that they'll probably look at once and then toss, ugh. But hey, atleast it's all done.

Here's some more useless Bastow Christmas FYI: we're totally jipping our youngest child. She's 7 months old, she won't care. And we'll take lots of pictures by the other kids' stuff and tell her that she has always been treated equally when she's a teenager and yelling, "That's so NOT FAIR!!!" I doubt she'll believe the pictures though, and she'll probably scream and slam the door anyway. Because that's just in the teenage job description, right? Plus I feel like screaming and slamming doors can be quite therapeutic on occasion. Also, yes, I am immature. (Like you couldn't already tell? Hi, welcome to my blog.)

Except that the one gift we were going to give her, aside from a shirt (ooooh, exciting) was going to be from Santa and it never showed up in the mail. Which really stinks. I would like to just shrug it off and go, "Oh well, she's only 7 months old, plus she'll get it in a few days." Except that SURELY the other kids will notice. And we're trying to keep the Santa magic alive for our 5 year old and how do you explain that Santa forgot the baby's toy and had to mail it two days later? That doesn't sound magical at all.

So we'll be going to Walmart tonight. On Christmas Eve. Like total dweeboids. Oh except that this is the day that my husband usually waits to shop anyway. Because he's Anti-Captain Prepared Man. And likes to fly by the seat of his pants at the very last possible second. I'm surprised they ever let him be a boyscout, doesn't their motto have something to do with being prepared? Because he should have failed that part. Good thing we don't live in the woods?

And there you have it. My in-laws will be showing up any minute and there is a cheeseball calling my name.


Dec 13, 2008

pieces of my heart will NOT be selling at DI - a follow up post

So you know how a little while ago I posted about getting rid of our baby clothes? No? Yeah, well, I did. That was during my "moody" period, and I was a bit upset about it. Ok, so I'm still upset. But I'm getting better.

Sort of.

I went through all of our clothes and separated them into two piles.

The "Wow, that has some nasty stains, but I just can't throw it away, because how wasteful would I be, don't you even CARE about our earth, so it better go to DI where they can hopefully power wash that out, or throw it away themselves without telling me" pile.

And the "I'll take this to Other Mothers and hopefully get some cash or atleast some more cute kid clothes out of it" pile. (It was a much smaller pile....but still surprisingly large, because we have a ton of old baby clothes, which I believe I already that other post.)

And then I put the two piles in containers (multiple containers) and stuck them in our garage. You know, to hang out until I could actually get to DI or Other Mothers. And you guessed it - they're still there.

I'm so on top of things!! (and yes, those are sarcastic exclamation points.)

Except that it turned out ok-ish. Because today I went through the "Other Mother" pile and pulled out some of the really good stuff to sell on Ebay. Because money. Money money money. No need to comment further.

Ok, that was a lie, I'm going to comment some more about it. Because I don't think I can get much money from selling old clothes on Ebay plus I started most of them off at like $4. But still. SOME money.

And the other pile won't be going to DI after all. It's going somewhere even BETTER. Any article of baby clothing that I cannot sell or trade in will be going to:


That's right, friends. Mexico. The land of the Churro. (Ok, now I've offended all of my Hispanic readers. I was JUST JOKING. There are better things in Mexico than churros. And I doubt that churros even originated there. They're probably like fortune cookies, where Americans just like to make up customs from other countries and sell them in restaurants. Or, in the case of the churro, at the county fair.)

Back to the baby clothes.

Man, you're distracting me tonight. (Of course this is your fault, I'm glad you can see that. Work on that will you?)

My cousin's husband's mother (good connection, right) goes to Mexico for a few weeks every year to visit family. And apparently the babies there don't have much. Or I guess the parents of the babies there can't get them much - because it's not really the babies' faults. Or the parents really. ACK- distraction.

So my cousin and I are sending all of our old baby stuff to Mexico for the poor little babies that don't have poop stained onesies to wear. Ok, so I might take out the poopy ones. But who knows - someone could be really grateful for that, poop or not. Which is why I don't like throwing stuff in a landfill. Even though, yes, that is a poop stain ALL the way up the back. (Sometimes bleach and stain sticks just don't cut it.)

And so now I feel a little better about sending little pieces of my heart away because that's what charity will do to you. And so will Ebay auctions.....just not nearly as much.....and only if someone bids......and sometimes it helps if there is a bidding war. But mostly it's just Mexico that makes me happy.

Dec 10, 2008

guess what?

You know that book that Sue is putting together for NieNie? I got to do the cover.

Can I get a WOOT WOOT.

Want to know what else is cool? The pig in my header is still dressed like a turkey and will probably stay that way until Christmas is over.


Dec 8, 2008

Christmas in bulk

I think Costco should adopt us as their "Secret Santa" family. Wouldn't that be awesome? Except I don't think Costco really does that. But they should. Because I have my list all ready:

1 giganto box of toilet paper

52 boxes of Huggies in sizes 3 & 5 (that should last us a few weeks)

4 bottles of those gummy vitamin bears

A lifetime supply of wet wipes

27 pounds of pre-frozen chicken breasts

5 boxes of corn dogs or chicken nuggets or both

As many cans of fruit and vegetables that can fit into our garage (I'll even move the car, except I don't want canned peas or green beans, because they are nasty, although I'll take some frozen peas and someone pretending that I like green beans.)

27 tubes of cinnamon flavored toothpaste

A new digital camcorder (ours is starting to fossilize)

489 pounds of M&Ms in Christmas colors.

And then just a smattering of the fun stuff that they always throw into the center of the store. I found some really cute jeans for my kids there once. And one time we bought a package of 250,000,003 sheets of construction paper, but now we're all out of the red.

So if you know anyone that works in the "Secret Santa" department of Costco (that doesn't really exist), could you please hand them my list? And tell them that when Santa comes and drops it all off (with his massive delivery truck) I don't even care if his beard is fake.

Dec 4, 2008

maximum occupancy

So I was searching my house, wracking my brain, trying to figure out where I put my daughter's theater slip when I had an epiphany -ok, maybe not an epiphany, but more like a regular idea- about why I am so scatterbrained these days.

I used to remember everything.

When I was in 6th grade I could name everyone my age. The student body wasn't huge, but that was at least 350 people. And just because I didn't actually know them all, or maybe know all of their last names, I could identify almost every one of their faces.

In high school and college I was an expert crammer. I would study right before the test, remember everything with crystal clear precision for a few hours, score amazing grades, and then forget most of it. That information was concrete for those few hours, and tests were a breeze.

This morning I walked up the stairs to grab a pair of socks for Monkey, but once I reached the top step I couldn't recall why I was there. It took another trip back down the stairs to see his naked feet to remember why I had gone up in the first place. This method is good for physical exercise, but forgetting so easily drives me insane.

You could stand directly in front of me, with no distractions, and tell me something while I concentrate on your face. And I will still manage to forget it immediately after you've closed your mouth.

And I've figured out why.

My brain is full.

You know how in conference rooms or big classrooms they have one of those signs that says the occupancy limit? Or like the weight limit on an elevator? My brain is like that. Only I don't have a sign.

And since my brain has met it's capacity nothing else will stick. All information is rejected at the door.

So I have this hypothesis about how I could probably retain some new info if I just make room in there. Except that I don't exactly know how to get rid of things like memories and stray thoughts. Because I definitely would choose to discard some of the things swirling around inside my head. Like, do I really need to forever remember that the butthole of a cell is called a vacuole? That's not exactly useful information for day to day living.

There are some embarrassing or otherwise regrettable life experiences I would gladly trade in for the ability to remember why I am on the top step or where that stupid slip, that I still haven't found, is. Like yesterday when I went to the grocery store and stared, blinking wildly, at a lady from church for 2 minutes straight because I couldn't remember her name, and now she probably thinks I'm some kind of ill-mannered lunatic. If only I could swap out that memory for her name.

Too bad brains don't naturally work like that. Although that would make a great "Fringe" like science experiment - - Obtaining the ability to exchange, delete and acquire information and memories by choice. I would totally sign up as a volunteer (guinea pig) for that.

