A Useful Household Fact

Useful Household Fact:
Towels wrapped around one’s head (hair) just slide off when the hair is still thickly slathered with silky conditioner.

Scope of Application:
The above handy hint is for the benefit of housewives who are found in a situation where the house water supply is suddenly cut off right after they have generously massaged copious amounts of conditioner into their rich luxuriant hair while taking a shower.

Real-Life Examples:
This morning. At our house. It appears that the water was only off for a minute or so, but Cindy didn’t find that out until she had called me and then called a neighbor.
She provided the above useful household fact when she called me back to say that the water was back on.
She told me, paused slightly, and then continued, ‘Not that it would apply in your case, of course....’

POSTNOTE: On a related note, as I was giving myself a haircut on the patio on Saturday, Kenner stuck her head out the door and loudly opined, ‘A haircut? That is the LAST thing you should be doing! You need to get MORE hair, not CUT it!’

A Sister's Intercession

A number of weeks ago, some of you may have espied Cameron at church, wearing--of all things--a suit, a tie, and a white shirt. (A pristine hand-me-down from my sister's son's wardrobe.)

He looked really spiffy!

Later during the block meeting Cindy told me that she had tried to get Cameron to wear the suit and a white shirt, but that her charms had been de-spellified, and that it was only through the auspices of Erin that he finally did it. Erin, she explained, had somehow begged, pleaded, and cajoled, and had finally got him to buy into the idea.

It was later that day that I found that it was just the opposite.
Erin had 'bought into' the idea, resorting to a bribe of $10 bucks to get him even wear the scratchy-on-his-soft-neck white shirt.

Cameron's money-loving heart was touched by this sisterly sacrifice. However, he has not worn it since, as there have been no further offers tendered.

Two little gifts from heaven.....

Nope, not twins.
Hate to dash your hopes!

One night last week Cameron tutored Makenna in how to play soccer better. He showed her how to kick hard at a goal and how to follow up on her kicks. The whole time he was nice to her and a perfect gentleman.

That was Gift #1.

Kenner had a game on Saturday, and though she begged Cameron to come watch her so he could see if his one-on-one coaching reaped any dividends. He didn't want to, so I stayed home to work on my backyard "Big Rocks Around A New Big Flowerbed Project," but 20 minutes later he came out complaining that he was bored, so I cajoled him into coming with me to catch the second half of Kenner's game.

When we got there, Kenner was playing goalie.

She saw me, grinned hugely, and waved, saying, 'Guess what Dad! I scored 4 goals!'

I guess she got confused and thought she was bowling!?

That was Gift #2, which was a direct result of Gift #1.

Of course, I would love to relate that Cam and Kenner have maintained this close relationship of mutual respect and love since then, but as in most things in life, what I would like and what is reality rarely converge.

Good grief food???

So yesterday I was telling Cindy that due to my lack of exercise, I would probably keel over with a heart attack sometime soon.

She absorbed this, and then commented, 'Well, all that would do would give me a ton of insurance money that I would end up spending on 'grief food!'

Yep, she's always focusing on the negative! =)

Another Milestone

This past Saturday was a special day in our family. Makenna, was baptized.

She was so excited and happy. She is a genuinely happy girl and brightens our home with her laughter, giggles and smiles. We are so proud of her.

We were fortunate to have family here for the occasion. My brother, Mike, and nephew, Josh, flew in from WA. Now it would be nice to say they came specifically for Makenna's baptism but that would not be true. It just happened to be a coincidence. You see....he is OSU alumni and therefore eligible to win tickets to a game through a lottery (follow that...?). He won and was assigned to Saturday's big game. (By the way...OSU lost in the last 2 minutes of the game. Bummer.) They are big fans...notice the jerseys?

Here we are hanging out after the baptism with our great family.

Just try to get Josh and Cameron to give a "normal" smile to the camera. Impossible!

Allyson hugging on Hunter, her second cousin. I think she has watched too many princess movies. Flash forward 11 years to Stake dances...I think we are in trouble!

We were also able to celebrate Mike's birthday.

It was a great weekend.

Black-Bottom Coconut Bars

This is my first time doing the Cookie Carnival. I like baking so this seems like a match made in heaven.

I am basically the only one in my family who likes coconut. Louis may like it....I'm not sure. Either way though, I will be eating way too many of these delicious treats. I made them this morning and already have eaten 4! It is only 2:30 in the afternoon. I am in trouble.

If you want to try them here is the recipe.

The first day of school....

