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.