Or wouldn't it be great if the pensieve in Harry Potter was real? Then I wouldn't have to delete everything, I could just pull out the stuff I don't need for now, and stick it in my swirling memory soup. Except that would also require a magic wand, wouldn't it? I guess I'll need one of those too.

But since neither option is very likely, I must extend to you this warning: If you tell me something, be prepared to get a blank stare and/or no response in return. Because, like I said, my brain is full.

Dec 2, 2008

I can't think of a title so what if we just skip to the post

So I was on vacation for awhile, and I'm not even promising to catch up on all the blog posts I missed. Sorry.

But I fully expect you to read every single word that I type. Really.

While I was on vacation I went with my mom and my sister to see Twilight (my second viewing.) And then we discussed the hotness of each character. Of course with different opinions, but mine is the best, naturally.

I decided to get all obsessed about it though, and I re-read the book before we went. Which doesn't sound TOO obsessed until you hear that I was in a craze while searching the house for my step-mom's copy of the book. I couldn't find it anywhere. I even checked her trunk. (It wasn't there.) Luckily she got home after about an hour (or possibly two hours) of searching. Which left me about 24 hours to read the book, and still socialize with my family.

Did you know that it's possible to read and carry on a conversation at the same time? I think this was only possible for me because I had read the book before. Because I'm pretty sure I get a little cranky if people interrupt me when I'm reading anything for the first time.

Speaking of books, I read one on the way home. With a flashlight, because it was dark most of the way. The book is called "The Hunger Games." I guess it's kind of popular right now too. The plot is actually a little disturbing, considering that someone actually thought this all up. But it was a really good book. And now I'm all bugged because I have to wait for the other books in the trilogy to be written.

Why can't people just write the whole series before they publish so that I don't have to wait. Authors should know that their books are all for ME anyway. So they should be doing what I want. So should everyone else for that matter. Doesn't the world revolve around my every whim and desire? Because I have to say, the world's doing a pretty lousy job and I'm not really getting what I want.

Oh, except that also while I was gone I got to buy our Anniversary/Christmas/my birthday gift: Guitar Hero World Tour. I'm pumped. Except that I'm forcing myself (and the husband) to wait until Christmas to play it. That way we atleast have something to unwrap that morning. And maybe I'll just pretend that I don't already know what it is. And maybe I'll also pretend that the actual Santa Claus dropped it off. And that he also cleaned the reindeer poop off of my roof before he left.

Poop is kind of on my mind because Screamer just pooped in his underwear. TOTALLY GROSS. But as we were buying the usual cartload of diapers last night I decided that there will be none for him. Because really, this is just getting ridiculous. So he gets a pull-up at night and is now forced to wear underwear all day. I think it's going to kill me. I hate this part of potty training. I don't do well with feces. Or urine for that matter. UGH.

See aren't you glad you read every word? It's so worth it...

Nov 25, 2008

is your mom home?

Twice now I've answered my door and gotten the question, "Are your parents home?" Both times they were LDS missionaries....ok, technically the guy today has been a home for a month (but whatever, it doesn't count. A month isn't even enough time to get used to speaking English again.)

So how embarrassing is it for them to hear, "I AM the parent, dork-hanger."

And what is it about me that says, 'you couldn't possibly be in charge here?'

I was trying to take a picture of my head, thinking it was just the messy frizz hair that was the problem with this age guessing thing. But the lighting wasn't good so then I got a flashlight, and sometimes things just happen. And just because I am amused by things as simple as a flashlight and our webcam doesn't make me any less fit to be "the head of the house." Sheesh.

Screamer told his preschool teacher that his favorite Thanksgiving food is pizza. What the heck? When have we had pizza for Thanksgiving?

I have realized that sewing one sock monkey is fun. Sewing two sock monkeys is ok. Sewing seven sock monkeys? TOTALLY ANNOYING. Also, it's a good thing that my family doesn't make a habit of reading my blog (ever) because they would be ruining their big Christmas surprise. That's right, you're all getting sock monkeys. Now BE EXCITED about it!!

I made my very first pie today. Well, one that isn't in a graham cracker crust. I've made graham cracker crust ones before. But this one has REAL crust. You know - the kind that you get at the store that you just unroll and stick into a pie pan. Real crust. I got a little crazy after that though and I added cream cheese and a teeny bit of sugar to the cherry pie filling (that came out of a can.)

I'm not telling anyone the cream cheese is in there. I sure hope it tastes good... OH BUT HEY, guess what I did? I cut two little cherries and a stem out of the leftover crust edges and stuck them on top of the pie. It looks so cute. (Which makes up for the creative ingredient adding, right?)

Over the weekend I discovered that sometimes I am lucky. Like when I plan to do old fashioned-ish Christmas pictures, take two enitre days sewing all the old fashioned-ish clothes, actually get it done by the weekend, and walk into the PERFECT old fashioned-ish building, that has a spectacular Christmas scene just waiting for us (complete with sleigh.)

I also discovered that just because I happen to be temporarily lucky, doesn't mean that everyone is happy about it.

Nov 22, 2008

yes, yes, I saw it

My cousin and I were going to see Twilight last night (that would be thursday night, even though technically I'm writing this early saturday morning, but still friday night, so it's going to say I posted on saturday, and I really don't want anyone to get confused. phew. moving. on.)

So, as I was saying, my cousin and I were going to see Twilight THE second that it opened in the theater - and then we remembered that we are adults.

We went tonight instead. But all the early shows were sold out, so we saw the movie at 11:00. Because an 11:00 viewing of Twilight automatically makes you more mature than a midnight viewing.

Yeah, I was wondering what all of those junior high girls were doing at the mature 11:00 show. Obviously they didn't get the memo that the 11:00 show was particularly for mothers of young children who should be more interested in how to successfully scrape macaroni and cheese off the ceiling instead of watching a movie about vampires going to high school.

And now, if you're wanting my review on the what if Stephanie Meyers is reading every blog post that says TWILIGHT THE MOVIE in it just to see what everyone thought? It would be a big disappointment to her if I don't actually write some kind of review, right? So here it is:

What I thought of TWILIGHT THE MOVIE (I can just gear the google searches rolling on over here...or maybe I should say it one more time, TWILIGHT THE MOVIE):

It didn't tank.

My theory on any movie is to expect tanking. Then I am either pleasantly entertained by the non-tankiness, or I can just come out saying, "I knew it. What a tanker." (How many variations of "tank" is there? Did I miss any? How about tankington...naw, that just sounds like stupid name for a city.)

Also, you should know that Edward didn't totally blow in the movie. Originally, I wasn't too happy about the casting choice, but he's hot...enough. But Jacob's hair just looks all wrong (bad wig? I dunno.)

And then there was James...ooh la la. I don't know why he isn't wearing a shirt through half of it, but really with abs like that it's more like a "wow, thank you" drool drool, rather than a "get a shirt, man!"

So there you go - you should all want to go see the movie now that I've given it such high praises.

And while we are on the subject, I would like to refer you to my archives and why I was the inspiration for Bella (atleast from a Breaking Dawn point of view.) I have no comments on that particular post. Actually, it was a copy over from my private blog, because I thought it was great enough to share with the world - except that no one in the world has read it. So yeah, go read, and then comment, and then watch Twilight. At 11:00. With junior high girls who enjoyed the movie a bit too much. And then realize that you enjoyed the movie a bit too much yourself. And then dream about Edward...which is where I'm off to right now...except that he's going to have James' abs........OOOOOH LA LA.

Nov 19, 2008

give oh give away...sort of

You know that give-away I was talking about the other day? Yeah, well here it is. Except that it's not ENTIRELY a give away.

Don't get me wrong, I'm giving something away, but there are....stipulations.

So here's the deal.


It's a lovely horde of bows. Ok, maybe "horde" isn't the right word. But 6 bows and a hat. ALL of them made by my very own hands.

(And I'll have you know that I almost kept the pink and brown bow for my girls - it turned out that cute.)

Here are some bow-ish details you need to know:

1-I hate when bows fall apart. (And what kid isn't going to be ripping them from their head? Seriously.) So I hand sew all of my bows together. Ok, so I glue them to the actual clip, but the rest - SEWED. Which is code for, "will not fall apart."

2- All bows are on little alligator clips that have been covered by matching ribbon. This will help them slip less, and look better.