The kids had a nice, easy first day of school yesterday.
Cindy, on the other hand, was up at 6 AM with Erin (her bus comes by at 7 AM), got the other 2 kids ready (Cameron, who woke up at 7:30, was pretty miffed that we didn’t wake him up early so he could play on the computer), and then she spent 7+ hours basically cleaning the house from top to bottom and also canning 11 quarts of tomatoes. (Ally and her neighbor friend shuttled back and forth between their respective houses during much of this time.)
Things really picked up in the afternoon:
At 3:15 Erin called to say she had forgotten her volleyball practice clothes, so Cindy had to wait for the younger kids to get home (Ally was napping) so she could take her clothes.
I got home at 4:15 and hurriedly put together another batch of salsa (Cindy had scalded, skinned, and chopped up the tomatoes earlier that day.)
Cindy left at 5:20 to pick up Erin from practice.
At 5:50 I took Kenner to a soccer game, where I spent most of the game watching Ally and the same friend (the coach’s daughter) play. Kenner’s team won.
At 6:20 Cindy took Erin had an open house/orientation at the JH.
After the game I finished hot-water bathing Cindy’s tomatoes and pressure-cooking the salsa, cleaning up the kitchen as I went.
Cindy and Erin got home at 8:30, and Cindy enjoyed some leftover chocolate birthday cake and ice cream as her only dinner.
We got the younger kids bathed and into bed, then Cindy spent over an hour helping Erin organize all her binders, folders, notebooks, pencils, pens, and other learning paraphernalia.
I finished cleaning up the kitchen, brought all the bikes and scooters into the garage, pulled the Prizm into the garage, swept the kitchen floor, and then went upstairs to fold some laundry that Cindy had found time to do earlier in the day.
We both collapsed at about 10:30.
And it starts again today.......

An ‘80s Moment

With the demise of Michael Jackson, Cameron was introduced to Weird Al and his Michael Jackson spoofs at a relative's house. I must admit that I was an enabler after that, helping all the kids access the YouTube videos. Anyway that was awhile ago.

So this morning Cindy is in the computer room with Ally, who was in a rather daffy mood.
Out of the blue, Ally pokes her butt out at Cindy and shakes it, singing, ‘My butt is wide...’ (I guess she hasn’t memorized the rest of the lyrics--thank goodness for small miracles!)
(To understand the context, go to YouTube and search for “Weird Al Fat” to see his spoof of MJ’s ‘Bad.’ In terms of pop culture, it is a work of genius--esp. if you’ve seen MJ’s original (also on YouTube).)

As an aside, both Ally and Makenna still spontaneously break out singing, ‘Like a Surgeon.....making a cut for the very first time.’ (Another Weird Al spoof of a Madonna song--which explains his poses towards the end of the video....)

The kids all like his song‘I Won on Ebay' too.

DISCLAIMER: Please view responsibly. The Floyd Family shall be held blameless for any psychological damage resulting from the viewing of such videos (though they are clean) or for children singing the songs in improper venues, such as 'Don't you call me pudgy, portly or stout, let me tell you once again, who's fat!'

Name that smell!

The hot and humid summer days and nights finally arrived 10 days ago, and it has finally spurred the tomatoes in the garden to start turning red in usable quantities.
On Wednesday night, I made a big batch of salsa for canning, and Cindy took the rest of the tomatoes and filled 6 quart jars.

All the kids love to eat my salsa, and I thought they would be overjoyed, but once again they have wronged me, grinding me under their heels. (Isn’t there a scripture warning kids about the evils of doing just that?)

As Cindy related, ‘I was upstairs with Kenner and Ally and they asked, ‘What is that smell?’ I told them that it was the smell of Daddy’s salsa. Sweet Allyson, who is only three, retorted, ‘Nuh-uh! It’s a fart!’

Personally, I’ve never smelled any variety of such emanations (including those invidious SBDs) that smelled like a delicious combination of fresh tomatoes, onions, garlic, and green & jalapeno peppers, but then again....

Them Floyds (and Direct Relations....)

At my sister's house last night we played a number of parlor games.

One of them was quite simple--a person walked out of the room, changed something about their appearance, then walked back in a everyone tried to guess what was different. My sister put her dress on inside-out for this game, and left if that way the rest of the night.

Another game was Psychiatrist, where someone is selected to leave the room, then everyone else decides on some rule for how to answer questions, then the person comes back in and asks questions to different people until they figure out the rule. For example, When it was Makenna's turn to leave the room, the 'rule' was that all answers had to start with an animal noise. Another 'rule' was that the answer had to start with the first letter of your own first name.

Anyway, I told you that to tell you this:

During 1 round, the rule was that when we were answering a question we had to do whatever my nephew Ben was doing at the time. He started off easy--he would scratch his head, or swing his arms around, or make kissing faces--and then really got into the groove of things.

