the order of things

I learn the most interesting things while driving around with my kids.

This morning on the way to swimming lessons, I discovered a strategy that a younger Rooney would use to get little Mr. Morning (age 3 or 4) to shut off the bedroom light at night.  She would go to great lengths to convince him that by leaving the light on, he would destroy the world. 
This is how it went:  If you leave the light on, you'll be using lots of extra electricity.  The electric company will be working so hard to generate the lights at night, that it will produce too much smoke.  Too much smoke will make a hole in the ozone layer.  If the ozone layer gets holes in it, the ice caps will melt, the polar bears will die and the rest of us will drown.
Leaving the light on in your bedroom at night not only annoys older sisters, it puts entire civilizations at risk.  Thank goodness this disaster was averted.


Another little discovery?
When the three girls shared a bedroom, they shared a set of bunk beds with a trundle bed that pulled out from underneath the bottom bunk.  I knew there were many nights of giggling and hushed conversation in that room.  What I didn't know, was that bunking together also necessitated a sweetly disguised pecking order.  The oldest daughter slept in the top bunk, (SWEET Mesquite we call her) and Rooney dubbed her the princess of the clouds.  I had painted a mural on their bedroom wall that depicted a summer scene:  A white picket fence in the grass lined with sunflowers, and above it were blue sky and clouds.  The top bunk hovered in the clouds, thus her title.  Rooney slept in the bottom bunk, which provided a lovely view of the sunflowers.  That made her the sunflower princess.  The youngest?  (And, by the way, I'm flabbergasted that two sweet, supposedly nurturing older sisters would not only agree on the following propaganda, but that Leeli completely bought into it)  She slept in the trundle, and her older sisters convinced her that it was only fitting that she be crowned Princess Dirt.

Woo Hooooooo!!

We made it to Friday!

(again!)

I am busy baking today.

But not too busy to tell you how much I love Pinterest.

It is my new go-to spot for inspiration.

Recipes? Cake ideas?

millions.

Hair styles?

YES.

Crafts and sewing and projects for the house?

It's all there.

It's like a dessert buffet, and I'm finding that I have to limit myself.

I will leave you with a quote I found on Pinterest:

Be good to yourself!

And Happy weekending to you.

Oh! La-La... (hola!)

I couldn't help but laugh as I watched Rooney sculpt a snow message to Yonder.

To her credit,

she has NOT taken Spanish (yet).

No matter what the language,

the message is clear:

she LOVES her brother in Panama.

over heard over the weekend

"Whitcombs don't go the extra mile"
-after a certain little boy of mine was asked by his grandfather why he wouldn't tuck in his Sunday shirt

"We now refer to Dub as Uncle Hallmark.  Whenever you're around him, you feel good."
-after a group hug with Uncle Aaron

A back story before the next quote.  At dinner on Friday night, I served up some rolls that were a little on the crusty side--they had endured some extra baking time in the oven.
Morning Boy asked me "Mom, are these that kind of pirate bread that wouldn't spoil after a long time on the ship?"
I looked at him for a few seconds until I realized what he was talking about, and said "Oh, you mean hard tack?"
He said yes, and then we had a blessing on the food.  After the chorus of AMENs, he asked

"Anyone want a heart attack?"

Family Home Evening

Remember that conference talk in October of 2009 when Elder David A. Bednar, in his third suggestion of how to be More Diligent And Concerned At Home said
"family home evening lessons did not always produce high levels of edification."


Maybe you don't.

I'm here to tell you that what he said is the gospel truth.
  
Tonight's family home evening was an experience that included some whining, some hitting, a comment from Mister Dub something like "This isn't whack-a-mole" followed by more whining, crying and family members refusing to comply with their assigned tasks ("I am NOT song!... I am ACTIVITY!") after which the song ended up being an improvisational interpretive song called "I Am Activity" that started out as pure mocking by one sibling, and then turned into a full on family sing-along beat-boxing style.  The good news is that the impromptu song turned that frown upside down, and we made it to the opening prayer, which may have included some hitting with eyes closed.  


Good times.  


And skipping right to the end, where we participated in the actual activity (where there was an audible groan, followed by "Oh... I hate that game!") and there was a bag of mini carrots being passed around (post dinner snack).  After round two of the popular activity where we do a lot of switching seats on the miscellaneous couches and chairs in the room was finished, one child raised a hand and asked "May I say something?" to which we said "go ahead" and then the "something" that came out with a giggle was "I put chewed up carrot bits into the pockets of everyone who sat next to me."  


And I won't bother to document the chaos that ensued post family home evening.


Chewed up carrot bits.