3- Bows that fray also bug me. Children shouldn't have to wear fraying bows. So I treat all raw ribbon edges with this goopy no-fray stuff. It works.

4- ALL OF THIS COULD BE YOURS if you simply do what I say. That's all, just do what I want, and you could win this. Simple, I know.


Every year at Christmas I always come up with some kind of dorky scheme to make money. This year, it's bows (and possibly sock monkeys...I'll get back to you on that one.)

And it's only fair for little girls around the world to be wearing holiday hair bows - in fact, I think it's completely mandatory that you put a holiday hair bow atop your child's head before some angry elves hunt you down and do the job themselves.

So to appease those elves, I am selling holiday hair bows. Buy one (or some) and you are entered to win the fabuloso "horde" that we've already talked about.

Here's the details:

1- Each hair bow is medium sized. You can order two identical ones for toddler double pony action, or just one for regular action.

2- I get bored making the same hair bow every time, so basically you could get a combination of any of these. I have a variety of Christmas ribbon, so please specify in your order if you'd like lighter colors, something with pink worked in, or just ye ole' traditional red and green. (If you don't specify, I get to choose- YAY!)

3- I am taking orders for holiday bows until December 1. And I will draw the winner that evening at 7:30 PM (MST.)

4- For each bow that you buy, you get an entry (20 bows, 20 entries - it's only fair.) Also, if you order and then post about this on your blog, and then leave me a comment about it, you get FIVE more entries. ALSO, if any of my "followers" order, they automatically get an extra couple entires (because I'm totally playing favorites here - it's only natural.)

5- The cost of the bows are $6.00/each + $1.50 shipping for 1-3 bows or $3.00 for 3+ bows.

6- I am also taking custom orders on bows and hats. But I will not be working on them until after all the holiday bows are finished - priorities, priorities.

Please email your order (so that I can buy my kids bikes for Christmas) to: makemeabow AT gmail DOT com

Nov 17, 2008

do I hear wedding guitars?

This past weekend I played 'photog' at my aunt's wedding, and realized that HOLY COW am I bad at photographing weddings. I thought for sure that everyone was going to focus directly on my horrible camera skills, and then my Uncle Charlie showed up with a coyote on his head.

Coyote headgear is always good for stealing some attention away from inadequate photographers.

Except the thing is, this is not the first time Uncle Charlie has worn a dead animal on his head. In fact, I think he tries to wear some kind of carcass to each and every wedding reception he attends (and he comes to them all - he's good like that.)

Family events are generally interesting, or atleast have moments of genuine "wow"-ness. And I guess it all just depends on how you interpret that "wow."

Monkey has fallen in love with the guitar. Ok not a real guitar, even though I pulled mine out yesterday and he fully attacked it. But what I'm really talking about the Guitar Hero type guitar. You wouldn't think a 21 month old could get so excited over the opening riff of the game. But the second he hears those guitars he throws his little chubby fist into the air and yells, "YEEEAAAAHHH!" and then dances a little bit.

We have to play every day. (That's my excuse anyway.) And Monkey always cries when we turn it off. We could play all day long and he'd still cry when we're done.

He's a crazy guitar loving kid.

During all waking hours, hanging around Monkey's neck is our little plastic guitar that somewhat resembles the big plastic version of Guitar Hero. If I weren't such a cruel cruel human being, the child would be sleeping with it right now.

And how does this tie into my aunt's wedding, you ask. Well, while I stayed at the reception taking a grand total of 365 pictures (there's gotta be some good ones in there...right?) my children were at my in laws doing this:

Cute isn't it? And now you can say that you knew Monkey Bastow before he became a huge rock star, and that we always knew he had it in him.

Nov 13, 2008

q-u-i-t-t-e-r spells ME

I think I'm going to quit nablopomo, because guess what? I'll write when I feel like it.

Also, I've realized I'm boring.

Also, I think everyone else has realized that I'm boring.

Also I'm super busy right now.

Also, it's really affecting my commenting abilities - has anyone noticed that I haven't been leaving comments? Maybe I'm being too vain and no one has really noticed at all.

So yeah.

Goodbye nablopomo - I made it 13 days.

And don't even leave me negative comments, like calling me a quitter or saying that if I can't even make it half way through the month what kind of blogging dedication do I have really.

And if you do feel like saying something rude - sticks and stones, people. STICKS and STONES (will be what I use when I hunt you down and beat you.)

Oh and I'm working on a give away thingy (can you call it a give away when it comes with conditions?) Anyone with a girl is going to totally love it. Or maybe sort of like it. Or atleast tolerate it.

It's so exciting.

Nov 12, 2008

today, I needed my fix

I need to post for the whole nablopomo thing. Except that I'm having a day. Let's just say that after the kids went to bed I downed a bag of M&M's in about 3 minutes.

Curse you small bag - why did I even buy that size?!!

You may have noticed that I haven't even mentioned M&M's in awhile. I was getting better. But they are my vice. And today I NEEDED THEM.

The End.

P.S. Diet, caffeine free, generic cola is worth NOTHING. Don't buy it. Ever. The diet part I like, the generic I can handle, but without the caffeine it's pointless. (Please remind my husband of this next time you see him at the grocery store.)

Nov 11, 2008

that is one fruity turkey

My daughter has to take snacks to Kindergarten. I don't think that most Kindergartens make you still donate food, do they? I thought that was just a preschool thing. But still, the snacks.

So I am going to use this as a way to earn parenting points. I've decided to make some kind of amazing snack each month. Because then people would look at it and be totally jealous of my finger food skills. Which is really what parenting is all about.

Except that the first time we had snacks I forgot. And then remembered 15 minutes before the bus showed up. And we hadn't gone grocery shopping for awhile. So I threw some cheese between some tortillas and nuked them. Every kid likes quesadillas, right? Plus I threw in some raisins, so no one should be complaining there.

October went a little better. I stole some ideas from a magazine and that day the Kindergartners ate bread stick bones and monster eyeballs made out of dried fruit. They were a big hit.

Today was Curly's november snack day. November is a good month for creativity. Somewhere online I found this really cool turkey made entirely of fruit. We swapped in some construction paper in a few places, but look at this thing:

I know. I totally rock the finger food.

Except that the turkey example that I saw had only 7 kabob feathers, and this one had to have 20. That's kind of a huge difference. And it also makes it practically impossible for a 5 year old to take on the bus. But after spending 1.5 hours on it this morning, there was no way it was getting mutilated before it's grand kindergarten reveal.

So instead I loaded all the kids into the car to take the turkey (and my Kindergartner) to school.

Which would have been fine.

Except that I wasn't sure how much time to give ourselves. So I left way too early. And then the kids actually cooperated going into the school while I carried the snack (which hadn't been part of the plan at all.) So we walked into Curly's classroom 20 minutes early.

The teacher was just sitting down to eat her lunch.

I felt bad. But we were there, what could I do?

Plus we had to drive Screamer to his preschool class which was in a different elementary school. So atleast he'd make it on time, right?

Except guess what? His class doesn't actually start at that time. It really starts in 20 minutes. Someone should really pay attention to details like this. But when someone is used to having the bus take her kids to school everyday, things like the actual beginning of class just don't seem important enough to stick around in that someone's brain.

The preschool teacher was not very happy about this.

I felt like a 3 year old sitting in time out. But we were there, what could I do?

And now I'm going to get notes in their backpacks probably going something like this:

Dear Mrs. Bastow,
School is not a daycare. Please do not bring your child 20 minutes early to class, even if you are only doing it because you wanted to preserve the structure of your fruity turkey and can't tell time.
Thank you.

Yeah, yeah, I get it. They were early. I'm a dork. Deal with it - I made a stinking turkey out of fruit, what do you want?!!

Nov 10, 2008

could you let go?

I feel bad posting this right after I write about slugs. But what good is a blog if you can't write something heart wrenching one day and something totally stupid the next?

I was rocking my little ones before their naps today, feeling annoyed and wanting my "me time." But then a thought popped into my head - one of those "whole story in just one moment" type thoughts. And I realized that I take rocking my children much too much for granted.

Children are a gift.

This is my attitude changing thought, as best as I could put it into words:
(You're going to need some tissues.)