And when it was Cindy's turn he took his shirt off and sat there bare-chested. Cindy of course had the presence of mind to not mimic him that time--though no one but the questioner wouldn've seen anything anyway through the veil of tears wrought by hysterical laughter.

Literally speaking????

I was making a double batch of brownies this morning and instead of putting them in 2 9x13 pans I thought it would fit in my large 11x15 jelly roll pan. During the cooking process they started to raise far enough above the rim of the pan to roll over the edge and then fall onto the bottom of the oven resulting in a somewhat smokey and stinky kitchen. (Darn it...I had just cleaned the oven a few weeks ago too!)
The neighbor girl walked home with Allyson and upon entering the kitchen said, "It smells bad in here."

"Yes." I replied, "I am burning something in my oven. Rats!"

"WHY?"

Then figuring it was easier to show than explain that my pan was too small and the food was falling off the edges I took her to the oven to see for herself. I opened the oven door and she looked inside.

"That's not Rats!" she said.

I couldn't disagree with her. Good thing I didn't say, "Bummer!"

Fatherly Compassion

In one of her last rushed preparations for camp last night, Erin decided that she needed to shave her legs.

A couple minutes later I heard her yelling out to me.

Walking in, I see her sitting on the edge of the bathtub (suitably clothed, of course) with her feet in about 6 inches of still-rising water, a razor in one hand, a bloody washcloth in the other.

Looking to where she was focusing her energies, I saw a narrow stream of blood cascading from the side of her knee, where she had evidently nicked herself pretty good.

Always the loving father, I remained calm and gave her the following instructions:

‘TURN THAT WATER OFF! THAT IS WAY TOO MUCH WATER FOR JUST SHAVING YOUR LEGS!!!’

After she turned the water off, I proceeded to get her a piece of tissue paper and explain how it would help stop the bleeding and aid in the coagulation process.

For some strange reason, Cindy burst out laughing when Erin explained the above unfolding of events to her.

I can only assume that Cindy is still somewhat lacking in the compassion department.

Summer Vacation Cabin Fever?

A couple days ago Cindy was walking by Erin’s room, when she noticed Erin making a sign on a piece of paper.

Looking over her shoulder, she read, ‘Monkey is in labor. Please do not disturb.’’

Puzzled about its meaning, she looked into Erin’s room.

She saw the following scene:

Erin’s big monkey was lying on the bed dressed in a frumpy dress that looked somewhat like a maternity gown, and her other monkey was at its side, holding its hand.

Cindy chuckled in quiet amusement as Erin proceeded to tape the sign on her door.

An hour later Cindy and Erin went off to run a couple errands, and Cindy asked her, “Oh, so you left your monkey alone in labor?”

“Not at all,” she replied in a professional tone, “I put some quiet music on to help her relax.”

Later on in the day, Cindy asked her how the monkey was doing.

Erin replied brightly, “She’s still pushing. She’s still pushing.”

Some time later Cindy heard Erin upstairs screaming wildly.

Wondering if she had hurt herself, Cindy asked her what the problem was.

Erin yelled out, “It’s a boy! It’s a boy!”

POSTSCRIPT: Later in the day Cindy saw Erin’s sign again. Sometime during the day she had added the following:

“Progress: [Daddy] Bear passed out. Sponge-Bob passed out.”

I hope Erin's camp teaches ladylike etiquette...

Sweet Erin was in the kitchen when she came up with what she thought was a wonderful idea!

"I know!" she gushed, "I should try to freeze my spit!"
She promptly began hawking into a cup.

Fortunately I was nearby, and between my gagging I was able to put a stop to that idea.

Frozen spit?

There is no way I would allow her to do that--at least not until she filled her mouth with something to flavor it first, like Hershey's syrup, Oreos, etc.

Songs from the heart!

Allyson has turned into our little singer. Any moment she will start singing. She like "The Wheels on the Bus", "Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama, my first word.", "Jingle Bells", and "Old McDonald". All of these have their own rendition, in fact, the Mama song is one Makenna sang at a school program and is actually supposed to be "have you heard" instead of "my first word". My favorite song she sings is "I am a Child of God". This is her way of singing it.

"Teach me.
Guide me.
You walk me by my street"

Puts a smile on your face every time.

On another singing note. Since Michael Jackson died the kids have started enjoying his songs more and more. Of course since we are not really Michael Jackson fans we like the weird Al versions. Now Makenna walks around singing , "Fat! Fat!" and Cameron and Erin prefer the, "Like a Surgeon" while striking some strange pose with one arm pointing up and the other down with their legs split.

An Extended Hiatus

Well, things have been extremely busy recently, and the blog has suffered. Will it continue to suffer? Only time will tell.