This family is AWESOME.

the haircut

About a week ago, I was cutting our youngest's hair.  He was overdue, and I thought a summer buzz would be perfect.  Part way through his haircut, his dad came into the room and said "Cool buzz!" to which MB replied "What?!? A buzz?... I didn't order a buzz!"


Panic rose up in my throat for only a second, and his dad said "But buzz cuts are so great, because you hardly have to comb your hair!" and without skipping a beat, the reply came:


"But Dad.  I only comb my hair once a week anyway!"


P.S. we're ALL happy with the haircut.

1 24 2011

Ode to beginnings, dark and cold.

A crackly fire, a cup of tea and a stack of books, begging to be read.

Snuggly quilts

frost on the window

and the beam of sun spreading glorious warmth over the crumbs on the table, left from a breakfast not lingered over.

Corresponding with friends, dreaming up the perfect garden and resolving to be better, both inside and out.

Folded towels, warm from the dryer remind me of the steamy shower waiting patiently in the line-up of things I may or may not do on a cold day in January when I just might choose to stay in

in context, or not so much

Last night at dinner, as we're reading our scriptures:

Unidentified Child #1: (reading) 
"...And it came to pass in the which rebellion, they were desirous to return unto the land of Jerusalem."
Unidentified Child #2: 
"Wait, there was a witch rebellion?"

the birthday wish.

If you've had any experience navigating a large family schedule, you'll have sympathy when you hear that we really couldn't fit a family birthday party into the calendar on the actual day of the birthday.  The challenge here, was to make the birthday girl feel special despite the fact that we were not actually stopping to celebrate her birthday ON her birthday.  We decided to make it a Birthday-Weekend-Extravaganza!  Some good points included thinking and expressing fond birthday thoughts for several consecutive days, as opposed to one.  We have enjoyed happy birthday decorations much longer than we might have, and also, we decided to spread-out the present love.  She got some presents on one day, some more on the second day, and woke up to a couple of surprises on the morning of the big day.  We ended up having her birthday dinner and cake on Saturday, which was the pinnacle of a VERY busy day for all family members... an ACT exam, three soccer games, a trip to the airport, a BBQ with friends and other Saturday activities chores.  I mention that, because dinner seemed a trifle more rowdy than usual--no chairs tipped over, no food flying, but there was the usual raucous behavior and then maybe the kids were taking it up just a tiny notch.  You may be disappointed to learn that there was some burping going on--I'll just tell you, it's the culture here.  Not that it's adopted or accepted by everyone, it just happens and we all know it... as the mother, I do expect a polite "excuse me" at the very least (the necessity of which has been up for debate more than once).  SO, the birthday girl let escape a pretty hearty burp at the dinner table, and my response was a you-should-know-better-sideways-glance followed by "Have you ever heard me do that at the table?" in a you-should-know-better-tone to which she responded-
"Mom; that will be my birthday wish.
That YOU will burp at the dinner table."

thinking about dads

Mr. W. is out of town this morning; camping and hiking with the boys scouts.  Of course behind the scenes, we're making big plans for Father's Day tomorrow: what to make for breakfast, what his favorite foods are, coloring posters and cards and planning the treats.  As the kids are creating together around the table, I'm listening to them talk about the traits of their father.

Dads are loving.

Dads are kissy.

Dads are helpful (and then they want kisses).

Dads are thoughtful, hard-working, handsome, funny and strong.

Dads are valiant, said one child.  Then another one wanted to know what that meant.

It means choosing the right, and being brave.  It means being a good example.  Dad is a good example.

Then the youngest protested.  "Not our dad," he said.

I jumped right in:  "What do you mean?  Dad's always a good example."

Yeah, he said, but only on Sundays.

thought for the day

Feel no guilt (no matter how much your bum jiggles) on the days that you need breakfast dessert.

Today happens to be one of those days.

OH...

and I wanted to say FAREWELL to April.
It was fun, and I'm looking forward to what May brings.
xo

Caucus. Not carcass.

It's Monday night, sports fans, and around here that means another night of
family home entertainment.
Tonight we chose to attend our Town Caucus instead of our usual stay-at-home variety of FHE. 
Field Trip!
This time to the Middle School, where we participated in the democratic process of nominating candidates to fill open positions in our town government.  Some of the conversation you could have been part of if you had gone along:
(imagine a noisy chaotic van full of people
driving through the rain and across flooded sections of road)
"What's a caucus?"
"A carcass?"
"No, a caucus."
"It's a dead body."
"We're going to see a dead body?"
"Dear, you just told the kids we're going to see a dead body."
"Oh.  Umm, you better explain."

After which we had a few minutes to explain the process of nominating members of the community to fill vacant spots for positions like selectman, board of health, school committee, cemetery commission, constable, parks commissioner, library trustee, etc.  There were 23 vacancies in all, and it took a grand total of about 17 minutes of motions and "ayes" until we cast our ballots and climbed back in the van. 