This was her third pregnancy. Everything about it was old hat, surprise free. Another boy. “How am I going to handle another boy?” she thought, “Sis is going to be disappointed when she finds out she is going to have another brother.” But still, she knew she’d love this baby, boy or not.

Everything went according to plan. She was scheduled for a repeat c-section. She knew the drill. She liked knowing what to expect. She was also excited for her stay in the hospital; it was going to be relaxing compared to dealing with 3 young ones at home.

“We’re all ready to go,” the Dr said behind his surgical mask, “bring in Dad, and let’s have a baby!”

Her husband sits down next to her. “I’m so excited to not be pregnant anymore,” she tells him.

“I’m excited too,” he says.

The incision was made, and the Dr starts pulling on the baby. “Here’s his head!” he remarks, “Just one more tug.”

The baby is born.

But where is the crying? Why can’t she hear the baby cry? Why is it suddenly so quiet?

“What’s wrong?” she asks her husband. He looks sick.

“What’s wrong?!!” she screams.

Everyone starts rushing around. A nurse gets on the phone with the NICU. Someone starts running with the baby.

She doesn’t know what’s happening, and she’s strapped to an operating table with no feeling beyond her chest. Why won’t someone say something? What’s wrong with the baby? She feels that despite the numbness and the fact that she is half-way through a surgery she could still run after her baby. She needs to see her baby.

The surgery is almost complete when a nurse from the NICU comes in the room. Her husband had rushed out moments before, leaving her frightened and alone on the operating table. The nurse explains that the baby wasn’t breathing. The baby is having seizures. “We don’t think some of the baby’s organs are functioning,” the nurse states.

All she can say is, “I don’t understand. Everything was fine. I don’t understand.”

She can’t see the baby until the spinal block wears off. “It’s just not safe,” they tell her. She doesn’t care. She desperately tries to wiggle her toes. It seems to take hours for them to answer her pleas.

They finally wheel her to the NICU. A group of people are standing around the baby’s bed. Her husband is huddled up on a chair in the corner. The baby has tubes and IV’s and wired monitors covering his poor helpless body.

Then the baby has a seizure. The medical monitors start beeping loudly. She watches her son’s heart rate drop. No one is doing anything. They are just watching. Why isn’t anyone fixing this? Why can’t they stop her son from shaking? She has never been so terrified in her life.

A day and a night of seizures, tests and beeping monitors. They make her go to her room.

“You just had surgery,” they say.

She doesn’t care. As soon as the nurse leaves her room, she wheels herself back to the NICU.

After just 35 hours of life, the Dr’s tell her that her son is about to die.

“His body is giving up,” they say, “It’s too much for someone so small to handle.”

She gets to hold her son for the first time. They take the ventilator out of his mouth, and the IV comes out of his small hand. The monitors keep beeping. They had never really stopped.

He is the most precious baby she has ever held. He seems so much more fragile than her other children had. And yet, he seems strong in his own way.

She holds him with her husband. They both wrap their arms around him to say goodbye.

Minutes pass.

More minutes pass.

The monitors stop beeping. His heart rate is steady. Steady enough, that is. And his shallow breaths are keeping him alive.

Is it a miracle? Will he live after all? The nurses tell her to put him back on his bed. She doesn’t want to. But if it will help him live, she will do it.

As soon as his mother’s arms are gone the baby stops breathing. His heart is beating faintly. Horrible beeping escapes the monitors.

The nurses are all nodding their heads like they expected this. But she is panicking. She scoops her baby into her arms again and holds him close.

His vitals are stable.

He just wants his mother to hold him. He just wants to say goodbye. He needs to know that she can let him go. He is waiting for her to decide that it’s time.

She holds him. And holds him. She doesn’t know how long it has been. Someone suggests that it’s time she put him down, but she doesn’t listen. More time passes. She holds her precious baby in her arms and cries. She’s not letting go. More people suggest she set him down. Her husband suggests that it is time.

“It has to be done,” they tell her, “You need to say goodbye and let go.”

But she doesn’t let go.

But then again, could you?

And, no, this didn't happen to me. I hope it never does. But there are parts of me in there. There are also parts of my mother-in-law in there. And parts of stories that I've heard. But mostly it's just me realizing how much I love my kids.

Nov 9, 2008

I blame this on Mary

I don't think it is a coincidence.

We have bugs here, but nothing super creepy. And then I read on Mary's blog about her son's love of snails, and then she posted those nasty pictures of the giant slimy things.

And then 2 months later this shows up on our front door.


I did notice one last week out on the sidewalk, and I thought, "We've never had slugs before. That's nasty."

But I didn't really think about it until last night. CLEARLY Mary is to blame. (It just took them awhile to get here, because you know, they're slugs.) And guess what, Mary? THEY ARE TRYING TO GET IN. Thanks a lot.

I mean, look at this thing. I wanted to go grab the salt shaker, because killing this would be easy....if I wanted to upset the alien colony of slime that seems to be invading my house.

Like, what if this is just a scout? And he's supposed to look all vulnerable and nonthreatening. And then the huge ones show up with their hard shells and try to suck out my brain because, "look at the stupid human with her camera - we are SO GOING TO GET YOU." This is probably the part where all the evil slimy slugs start doing that loud "take over the world" type laughter.

Or maybe they only use telepathic communication, because it's not like they have real mouths. So they are all laughing evilly inside eachother's heads. Man, that would be annoying. There's always someone in the crowd who laughs louder and longer than everyone else. Could you imagine that going on in your head? Obnoxious.

Anyways, Mary, I don't know what I did to make you want to sick your alien slug minions on me, but could you please take it back?! Because they really creep me out. And I promise to leave you amazingly nice comments from now on. And I'll come wash your car for FREE.

And if the whole nice thing isn't working for you, then I'll pull out my insect commanding powers and send a plague of crickets your way. (Don't even test me - I would totally do that.)

By the way, I lied -just a little bit- and sort of tweaked that last picture in photoshop. The slug was only this big.

But still....

Nov 8, 2008

fluffy fluffy

Free tickets to Disney on Ice. That's right. I had some.

Husband and I ditched the babies and took Curly and Screamer to the matinee today. It was really really fun. And thank goodness those tickets were free because we wanted treats and everything cost more than our house.

A bag of cotton candy -$10.00. That's right. For a plastic bag, about 1 tablespoon of sugar and fluffy fluffy AIR.

A box of popcorn - $7.00. For a flimsy box with Mickey's picture on it, some unpopped kernels and fluffy fluffy AIR.

Snowcones, in plastic disney cups with flippy lids - $10.00. Atleast they weren't filled with air. This time it was two squirts of flavoring on a big ball of FROZEN WATER.

Yeah......atleast the tickets were free.

And it was really fun.

I've never seen anything like that before. I was quite the deprived child - how could my parents have never taken me to see costumed ice skaters? Rude.

During the show I noticed that Curly has officially learned to be an expert "WHOOOOOO"er. She has learned from the best (me.) And when your hands are full of cotton candy and snowcone a good "WHOOOOO" is just as good as clapping.

On the way, Screamer kept saying, "We're going to DISNEYLAND!" And then I'd say, "Yeah! Well, sort of." He sat in awe the entire time. Literally. No emotion displayed across his chubby little face- just AWE.

So here are our favorite parts of the show:

Both the kids agree that The Incredibles were the most entertaining. They do a skit where Elastagirl is actually stretching. It was HILARIOUS - or so they say.

Husband liked Beauty and Beast. I'm not really sure why. He's a bit more sappily romantic than I am. Also, Gaston gets hit with a big fake lightening bolt and dies on top of the castle. That could be it.

I liked the whole show. But I was really wanting to see someone fall down. Someone in a big costume. Like when Bruce, the shark from Nemo, comes out he's so big that there are two sets of legs skating him around. But that's all you see - legs. And how funny would it be if they got off balance and Bruce slides out on his back with those two sets of legs kicking in the air? I would totally have died laughing.

Except that during a big number one dude actually did fall. But he wasn't in a costume. And it was because he was doing this big twirly spinny thing, which I'm thinking is hard. And it wasn't actually funny. But his legs didn't kick around in the air or anything, so maybe that's why.