In the past month a lot has occurred:
1. School has ended
2. Erin and Kenner have joined the swim team
3. The basement has been carpeted and is now mostly finished (?)
4. My mom came out for a visit
5. We have 2 new sets of neighbors--across the street and to our right, and we'll have the ones to our left next week
6. I had to change the van brakes
7. Erin has taken a liking to mowing the lawn
8. Cameron attended Cub Scout Camp

and lots of other unremembered stuff.....

Anyway, I'll try to do better....

All Hail, King of Condiments

There are so many things to love Ally for:

She loves to snuggle;
She is (mostly) potty-trained both day and night;
She is truly penitent after being punished;
She loves her Dad (and sometimes deigns to show some affection towards her Mom);
She is usually very happy;
She docilely agrees to take naps and go to bed;

But of course the thing I love the most is her love for mayonnaise sandwiches.
She loves them for breakfast, and lunch, and dinner! And for a between-meal snack too!

May her lips never meet that foul, festering effluvium from Heck known as Miracle Whip!

Ticked Pink!

A couple weeks ago Cindy went into the bathroom to help Ally, and I can only assume that she stopped to adjust her hair in the mirror.
Anyway, the next thing I hear is a frantic, “Louis Louis LOUIS!!!”
She then rushed out to where I was, bowed her head down, pointed at it, and continued, “Is this a tick? Is this a TICK? IS THIS A TICK?”
Sure enough, just above her forehead hairline there was a cute little brown thing with legs that was securely attached to her scalp.

I tried to calm her down, jovially commenting, ‘Well, you sure are lucky that it’s not engorged yet, so it couldn’t have been there for too long!’

Then I ran.

For the tweezers (and maybe for my life?)

Fortunately, I was able to pull it out rather easily.

As I said to her, ‘And all these things shall be for thy experience....’

Fortunately I was far enough away by then to escape being cut in two by her light-saber eyes.

Mary Poppins Would Be Aghast!

It became clear last week that in her treks around the neighborhood and the surrounding hills and fields that Kenner had come into contact with some poison ivy. She developed a couple red streaks near her right eye and on her eyelid, and the doctor said to bring her in because it was in such a sensitive area.
She was given a prescription for some liquid, which the doctor warned would not taste too pleasant. However, he explained, she could wash it down each time with a spoonful of Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup.
Kenner, who, when she doesn’t want to comply with a request, has nearly perfected her repertoire of whinings, groanings, and gruntings to the level of performance art (admittedly a low bar), has never been so eager--make that ecstatic--to take her medicine.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that we were out of chocolate syrup and had to substitute a spoonful of rich, creamy hot fudge topping (served cold in order to get a bigger glob on the spoon).
[Photo to follow later]

Apt Analogy

Cindy called me at work today.

I could tell she was in the middle of cleaning, as she asked me where she could put certain items of mine that had somehow ended up downstairs. (I can't imagine how!?)

I, being stupid beyond my years, commented, 'You're really tearing things up!'

After a moment of silence, she replied, "No, this is what I do every single day."

Certainly with no urging from me she continued, 'Do you remember when I said that everything I do around the house would be like you working all day on a translation and then your manager walking by and hitting the Delete button and then saying, 'Please do it all over again' e-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e d-a-y?'

Yes, I got the picture. And, amazingly enough, I DID remember when she had previously made such a comment!

And now I am recording it here for posterity so that I don't forget it ever again!

Hopefully, anyway.....

What housing slump?

In the past month about 10 lots have sold in our neighborhood. We now have a house across the street (it just got sheet-rocked), a house to the right of us (framed but not sheet-rocked), and two lots on the left of us all staked out to be dug.

Sigh.

We were hoping to have a small neighborhood for a lot longer! (At the neighborhood party we had in late March (a goodbye party for 'Mr. Joe' as he was deploying) we had45 out of the 47 neighbors attend--and the 2 that couldn't make it still brought a dessert over!)

Fortunately, if they develop the next section it will be on the other side of the neighboorhood--not behind us--so we should have a couple more years of living on the "edge of civilization."

But I will add that the dumpster diving at the worksites has yielded some nice treasures!

Zippidee Zoo da!

Two week ago Friday was stellar weather and it was spring break for the kids, so I took half a day off and we all went to the Cincinnati zoo!

Unfortunately, so did all the denizens of Southern Ohio--I ended up dropping the fam off near the main gate and then driving around for a half-hour until I found an empty space on a sidestreet (and not a nice sidestreet either....)

Ally was really excited, and just as she hoped for, she got to see everything that Penelope saw in the 'Penelope Goes to the Zoo' story I made up years ago for Cameron or Kenner. Yep, elephants (elephant poop plays a leading role in the story), giraffes, lions, pretty birdies, and--the perennial favorite--the monkeys with the red butts! (Japanese monkeys.)