Since we were the only family (read: if we had not come, the youngest person there would probably not have been younger than 40-something) in attendance, it will probably not be hard to figure out whose ballot was covered in stick figures and scribble. 

On the way home, we tried the return-and-report method:
"So, did anyone learn anything?"
"Yes.  That was really boring."
"That no one wants to be on the sewer commission."
"That they really should call that thing a Town Carcass."

Wishing for one less dimension in my 3-D mess

You should see my house.
Seriously.
I don't know what happens, but in the blink of an eye, we go from homey and acceptably-clean to wondering if we missed the twister that swept through the house when no one was looking.
Dub was travelling this week, we had some out-of-town guests, more than the average amount of Relief Society and visiting teaching visits and before you can say "Bob's Your Uncle," I'm looking through glazed eyes at the mountains of laundry and the overturned storage locker that used to be our mudroom, wondering if I should even try to make it better because it's highly likely that if I do, the same thing will happen all over again.  My forumula of hope:  E=mc (squared), OR Energy=mudroom cleaned (might last twice as long as it has in the past...)

Last night at the New Beginnings program for the young women at church, I sat next to a woman who often sits behind us in church (that phenomenon of reserved pews that somehow seems to happen, despite the fact that we don't pay for our benches).  I was thinking how amazing it is that Rooney is entering the Young Women Program this year.  So grown-up... then she reminded me of an unforgettable Sacrament Meeting when the Swedish Princess was three, and the chapel was extraordinarily quiet as the speaker mentioned the Holy Ghost.
In a horrified voice, Rooney exclaimed VERY loudly "The Holy Ghost?!... I HATE the Holy Ghost!"
It was a proud moment.
Ranks right up there with the Sacrament Meeting in which Yonder, at the same age, in an equally LOUD voice, at an especially reverent moment shouted "Dad, you have BAD breath!" not once, but even louder the second time, because he thought he might not have satisfactorily communicated his message.  Good times.

The weather has been perfect.  In all respects, a welcome gift. There were Lucky Charms in the pantry this morning, which meant that everyone fixed their own breakfast, and I was able to apply a little bit of make up and smooth my tresses before we left the house.  The stars have aligned and there is nothing on the calendar tonight.  Life IS good.

Would you want to be seen with me?

The night after the big snowstorm, I got dressed to take my kids shopping.  I dressed for warmth and practicality.  I have frostbite to fend off.  As we're walking out the door, one of my daughters says: "MOM.  Don't you DARE take that coat off in the store!"

The next night as we're leaving for the band concert, I receive another harsh tongue-lashing:

daughter:  MOM!  Is that your coat?
Me:  No, it's dad's.  But I'm cold, and it's bigger than mine.
daughter:  Take that off RIGHT NOW, and put your own coat on.  You look like an over-sized Emperor Penguin.

Penguins employ physiological adaptations and cooperative behaviors in order to deal with an incredibly harsh environment.  That's all I was doing...

re-tired. and staying fire-d.

So the man-o-the-morning and I were driving about town today, and we passed a house displaying a propane tank pumpkin. It's true. A clever decoration for a great month. A propane tank, yes it was. It was painted a cheery orange, with a jack-o-lantern face on it. Cute, too. He noticed it, and starts telling me about the "thing under the place where you cook outside that's decorated like a Halloween pumpkin..." and I instantly know what he's talking about, even though I didn't happen to glance that way this time by.
(I'm thinking I'm going to have to drive over there again and snap a picture, just so you can have a looksee.) Of course when you live in a place for 20 years (I know! How'd that happen?!) there's a bit of history 'round every bend.
I tell him that the propane tank pumpkin just happens to live at the house of his big brother's kindergarten teacher. Then I explain that she no longer teaches kindergarten (seeing as how kindergarten is looming in his future), and he immediately wants to know if she has moved up to the High School, where his brother is now. I tell him that she doesn't work as a teacher anymore, and that she is retired.
"Oh" he says. "That means that she's tired of teaching, and now she just stays at home. Right?" Yes, my man. That is right.

And just so I can don my imaginary cape of wonder before calling it a day, I will let you know that before we took our road trip it dawned on me that I should probably brush my teeth. It just so happens, however, that about three minutes before this realization, I popped an atomic fire ball into my mouth. Just re-fueling the tank. I was enjoying its fiery sweetness, and didn't want to spit it out to brush. So I went ahead with my brushing plans and maneuvered that thing over the tongue, past the gums and around the teeth that weren't being scrubbed. It was genius. Suck on sugar, brush it off. Suck on sugar, brush-y brush. A win-win in my book.

October 2nd

Happy Birthday Nana.
I wonder if they have cakes in heaven?
If not, I'll bet she had a piece tucked in her purse before she passed.