Anyways, that's what I did today. I highly recommend getting free tickets to Disney on Ice, and then saving your money so you can buy fluffy fluffy air while you're there.

Nov 7, 2008

on the subject of potty training

Screamer will turn 4 in december. That's next month, folks. And hey guess what? He's still in diapers.

I know, it's so embarrassing.

The kid just refuses to do it. He has the ability and everything is set up well (we've had the chart, stickers and rewards for almost a year now.) But still, the diapers.

We've done the whole "just stick him in underwear" thing. He pees and goes, "Hey look, I'm wet." And then he continues to play. UNeffective.

We've bribed and thrown candy at the kid for even mentioning the toilet. UNeffective.

We've had a stinking Optimus Prime (the big one) sitting on our fridge to taunt and "influence" the kid into peeing in the pot since July. And sometimes we push the buttons on it in an effort to up the desire. UNeffective.

We've told him that we can't go to Disneyland if he's not going in a toilet. (Those Disneyland plans fell through anyway) but still, UNeffective.

So this is my new strategy.

Diapers are now called "BABY diapers." With a big emphasis on the B-A-B-Y. This saddens Screamer. Because I say stuff like, "It's time to change your baby diaper, it's too bad you have to wear that BABY diaper, hey Curly can you hand me that BIG BABY DIAPER for Screamer to wear?"

And then Screamer sticks out his lip and says, "But I not a baby, I a big boy."

And then I say, "But big boys put their peepee in the potty."

And then he feels bad some more.


But guess what? He's peed in the toilet TWICE yesterday. That's a record for him. AND he is in the bathroom for the second time already today, and it's only 10:00.

So apparently I'm not ashamed of belittling and manipulating my child for the sake of potty training. Please tell me that I'm not the only one?

Nov 6, 2008

dedicated to my bestestest friend ever

This is my bestest of all friends Brooke. I know, she's way stinking hot. And this was just our first year of college - she's only gotten hotter over the years. She is the reason why I never stood a chance at dating the football team.

Well, and because in college, I looked like this:

Ok, really, I looked like this. But still, you can see how one can tend to feel gorilla-ish when your competition resembles Barbie.

Brooke and I were roommates for a few years. And the first time we met was while she was moving in. I was all close-minded and judgemental back in those days (and totally had a "woah, I'm too ugly for this" attitude) and I remember looking at her and thinking, "I'm going to hate you. Because you're hot. So I have to hate you. And I WILL HATE YOU. I know it."

Boy was I wrong.

Brooke will forever be my most favorite person on the face of this planet. If I were a good person, I would say say that my husband or our kids are my favorite. But, no. Brooke. Ok, ok, she ties with my husband and kids and maybe my mom, and sisters, and my other friends, and a few relatives, and some of my new bloggy friends, and the guy who delivers our Schwan's food, because I am really feeling pressure now that I'm naming an ultimate favorite person.

The sad part about all of this is that she lives like 2 gabillion miles away. How far is that? Because it might not sound far enough. Would it help if I said she lived on the moon? Because sometimes it feels like that far.

And we are both horrible HORRIBLE phone people. So we never talk. Not really anyway, but I do have converstations with her in my head sometimes. I wonder if she gets those? How good of friends do you have to be to have a telepathic connection? (And is it even possible to establish one of those with a husband, because I am SERIOUSLY doubting it.)

So here is my post about my love for my BFF of all time Brooke. Except I keep talking about myself and not her. So here goes:

Brooke can kick her leg really really high. Because you know those cheerleaders that they hold way up in the air and then throw around? Yeah, she was one of those. But one time she tried doing an ariel something something when she was all alone and broke her arm. Which was stupid.

Brooke, that was stupid. Why didn't you do it when I was around so that I could atleast freak out when it happened? I think I would have been really good at freaking out over that.

I went to Disneyland for the first (and only) time with Brooke and our friend JT. We have some good pictures. Oh yeah, and on the way she made me go on Wild Bill's Super Huge and Freaky Roller Coaster (or it was named something else. I don't know.) I hate roller coasters. I remember not wanting to go, but she made me anyway. On the ride I might have cried. Just a little. Atleast I didn't pee my pants.

When Brooke got married I sweat all over the bridesmaid dress. It was hot. SORRY.

Also she gave me a fish in a vase from her reception. I tried really really hard to keep that fish alive. In fact, it even made a move across state with me. And when it was dying Husband and I put it in a special bowl that we sat near the heater so that it would be warm enough. And then I talked to it for a few minutes so that it would remember me as a good pet owner and take happy thoughts to fishy heaven (even though I later flushed him down the loo.)

Brooke worked at Primary Children's Medical Hospital for awhile (before moving to the moon.) I never saw her there, but I bet she was practically saintly. Because she's just like that.

Except that once she told me this story about how she was driving home early in the morning and had to poop so bad that she pulled into some random person's driveway and crapped in a cup from the drivers seat and then left the cup in said driveway. I still don't believe her.

Brooke has the second cutest kids in the entire world -and I only say second cutest, because mine are the first cutest, naturally. Right after her first daughter turned 1 she found out she was pregnant with twins. More girls. Her husband grew up with one brother and Brooke didn't have any sisters. Man are they going to love the teenage years.

My very fav-o-ritest thing about Brooke is that when I talk to her on the phone (like once every 2 years) it's like we saw eachother yesterday. Except that these days we're so tired from our plethora of children that we don't have the energy to sustain a normal conversation. That and talking to adults confuses us (mommy brain.)

And so Brooke, if you are reading this - - and you better be, because I'm totally emailing you and telling you to get your butt over here to check it out - - thank you for moving into the same apartment as me 9 years ago. I miss you.

If you were a college football player, would you go for the cute blond cheerleader, or the girl in a baggy hoodie who has to hide under a hat because she dyed her hair by herself and the top of her head looks like someone lit it on fire and can only see the camera with one eye because that's just how I used to wear my hats?

Yeah, I'd go for Brooke too.

Nov 5, 2008

this is serious - you were warned

So I was going to post about our new President, but it's already all over the place, and I really hate doing serious things here. It's so much easier to pretend that I don't care about stuff like politics (but in case you wondered if it was all about frivolities and M&M's here - it's not.)

So then I was going to put together this post full of pictures of ME. Because everyone has been begging and BEGGING to see pictures of me at any age (child, nerd-stage, my college hotness.) Ok, they really weren't, but that's ok because I'm not going to do that either. You can probably look forward to it sometime this month though, because I think it's only appropriate to get a good long picture post in during National Blog Posting Month, don't you?

And now if you're wondering what I'm really going to write about, since I've just wasted all of your time with what I'm not writing about. I want to talk about Phonemic Awareness and it's correlation to speech articulation.

Ok, so this is going to be a serious one after all.

My children have a Developmental Phonological Disorder. Ok, so I just looked that up while I was looking at Phonemic stuff and decided that's what they have, because it totally makes sense.

All of our kids, for some genetically unanswered reason have been developmentally delayed. Each one of the kids have had different specific challenges but they have all seemed to include low muscle tone (with related delay in motor skills) and major speech delays.

We've seen Geneticists, Developmental Pediatric Specialists, other types of Specialists and countless therapists. And we always get the same answer, "Your kids seem to be 'fine' but something about the mixture of your genes produces slow developing kids." Seriously, it's frustrating.

It would make sense if this type of stuff ran in our families or something. But Husband and I have always been smart-ish people. Husband has a Master's Degree (which I know you don't have to be a genius for, but still.) And apparently IQ's can go down as you age, because I was so smart in Kindergarten that they tested my IQ and man was I a smarty (although, not so much now...)

And so, if you have made it this far into my serious and not at all entertaining post about stuff you really don't want to read about (thank you, because you obviously care) this was all brought on by Curly's Kindergarten parent/teacher conference this morning.

Curly is our brightest child (and the oldest and a girl, which helps. But I'm hoping her siblings aren't too far behind her, but it's hard to tell at this point, because the boys have more issues to work through.) But Curly's speech is still not as articulate as it should be. It's not horrible -we have done a LOT of work - but still enough that strangers notice.