Photos.....

Here we are looking at the flamingoes...(use your imagination!)



(You will notice that Cameron is smiling and Kenner is not....I bet a psychologist could deduce a lot from this photo! And, though it looks like I am a translated being (that's a laugh!), it is just a smudged lens.)

And Erin even got to ride the choo-choo train, one of her lifelong goals. (Yeah, and it's $3 per head for about a 4-minute ride--I would have been happy to have made Erin wait much longer!)



Just before we left we got this photo:



Anyway, we had a good day--and we did not make the mistake of trying to stop at IKEA on the way home like we did last year--that was a FIASCO!

Bad influences at school....

Schools can be hotbeds of verminous influences on our children, and it is especially insidious when it is something that is sponsored and sanctioned by the school.

If it were only cruelty to animals (such as cats, especially) that would have been more stomachable, but NOOOOoooooooooooooo, it school-sanctioned cruelty to the most vulnerable in society. Yes, I am speaking of cruelty to vegetables!

Over a month ago his school had an assembly, where the world-record playing card long-distance throwing champ (an Ohio native) came to the school to amaze and amuse. He deftly threw the cards and sliced through carrots, cukes, watermelon slices, and who knows what else.

It was an epiphany for Cameron.

He watched the guy on a number of YouTube videos to get the throwing method down, and then began going through a bag of carrots, a bunch of celery, and whatever veggie he could find.

And I must admit that he is pretty good!



But like any addiction--he just can't get enough of it! Though it has been a long time, cards are still whizzing around our house at all hours of the day and night, and it is really pitiful to see him begging to be taken to DollarTree to get a 2-deck pack.

All I can say is that I am glad he has now found a use for his Pokemon cards.

Anyway, here he is in action....

Big Threesies

Ally celebrated the big 3 birthday last week.



In my family as a kid, if you wanted Mom to make you a cake you had to do extra chores that day (none of this namby-pamby 'Oh sunshine of my life, this is your special day and you can do whatever you want because you are so special!')

To bypass this requirement, by age 12 I was proficient at making my own cake from scratch. It was usually a 12-egg angel food cake (cake mixes were for those sorry wimps in other households who couldn't cook--or at least had more money!)

Though Cindy came from the above-scorned 'wimpy' family culture and has kindly yet firmly lifted me up by the neck and told me that things are going to remain their way on birthdays, obviously Ally wasn't taking any chances and was at least learning the ropes just in case the policy were to ever change....

What the heck!?

That, in a nutshell, is Ally's new catchphrase--usually said with a grin and a wave of her hand.

As in last Thursday when Cindy told her, 'You need to get dressed because you are going to M's house to play!'

'I get to go to M's house?'

'Yes!'

'I get to go again?...[Big grin].......What the heck!'

Through a pyro child's eyes

Last Saturday Cameron and I made our first fishing trip trek of the season to the company pond.

I caught a lot of small bass, and he caught a lot of bluegill.

Anyway, on the way there I pointed to some blooming trees, exclaiming that I sure liked those dogwood trees with their purplish blossoms.

He looked at them, and then commented, 'Yeah. And I bet they'd burn good too!'

All I got wasn't just a dumb T-shirt!

It's been about a month since Cindy went on a cruise with my sister and her 2 boys,



(cruise ships are famous for sumptuous feasts, and there was obviously a full cargo of HAM).

Anyway, in a round of email correspondence with a Japanese gent at the parent company I mentioned that my wife was on a cruise without me (for some reason people found that amusing), and he wrote back, 'Gee--I hope she at least gets you a T-shirt!'

Well, Cindy actually brought home THREE things for me!
1. A burnt orange-colored Cozumel T-shirt
2. A Royal Caribbean hat (though my nephew got it for free and gave it to her because they didn't want it....I guess that still counts?)

and to top it all off...

Number 3: A promise to let me peel the dead skin off her sun-burned calves once the skin really started loosening up!

Well, I didn't get any huge swaths of skin, but I did get enough big ones off to gross her out!

She had an enjoyable week, as did I.
She did fun things at pretty places....



And I rototilled a garden spot, worked on the basement bathroom, and bribed the kids with a possible trip to CiCi's Pizza if they acted at least semi-human for the week.

Silver Linings

Ally is incorrigibly optimistic.

Take yesterday, for example.

Case in Point 1:
As we drive into town there is a pasture that usually has a horse wandering around, and she looks forward to seeing it with great anticipation. Well, yesterday the horse wasn’t to be seen.
I said, ‘Oh, that’s too bad! The horse must be in the barn.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, then added with a tone of blissful satisfaction, ‘But I can see its poop on the grass!’