I got to be Mystery Reader in third grade today. Third graders have a way of making you feel famous, when really, you're just someone's mom volunteering to read a story to the class. I'll take it.

Two rounds of UNO at the table on a Friday night, and we actually started to warm up to each other a bit before Dub had his fill.

Hooray for acquiring knowledge! I learned the engineer's definition of "slew rate" while giving Dub a haircut. He exclaimed "decrease your slew!" while I was running the buzzers up the back of his head. Although he admitted that he may have used it out of context, it was an entertaining conversation that made the chore of cutting hair go foom! and then we were having some abbreviated card-playing fun.

Random Thoughts on Monday

I was surprised to wake up at 4:12am and find that Dub had already left for work. When I turned on my computer, I was even more surprised to find an email from him in my inbox time-stamped 4:07am. That man gets up before my morning breath has time to stink.

I was happy to get up (at a more humane hour, although still before 5:30am) and send my children off to school today. I also got a very cheery phone call from a friend, who helped me whiz right through the breakfast clean-up and morning chores while we chatted away.

I followed the Fly Lady's first two tips, and shined my sink and got dressed to lace-up shoes, and my house is still not perfectly clean and shiny. There is definitely a flaw somewhere, and it can't be me.

After school I found out that cozy-ing up to a teen of the opposite sex on the basement couch during the weekend party just means "being a good host."

I also discovered, as my anonymous child said "Holy s***" to me in the kitchen after school, that he or she didn't think it was a swear. Even after I insisted that it was a swear, he or she told me it only meant "poop." I had to call for back-up from Dub, as apparently I was not a credible source for swear words.

I wore my dangling pewter cow earrings from the '80s, and nobody said anything. That could mean one of any number of things. Hmmm...

I made Tami's Southwest Rice and Bean Salad for dinner tonight, and again, nobody said anything. Double Hmmm... (for the record, I actually liked it, and found it a refreshing change to the rice and bean repertoire)

We played Hide-and-go-seek for Family Home Evening, and I just happened to be the last one found. I do love to win at that game. It's actually a talent I come by honestly. Some of my friends know about my mother's famous hiding spot during my childhood hide-and-go-seek days. I've even talked about it in Sacrament Meeting. Picture a 40-something housewife tucked on top of a refrigerator. Yup. I'm not giving my excellent spot away.

I read The Great, Great, Great Chicken War by David de la Garza to my little man at bedtime tonight. The title is so fun and the illustrations looked really cute, so of course we checked it out from our lovely library on our last visit. I honestly read it enthusiastically, but the farther I got into the book, I realized it really had no plot and was a let down for a four-year old. I don't like to point the thumb down at a children's picture book, but this one didn't do it for us.

I'm looking forward to some extreme sleep and dreaming about running. I'll burn 500 extra calories with zero effort and feel good about the cookies I'm going to have for breakfast tomorrow.

Happy Spent Monday!

worth remembering

Tonight at the dinner table, we got to talking about chubby babies versus scrawny babies, and the conversation got funny. Our very sweet eight year old, at the point when we were talking about birthing stories, said "I used to think that c-section meant you went out for lobster."

code speak

I was sitting quietly at the kitchen table last week, having some cereal and reading when my four-year-old approached me and tenderly said
“Mom, you’re my pride and joy.”
My senses sharpened and there was some fluttering in my chest. Did he just tell me he loved me ever so eloquently? I just about dissolved into a puddle right then and there. I felt so loved. I pulled him in for a squeeze and I told him he was my pride and joy, and that I loved him bigger than the sky. It was so very sweet. As he walked away from the table, I swear I glimpsed a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Later that week, we were together in the car driving to preschool, and he said it again. I was touched. I gazed lovingly at him in the rear view mirror. I was so impressed at his articulation, and the fact that he was expressing his feelings for me in such a grown-up way. Like the Grinch, my heart really did grow three sizes that day. I couldn’t wait to share with someone how deeply my boy loved me.

Later that same week the family was together in the van. I heard him utter that magical phrase: “You’re my pride and joy,” only this time it was to his sister. I thought, “Wow, that’s so sweet!” and then she burst into a fit of laughter. He followed suit. The giggles continued, and I was confused; thrown off by the apparent humor of such an endearing remark. I focused on the back-story, as she explained to me that she had been singing a camp song, part of which includes the lyrics “he is my pride and joy,” and my gushing-with-love son wanted to know what “pride and joy” meant. In an attempt to disinterest him from the romantic implication of referring to a boy as your pride and joy, she took this opportunity to teach him a proper four-year old definition of pride and joy: stinky cheese. I knew I sensed that glimmer of something afoot… Just call me Momberger. Or Cam-mom-bert.