I told the Kindergarten teacher about all of this before the year even started and requested that she see the school's speech pathologist (because we can't afford the $50+ a week for an actual therapist - because, yeah, yikes.) We are just now setting her up with the pathologist. IT'S ABOUT STINKING TIME. But I do have to say that I love love love love her school beyond school lovingness. We were ultra-blessed to get her into the Charter school near us. (It's an art school, I totally dig it.)

And the Phonemic Awareness? How that ties in is that when you don't process or say all the sounds in a word correctly, it really doesn't make any sense in your little 5 year old head that all those letters are needed to make up a word. (That was in total layman's terms.) Curly could totally be reading by now, if she had never had the speech issues. And I am not just saying that in a cocky, "ooh look at my kid way," she really just could have. But instead, now that her class is moving out of the "do you know your letters" stage to the actual sounds in words stage, she is going to struggle and possibly be left behind.

Which is why most kids with speech problems can't read until they are in 3rd grade. Which sucks. Sucks sucks sucks. (I hate that word by the way, but it is totally fitting for this situation.)

So yeah. My kids go to school/see therapists there, and I home school/practice self-taught therapy. And hopefully with all of the help that they are getting, they will be able to make it to 3rd grade already reading. HOPEFULLY.

And that's my serious post about serious stuff that's not about the new president, but whatever.

Except that also, Curly's kindergarten teacher had to add, "Did you notice that her physical skills are also a bit behind?" Yeah, THANKS FOR BRINGING IT UP. Honestly, it's been a struggle, and if she is a bit clunkier than the other kids WHO CARES?!!!

The End. (this is now my new ending for all things serious, and maybe sometimes not so serious, because it's fun to write. And so is: EL FIN.)

Nov 4, 2008

me whining about not being able to read your blog

So I really want to go and read everyone's new posts. I REALLY REALLY WANT TO.

But I'm being a stupid grownup and getting some stuff done instead. Except that since I'm also now a NaBloPoMo-er, I need to write about something today. And since I'm responsible and stuff, I thought I'd write on the blog before doing lesser important going to vote.

Holy cow am I going to get comments for that last sentence.

Don't worry, I will get around to voting sometime 8:55 tonight, right before the polls close. (I'm anticipating a line.)

But first, here is some stuff about a few of my cool bloggy friends.

The other day Jen was writing over at Desperately Seeking Skinny Pants about her resolve to not touch the Halloween candy. It's totally a great idea. So I tried it, and instead of eating the candy I stuck my whole face into the candy bucket and started sniffing.

Sniffing just isn't the same. That was the shortest no-candy resolve in the history of dietous resolving. So I should probably just stick to reading blogs called "Desperately Seeking Mid-Sized Stretchy Jeans that Have Elastic at the Top."

I also like reading about how Diet Coke and Zingers lost so much weight with Weight Watchers. She's funny. Also I'm feeling really fat these days and like to read about skinny people so that I feel even more pathetically chunky, and then maybe I'll stop sniffing -and eating out of- the candy bucket.

Oh, and DC&Z (ha, that's a cool acronym), if you want to come over to my house I'm totally not cleaning, but you have to bring me the biggest fountain diet coke you can find.

Go buy a Stupid Twilight t-shirt from Annie. Or buy two. Or maybe seven. She really needs to spend a romantic whirlwind weekend with her lover, who also happens to be her husband. (It's really great when husbands also end up being our lovers, don't you think?)

Lastly, Lisa, no lolling.

I wanted to use a lot of L's in a row, but I think I need another L word to complete it. How about this one: Linoleum.

Ok, so I stole that L word from this song.

And now onto more grownup things that I have to do.........whoooopie-doodle......I hate being a grownup.

Nov 3, 2008

about wheat grinding, and other stuff I don't do

I need to go make banana bread. Because I bought these bananas that were actually green (you know like when you go to the produce sections and ALL the bananas are green and you are thinking, "Oh, those were for today, but whatever....")

But apparently under all that green were horribly bruised banananess. So green bananas don't show bruises the same? Atleast these ones didn't.

So yeah, they're ripe now, and mostly black, so banana bread it is. Maybe I'll just make some homemade wheat bread while I'm at it. But then I'd have to get out my wheat grinder.

OH WAIT. I don't have a wheat grinder....or wheat.....and the last time I've made homemade bread of any kind was the last time we had black bananas.

I just wanted to sound really home maker-ish for a second. Because that's not really something that is included in my treasure trove of talents.

But in Relief Society they are always talking about wheat grinding and food storage and canning the wonderful vegetables that you grew in your perfect little garden. And everyone else seems to be nodding their heads like, "Oh yeah, I did just can those peaches from last week that came from the peach tree that we nurtured back to health after we got our tomatoes and green beans harvested and then fully stocked our 7 years worth of food storage, so I can totally feel like I'm doing my part as a modern day self-sustaining woman of the Church."

And then there's me. "We grow rocks. Because I kill things with leaves. And you can't can rocks....right? But once I tried to make jam, wow that was horrible. What does a wheat grinder even look like? Oh man, we're totally screwed when all the grocery stores shut down as the world is ending and we run out of the canned corn I bought at last year's caselot sale. Oh crap, do we even have any of those left? How long can you live off of uncooked macaroni and cheese? Ugh."

But hey, I AM going to go make banana bread out of those decievingly bruised bananas. And maybe try to hit the caselot sale again this year...

Nov 2, 2008

halloweeeeeny weekend

My mom and step-dad came for Halloween. Which is totally cool, because I'll take advantage of any familial Balderdash playing. That game is so entertaining. Here are some answers to last night's game:

Movie plots:

"The Point" (the true and hilarious answer) Animated movie about the rejection felt by a round headed child in a world of point headed people.

"The Point?" (my version) Two hours of some guy walking around, going on and on about nothing in particular.

"ALI: Fear That Eats the Soul" (the funniest version, thanks to Husband) A woman makes a deal to trade her soul to the devil for the ability to get revenge on her exboyfriend's girlfriend.

Wouldn't you watch any of those? Ok, maybe not my version of "The Point?" but the other ones....oh yeah.

One of the favorite categories of the evening was Acronyms.

I.C.S.S.A. (from the mind of my mother)
International Coalition of Sea Surfing Amputees.

B.L.O.O.P. (my best answer of the night)
Barley Licking Ostrich Opportunists who Paint (as a hobby.)

I still don't understand why I always lose horribly at that game.

And now, since I like to show off my children and their Halloween costumes took a particularly long and gruesome time to sew, here ya go:

Little Red Riding Hood. She was STINKING ADORABLE.

The Big Bad Wolf in Grandmother's Clothing. (Or if you ask my husband he'll tell you that he looks like a character from Narnia - he's supportive, that man.) He didn't like his glasses, or when we tied his hat on so that he couldn't rip it off. NO FUN, really. I mean, who doesn't want to wear a suit of fake fur and old lady accessories?

That Big Bad Wolf is one scary toddler. (He scares me anyway.)

I didn't make this one. I made Batman and Robin costumes last year (complete with shiny black boots, gloves and briefs) and have vowed to never make superhero costumes again as long as I live. Ugh, those were a pain.

Here's our littlest one. She was a Halloweeny Orange and Black possibly Witch Girl. Ok, so she was more just cute and not so costumey. She's 5 months old, she didn't really care.

And now I'll be gaining about 55 pounds of pure candy weight. Because I would be a horrible mother if I let my children eat that much sugar. But we can't just waste it. So I will be the selfless person that I humbly proclaim to be, and eat it myself. I know. I'm so incredibly awesome. can stop bowing now.

nablopomo- me too

Did you know it's National Blog Posting Month? Thirty posts in thirty days. And since no one has told me yet that there has to be only one post per day, I'm doing this. (But really, expect multiple posts per day, because I will most likely miss posting every yesterday.)

I got this from Mombabe. She has some great buttons. Go get one. DO IT. NOW.

Oct 31, 2008

the scariest thing you will ever read

Seeing as it's Halloween and all, I wanted to share with you the absolute SCARIEST thing that has ever happened to me. So if you have been harboring a full bladder, run to the bathroom before you read this. Because you will most definitely PEE YOUR PANTS - it's that scary. it is....the absolutely most terrifying thing I have ever experienced, EVER.