Case in Point 2:
Two nights ago I got all the kids in bed, and then Ally said that she had to go potty. She gave me a big cheesy grin as she said it.
By this time she was in her diaper and one-piece jimmies, so I sighed and trudged with her into the bathroom.
After laboriously extricating her from her nightwear and diaper, she sat on the toilet with this giant grin on her face. It was directed right at me!
She obviously thought I was ecstatic at the chance of getting to spend this quality daddy-daughter time with her.

Case in Point 3:
After doing #2’s in the toilet this past week, on a number of occasions she has hopped off the toilet and excitedly exclaimed, ‘That’s a big one!’
And then she has exclaimed, ‘Oooh! Let me smell it!’ and then lowered her head to get a good whiff!

Ahh, Life

So here we are in the basement, thanks to a tornado warning.

We are right on the edge of the possible area right now, so we are watching the weather on the TV.

Cindy, of course, is heading down past Atlanta by now, and there are also supposed to be severe thunderstorms thatta way.

Gotta love it!

UPDATE: No tornadoes hit ground it seems, and none came near us either.

Mr. Manners

Dear Mr. Manners,

HELP MEEEEEEEE!!!!

I am writing this under the covers of our bed--it is after midnight--and I am petrified! I don’t know who else to turn to, so as a desperate mother I am pleading for your help!!!!

You see, I have been reading a lot about ‘sleeper’ domestic terrorist cells and also about ‘dirty bombs’ and I have just now connected all the dots!

I THINK THERE MAY BE A SLEEPER DOMESTIC TERRORIST CELL MAKING DIRTY BOMBS IN MY OWN HOUSE!

And there’s proof!!

This morning I found a room of one of the other persons in my house like this!!



And another room was like this....



and this!!



And the worst was like THIS!!!



Based on my limited reading, I also know that ‘dirty bombs’ usually spread radioactive particles, so even if I am not killed today, I fear for my long-term health as well!

Fervently,

Terrorized in Tipp
PS: Do you have a Geiger counter I could borrow?


____________________________


Dear Tippsy,

First. let me gently--but firmly--assuage your fears. Based on the photos you so kindly provided, I can declare conclusively that the denizens of these bedrooms are not terrorists.

Terrifying, perhaps? Yes. Terrorists? Nope.

Second, this is not the result of a ‘dirty bomb’ filled with radioactive materials that can cause death and destruction, but rather the handiwork of a ‘pigsty grenade’ However, gentle irrational reader, do not run for cover, as this grenade is merely in the mind and not of the shrapnel-producing variety. (Let me hasten to add, that it is ‘in the mind’ in only a metaphoric sense, so please refrain from calling the neighborhood brain surgeon for some extraction surgery.)

Third, such detonation damage is fully preventable. Just like brushing teeth, a daily habit of picking up rooms and making beds can ameliorate such conditions.

One good preventative might be to sack up the mess and make it unavailable to the occupants for a week.

Another might be to post photos on the Internet for all their friends to see. (No need to thank me!)

So please, enjoy some care-free sleep!

Sincerely,

Mr. Manners

Vocabulary Building

A nursery tale (courtesy of Sis. Williams):

I guess Ally was running around the nursery room and Sis. Williams asked her to stop running.

Ally kept on running.

When asked again to stop running, Ally replied brightly, 'I'm not running, I'm jogging!'

Tasks for this week will now include teaching Ally other words to use to alternately describe what is ascribed to her, such as 'trotting,' 'loping,' 'sashaying,' and perhaps 'fast-moseying.'

She will make a fine lawyer some day!

Pioneer Trekkies

As I was driving some youth and a leader to the Columbus temple on Saturday, the leader and I got on the topic of long driving trips with kids.

We each exchanged our most vivid war stories (VHS and DVD players were always the Medal of Honor-winning heroes), and then, in a fit of brilliance, I made the following comment:

'Cindy and I have considered driving out to Utah and back a number of times. Then we pick ourselves up off the floor from laughing so hard. Yep, if we were to ever to do that we would be emulating the pioneers of old in the trek to Utah--we would be burying a child every couple hundred miles!'

Okay, okay------maybe 'twisted brilliance' would have been a more apt description. And I probably chuckled harder than the leader did--but then again, I know my kids and the PQ* of both parental units.

*Patience Quotient

A Fond Welcome

Yesterday I took off an hour early from work to go home and work on the basement.

I quietly walked in from the garage to the kitchen, hoping to surprise Cindy. I saw her back as she was busily working at the stove.

I said, ‘Hi!’ and she slowly turned around to face me.

Her face and eyes were all red, with large tears were dripping down her cheeks--she had obviously been sobbing big-time--and she immediately put her hand up to stop me from talking and simply stated, ‘I can’t be around you right now!’ and then after a slight pause, asked, ‘Where are you going to be?’

Remaining mute, I pointed down towards the basement, and then she went on, ‘I can’t be in the same room as you right now.’

She then proceeded to quickly march out the garage door.

When I looked out 20 minutes later she was sitting in the passenger seat of the van, her face still red and her eyes heavy with tears.

She gave me a slight smile, and then leaned forward slightly as she continued to listen intently to the final chapter of the audio-book* on her I-Pod.

Obviously, thoughts of hearing my condescendingly good-natured chortles at her emotional state that would most assuredly be wafting in around her earbuds would not have been conducive to her enjoyment[?] of the denouement.

*The Book Thief

All she needs is a big dog named Hercules!

Cindy was looking for a book tonight, and she had the bright idea of looking under Erin's bed.

As she later told Erin, 'I became violently ill, and after hypergagging I staggered downstairs to get a rabies shot before any animal that might have burrowed into all that junk jumped out and bit me!'

She said some other witty things too, but alas, I can't remember them....

Erin jest smiled on in her trademarked serene complacence regarding all things related to the nouveau-junkyard decorating she has perfected in her room.

(Feel free to guess at the movie reference in the title....though it may take you Forever, FOR-E-VER, FOR-E-VER to guess it....)

Ostrich Obeisance

I would like to say that Ally is unsullied by her siblings' behavior, but nay, twould be a lie!

As I was getting ready to put Ally to bed, she said, 'I want to say my prayers!'

'Ahh,' I thought, 'She IS still a sweet angel!'

I put her down and she immediately dropped to her knees, then immediately followed this by putting her head down on the floor, and by mid-prayer she was laid out fully prone on the floor, arms akimbo. (It brought back memories of a chapter in Les Miserables that described how nuns in the convent prayed before the altar....)

Needless to say, if you are ever at our house at family prayer time, you will think that you somehow ended up on an ostrich farm--the kids have their heads on the floor and their patooties up in the air.

I guess Cindy and I could interpret this as them kowtowing to us in abject obeisance, but hey, we aren't that deluded!

Maybe it has something to do with gravity. their heads are sure swelled up enough--at least in their own little whacked-out minds!

Anyway, I look forward to the day that Erin gets to give a prayer during sacrament meeting--hopefully the mike will poke her in the forehead before she can lay her head down on the podium!

A Fruitless Morning....

It is now my lunch hour, and what am I doing? I am at my desk working with a phone glued to my ear (which makes typing this a wee bit more difficult...)

The other end is mostly silent, punctuated at times by screams. No, it is not 1-800-MASOCHISM, it is Ally.

Cindy started potty-training her a week ago Friday, with stellar results. At least in the No. 1 category. In the other category, her streak has been more spotty. (Or should I say, her potty has been more streaked? Her streak has been more potty?')

Anyway, at Ally's bleating request this is the second time I have been coaching her by phone. Being in a cubicle farm, I try to do so unobtrusively.

Much as I would like to belt out my patented sideline (side-bowl?) chant of 'Poop It Out! Poop It Out! WAAAAAAY OUT!' , I refrain, as co-workers would look at me even more strangely.

So I am left uttering merely vague phrases, such as 'C'mon Ally, you can do it!' and 'C'mon! You're a big girl!'

But it is to no avail today--she just screams back at me, 'NO I CAN'T!' and 'NO I'M NOT!'

Last Friday went much better--I spent a good 30 minutes cajoling, coaching, and cheerleading, and in the end it exited her end.

She will either have a diaper on soon (as an eruption is very imminent), or she will succeed.

It looks like we will all have to wait and see!

Luck of the Irish ahead!

Today was a rather cloudy, gloomy day--until about 7:20 PM, when it began clearing out and resulted in this:



We were looking at it through our back window, but our good neighbors across the street also saw it and took all these photos.

I put two of them together to give you an even better perspective.



My side of the family is supposedly from Ireland, so maybe this will lead to good luck--at the very least we will devour our usual corned beef and cabbage stew with even greater gusto on the upcoming St. Patrick's Day!

Counterfeit Genius

As a follow-up to Cindy's previous post, tonight I showed Erin how to do a load of laundry.

When they were done, I had her pull out the jeans and sweatjacket she wanted to wear tomorrow. When I turned around, I noticed that she had hung her jeans over the laundry room door--right over the top of a pair of already dried pants. And since our bedroom door was the closest, she had draped her sweatjacket over it.

Seeing another teaching moment, I told Erin to take them down and drape them over the chairs in the dining room and then place the chairs near the heat vents.