One day when I was in 4th grade, I wore a skirt to school. (And I say "one day" because it only ever happen one day, because I'm not even a skirt or dress wearer and never have been.) During recess the total jerky jock of our class, named Scott (which is a total jerky jock name), pushed me down and my underwear showed for a whole TWO SECONDS!


I hope you didn't wet yourself. I told you it was pretty scary.

And just in case you haven't reached full pee your pants scaredness yet, here are some of the runner's up for scariest Melissa moment:

When I was in high school I got a really bad sunburn, so I slept with a little fan blowing on my face. I got so used to it, that I just kept doing it. UNTIL ONE NIGHT.

I had my bed up next to the wall because I was still in my 'falling out of bed' stage. And as I was laying there I kept hearing a faint thud on the wall next to me. It sounded like the finger of an undead human corpse who could have possibly been laying on the floor directly under my bed just waiting for me to fall asleep so it could eat me. It really could have been. (Except that I don't know why it was tapping on my wall, because that totally would give away it's location and then I could possibly have foiled it's dinner plans.)

So I screamed for my mom - what else could I do? (Not that I wasn't 16 or anything... ) We discovered that the creepy wall tapping was not from the finger of an undead human corpse, but the fan was angled just right to blow the calendar on my wall into a gentle tapping motion.

It was totally creepy.

But not as creepy as my trip to the grocery store tuesday night. I usually don't like to venture out after dark....vampires, you know. Oh yeah, and scary stalker rapist killers. But I needed milk, and a healthy dose of 'out of the house' time.

It just so happened that every other customer in the store that night was a man. It wasn't a busy grocery shopping night, and it was almost like all these men shoppers were following me around the whole time. Or they were just walking up and down the aisles looking at food - I'm not really sure.

I learned back in my Kung Fu days to always be aware of your surroundings. So I gave the evil "don't even try it, creep-o" eye to everyone. (I make friends easily - obviously.) But then I told the store clerk that I didn't want help out to my car. Which was so stupid. Because what if one of the creepy male shoppers decides to attack me in the well lit parking lot with their keys or something?

I walked really fast to my car. I had a cart, which is good for a weapon, kind of, if it's aimed in the right direction. Plus, bags full of groceries can be weapons too. Imagine swinging a sack full of canned corn at someone's face. Oh yeah, that would hurt.

I was almost done loading the sacks into my car when I noticed a guy walking quickly towards me. Panic PANIC. What if he really was a psycho stalker rapist killer (or a vampire?) Holy cow. HOLY COW. He was getting closer. Oh crap, and all that was left in my cart was a sack with bread in it. Bread is not a weapon. (Imagine swinging a sack full of Wonderbread at someone's face - not quite the same.)

I threw the bread in my car and turned to face my attacker. It was going to be horrible, but atleast I was ready. Well, maybe if I closed my eyes then I would feel better about it. Or maybe that was stupid but now my eyes won't open because I'm paralyzed by fear. I'M SO DEAD. Literally. Blood sucking and/or key stabbing was about to happen...

Except, wait, that guy just got into the car next to me. Oh.....ok.

So I put my cart back and I went home.

And I may have made this sound a TEENY more dramatic than when it actually occurred, just for more Halloween-y effect. But mostly it's true, because sadly my brain works this way. Perhaps I need some anti-anxiety medication. Or I should just stick to not going out after dark...

Oh, and I drew a creepy picture on my sketchy blog.


Oct 30, 2008

supporting Cordy

If you don't know what's been going down at My Super Hopeless Romance then, first of all, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? Sheesh, it's all over the Bloggingdom - do you blog from under a rock?

Secondly, you don't have to be a Cordy fan (or hater) to read this post. Because, frankly, I don't want to get into all of that over here. But I do want to say that I'm a big devotee of Cordy the character and her very entertaining love life.

As a way to show my support, here is a story about a guy who wasn't my best friend that I still had a crush on, even though it wasn't really like Cordy and Seth at all, but it's the closest I have. And just to be clear from the beginning, this is a completely true story (since I have also been known to fib a bit in the name of bloggertainment and apparently that can get you into trouble.)

In college there was a guy who I would have totally dated, if it had been an option. His name was Cole (the name is even real, which is going to be embarrassing if he for some reason ever reads this...which probably won't happen, but still...) We weren't best friends, but we did hang out with the same group of people, he lived across the street, and once he beat me while bowling (not really shocking) so I had to make him dinner. So it was almost like we were best friends....ALMOST. Or not really. Whatever.

Cole had red hair - but not the ugly red where it looks like someone's head is literally on fire or has been dyed with Koolaid. He had the cute kind of red. He was also on the football team for awhile. I think. In my memory, he was on the football team for awhile. And one time when a group of us were at his parent's house, he kissed his grandma on the cheek. Which will pretty much win the heart of any college-age LDS girl, because really, HOW STINKING SWEET.

I think Cole and I had quite a few opportunities to hook up, but things never seemed to go right. Mostly it was my freakish inability to start a relationship unless the guy was over the top interested. As in, saying 'I like you' and then kissing me, and then I would go, "Oh hey, I think he likes me." Because up until that point I would always question anyone actually being interested in me. Not that I wasn't good enough looking, and I kind of knew it, but because I was a total doofus.

One time we were on our way to go bowling, but had a 35 minute drive to get to our preferred alley. We were all alone in the backseat of a car. Major opportunity potential. In fact, after we got in the car, and I buckled into the seat by the door and NOT the middle, Cole said, "How can I cuddle with you, when you are all the way over there?" And then I was like, "Uhhhhhh...." drool drool. Because I didn't know what to think. He was just kind of a cuddly guy. You know the kind of guy you could snuggle up against during a movie, except that you're always wondering if it meant as much to him as you?

I actually have a picture of Cole and myself at that very moment in that very backseat, which I would include in this post, but HOLY COW I'm too embarrassed (not that it's a bad picture - we could have totally used it for our engagement photo.)

Another time we could have hooked up was when all of our friends decided to chug as much milk as possible and then see who could throw up first. (Yeah, a thrilling college game. It was so gross. But we didn't drink alcohol, so what else was there?)

Cole was manning the camera, and I was just a bystander. At one point it got so disgusting that Cole and I stepped outside to get some fresh air. We were all alone again. Oh except that we only made it to the top of the landing outside his apartment and then had to run down the stairs so that both of us could puke in opposite bushes. Man, that was romantic.

Mostly there was one really huge moment that had dating potential written all over it. Of course it didn't work out either. Except this time none of my dating doofusness or moronic college games were going to get in the way. Because this time GOD intervened. I'm being serious, by the way.

It was New Years Eve and we were "partying" at our place. That means we had rootbeer, played games and watched a movie. And at one point a couple of us snuck outside to light a stick of firecrackers my dad had given me. But that wasn't the good part.

The movie ended really late and everyone pulled themselves from our floor and couch and trudged to bed. EXCEPT for Cole and me. He had deliberately stayed. And we had been cuddling during the movie. I thought that it was really going to happen this time. Could things have been more perfect?

It would have been perfect except at the very moment of being alone I suddenly got an upset stomach. It came out of nowhere and it was one of those, "Oh I'm going to puke if I move" type upset stomachs that mean business.

It was so horrible. After laying still for a few minutes, there was no way this was going to end well, and I had to make up some stupid excuse to go to bed and ditch Cole in the living room. He seemed very confused. Ok, it might have been relief, but I'm going to remember confused. Because this is my memory and I really do think we would have hooked up that very night. Which is why I'm saying that God intervened and made me vomit instead.

I don't know why things have to always end in puke for me.

We remained friends that whole year, and possibly could have still had a few chances. But after the heavenly barf I decided that it probably wasn't the right direction to take in life.

And so here I am, not married to Cole. My husband doesn't have red hair, was never on the football team, and lost to me the first time we bowled on our Wii. But that's ok, because I still like him - and with as much as he has seen me vomit in our almost 7 years of marriage, it's a good thing that he still likes me too.

And there you have it. My almost like Cordy story.

Oct 29, 2008

poor man's remodel

Today I moved the furniture (I'm feeling better, by the way.) It's almost like we moved to a whole new house!

Ok, not really.

Even though there was no actual remodeling or moving done, it does make living here a bit more interesting. And that should count for something. Plus, we have had the furniture the same since we moved here - 2 1/2 years ago. That is way too long to have a room set up in only one way.

In fact, that is almost like breaking furniture law #327 - "Moving your couch will ease furniture depression, and will result in happier, comfier and bouncier sitting (or laying depending on your couching preferences.)"

We must never forget our furniture's feelings.

Not only is it a good idea to rearrange things, but you should also make sure to sit equally on each cushion, or that middle one that no one likes is going to get really self-conscious, and possibly suicidal (depending on if it EVER gets sat on and how big the sitter's butt is.)

Also, in our new furniture arrangement, the tv is no longer the focus of our whole living/kitchen/dining room. Husband is going to be thrilled about this. But we watch way too much TV around here. PBS kid shows save my life. But I have been really trying to get everyone to watch less lately. And I'm hoping that this will be accomplished by the mere inconvenience I have now established.

Because putting your tv in a closet under a box should help lessen the viewing, I'm thinking.

I'm a lair, never believe anything I say.

The tv is still in the living room. Just on a different wall.

Like I could live without that thing.

So my husband and I went to the IMAX theater last night. Is it weird that the previews were giving me panic attacks, but that once the movie started I was fine watching that monstrous screen?

I don't know what was up with all the panic stuff. There was a preview for "Watchmen" and it includes a song that sounds like the Smashing Pumpkins (I'm pretty sure it's Smashing Pumpkins that sings it, but I'm not even close to "cool" anymore and haven't the slightest what bands are out there, or not out there anymore.) But during that preview I thought I was going to have a heart attack. And Smashing Pumpkins is kind of mellow...


Anyways, we watched Eagle Eye. I enjoyed it. Except that I have to say that we should all know by now to never make an all-knowing super intelligent computer because OBVIOUSLY it's going to turn on our imperfect human state and try to take over the world. Every time. So don't do it. We just need to keep making the same old stupid computers and then continue killing each other in the name of freedom.

Maybe an all-knowing super intelligent computer would do a better job...

Don't you just love how I blog about multiple, completely different things in the same post all because I'm too lazy to hit publish in between my thoughts? Yeah, I know. And your welcome.

Oct 27, 2008

two things about hate and something really GREAT - look I rhymed

I hate when my internet connection suddenly dies. It's like someone just sucked all the air out the room and I'm suddenly on the floor flopping around like a fish who just jumped on a boat full of fishermen by accident and realized what an idiot they were when they took their fishy friends' dare to jump over the 'big floating metal thingy.'

Ok, so maybe not quite like that. But it really is annoying to be suddenly left with no connection. Like about 10 minutes ago when I was trying to comment about Jen's earring dilemma. You know you can never rewrite a comment and have it be the same.

And you know what else has to do with hate?

My left kidney.

I know, you totally didn't see that one coming. But it's true. My left kidney hates me. Today it's all like, "Since you had the flu allllllll weekend, and since you're dehydrated from this longer than average and completely torturous flu, I'm going to throw a tantrum and hurt. A lot. Because, hey, you need more pain and suffering. And also, you've watched too many episodes of House and I want you to wonder at what percentage I'm functioning and if you're going to die of kidney failure or if Righty over there will save you. Oh yeah, TAKE THAT." And then it shoots some pain through my side/back/kidney-area again.

See, it hates me.

It's all ticked off because one time I had to have a kidney stone extracted. This surgery is also used as forms of torture in some countries. And Lefty just won't get over it.

And to appease the comments that I'm sure will come - yes, I'm drinking LOTS and LOTS of water. So Lefty should shut up soon....unless he's functioning below 20% or something, in which case, I might die. Someone should call Dr. House.

Oh and one time someone told me that lemonade is supposed to help with kidney stones - which is good (although I'm pretty sure this isn't a stone and just some dehydrated kidney tantrum) because I drank 2 liters of Minutemaid yesterday.

And here's one last thing that has nothing to do with hate.

My little sister and her husband opened an awesome clothing and skate shop on friday. And now I'm going to make this big, to catch LOTS of attention.

Shop at Landslide Clothing.
981 West 8th Street
Pleasant Grove, Utah

And tell them that "Vinnie" sent you. No one will have any idea what your talking about. Which might freak them out a little. Maybe I should think of something more innocent. Maybe tell them that "Fluffles" sent you instead. There, that sounds better.

Oct 25, 2008

what you really want to know about my killer weekend

I want to write something totally hilarious and witty and maybe even informational (yeah, like information would ever happen on this blog.) But do you know what I've been doing the past two days?

Just guess.

Have you made a guess yet?

This is your last chance, just guess already!!!


Kind of like the stomach flu, but not so much puking and mostly just......ok, that was plenty of information.


Yeah, it's totally been a killer weekend. Really. Killer. And this time I mean "please just someone shoot me" when I say 'killer.' As opposed to the usual "totally awesome" version of 'killer' that I like to imply.

So you will be getting nothing hilarious, witty or informational out of me today. Unless you consider defining the word 'killer' as information that you just had to know.

P.S. Usually I would try to think of some word similar to "information" to use instead of typing it 5 times in one short post. But I'm playing the sick card, and I'm just too tired to thing of any other words.

P.P.S. For a full blog-reading effect you have to read this post in the whiniest voice you can muster in your head. (Just think of your 4 year old and I'm sure the whiny head voice will kick right in.)

Oct 23, 2008

seven random me

Claire tagged me. Which I think it is awesome, because Claire is hilarious and her husband calls her a psycho hose beast, which makes her blog totally worth reading. (Who couldn't love reading about a psycho hose beast? Really? I dare you to resist...)

So I wanted these to be good. But good just wasn't happening, and you get these instead:
1- I finished my blog makeover. It's all Halloweeny. Yeah, I know - YOU KNOW ALREADY - yes, I do realize you are looking at my blog RIGHT NOW. But hey, after two days of "what the heck?!!!" I'm pretty proud of it. (Here's the part where you tell me you love it.)
2- Monkey hit me in the head with a plastic "ear checker" thingy from his Dr kit today. I thought he was so cute wearing the stethoscope backwards and looking through the ear checker, so I was like, "Hey Sweety, come look in Mommy's ears!" and then I bent down so he could get a good look. And then with all of his 20 month old strength (which is surprisingly a lot) he whacked me upside the head with it and then laughed. And you know that soft-ish spot right by your temple? Yeah, that's where his blow of destruction landed. Seriously, I about passed out. I wouldn't recommend getting hit in that particular spot (even if it's only coming from a toddler) because it STILL hurts...a lot.
3- I hate sea food. It's so disgusting. And don't even invite me to dinner if you're going to eat crab or lobster or anything that you have to rip apart that crunches or has legs. And don't leave your little shrimp tails sitting anywhere I can see them. Unless you'd like to see what I've already eaten for dinner (in the form of half-digested chunks.) Was that a little much? Well, that's what you get for mentioning sea food.
4- I can't sustain a normal human conversation. I try. But I usually just make weird noises and drool a little. Like when this politician came to our door today as part of his campaigning. I'm pretty sure he thought I was the dumbest person he's ever met. But you can't just spring serious conversations on me like that. I need a warm up period or something, ya know? Or maybe just stick to asking me about baby poop, the best brand of chicken nuggets, or how many raisins will fit in between the booster seat and dining room chair if you cram them in really tight. Those are the kinds of things I can talk about readily. Because if you ask me something serious or important you'll just have to end up getting a towel to wipe the slobber off my chin.
5- Sour Cream was sent from heaven. Enough said.
6- When I realized that Santa wasn't really real I was too afraid to talk to my mom about it. I thought that it would hurt her feelings if she knew that I knew. So I just kept pretending that I thought he was real. I think we finally had the "Santa talk" when I was about 23.
7- I know Wing Chun Kung Fu. Ok, I kind of know it. Ok, I kind of used to know it. Ok, I kind of used to go to the classes because dating the instructor will get you free Kung Fu lessons, but I really really stunk at it. But I could still take you. Oh yeah. What? WHAT?!!! DO YOU WANT TO TAKE THIS OUTSIDE?!!!!

And now I tag...............YOU. (Whoever "you" are, just let me know so I can check out your random 7!)