She rolled her eyes, so I took the opportunity to take the jeans and her jacket, walk over to the stairs, and drop them down to the first floor.

She didn't like that so much, but I had other things to do, so I walked back into the bedroom.

Awhile later I could hear Erin out in the hallway--it sounded like she was writing something.

When Cindy got back from Choco-Chicks (I hear it was quite the feast! And why isn't there a Wings Kings or a Hot-Subby Hubby or Crunch Chumps group?), I went down to greet her, and I found a number of notes lying around on the floor around Erin's wet clothes.

There was the usual, 'Please come to my room when you get home' note, but my favorite was the following:

"Cindy,
Please hang these clothes up for Erin.
Preferably on chairs in the kitchen.
They need to dry.
Thanks,
Lou"

Erin finally did come down and hang them up--it was another way to stay up later!

Ownership

Last night Erin came home from basketball practice at 9:15 or so. Having had a long day and needing my quiet time I directed her to bed. Nearly 30 minutes later she still was not in bed and wanting to sit downstairs for a while. This was our conversation:

Me: "No Erin. I really want you to go to bed. It is almost 10:00 and you will be tired in the morning. You will also be mad because you have not done your laundry and won't have anything to wear."

Erin: "That is your job."

Me: "I am not going to do your laundry if you don't take care of your clothes."

Erin: "Ummmm......who bought the clothes?"

Me: "I did."

Erin: (While pointing to her head [where her brain should be]) "U Huh! Thas Right! It's all up here."

As she walked away I chuckled imagining her going to school in the morning wearing only the clothes that belonged to her, because she bought them herself. She would undoubtedly be very cold!

Meatball Sandwiches

Thanks go to my friend Jill for inspiring me to make these sandwiches for dinner. They were so good. I used my own recipe for bread and I found a Subway Marinara sauce online in a google search. We mixed it with some spaghetti sauce added some cheese and it was so good.

Cameron's eyes lit up when I told him what we were having for dinner because he LOVES and always asks for Meatball sandwiches from Subway. He was not disappointed.

Derbster

Cameron participated in the Pinewood Derby on Wednesday, and came out somewhere in the upper middle of the entrants.

(His design was created by his creative (go figure!) cousin, but the manufacturing was left in my less than capable hands.)



And no, that is not a guardian angel on Cam's left shoulder--it is merely the kid in the papoose.

Another reason why getting a dog would be superfluous.....

She was LICKING(!!) the bread dough residue in the mixing bowl.....



Messily shoving a cupcake into her mouth (after first biting all the frosting off)....



Notice the LICK MARKS in the applesauce.....

'Nuf said!

Husbands, some things are best left unsaid....

The bed was covered with unfolded, freshly laundered clothes.

Being ever the helpful hubby, I began folding some of the articles.

Seeing a pair of blue jeans, I grabbed them and at the same time casually soliloquied, 'Hmm, I wonder whose these are?' **see Cindy's version below**

I looked at the brand mark that is above the right butt-cheek, and continued, 'Ahh, these are mine.'

Cindy just about went through the roof. She grabbed them out of my hands, opened them up, showed me the big butt, and said, 'Did you somehow think they were MINE!!!?!!!!?!!!!!!!!!!?' She continued to chit-chat, bantering on in a non-linear fashion about a number of subjects--something about clothes-blind husbands, how good heaven is, that I was less than forthright (I believe that 'unbelievable' was the term she used), that it was fortuitous that there was an extra empty bed in the girls' room, etc., etc.

My protests that I had made that comment just as I had just grabbed them--i.e., when they were still just a clump of sizeless blue denim--fell on deaf ears.

Now I know why Hamlet was pondering suicide when he chose to soliloquy!

**NOTE**
Not quite how it happened. Having a load of clothes on the bed ready to fold, Louis began helping. As he picked up a pair of jeans and shook them out he said, "Are these yours or mine?"
EXCUSE ME! Is that a question you need to ask? Because if it is, then the diet I am on is completely inadequate. I would like to see him wearing a pair of my jeans.

Hmmmm?????


Sorry...I got lost in the thought of it. Let me wipe the tears from my eyes.

I think he will THINK the next time he helps me fold the laundry. No. He will not be getting out of it because of this. In fact...maybe he should be the chief laundy folder for a while....at least until it is obvious...without question as to who the clothes belong to.

Chug-a-Lug

Today was a tiring/vexing day at the Floyd house. All the kids appeared to be eagerly jostling each other for first place in the Oscar category 'Let's get Mom and Dad really mad!'

The Oscar for 'Best Male Mouthiness" goes to Cameron.

The Oscar for 'Best Female in a White Whine Sauce (or saucy whine?)' goes to Makenna.

The Oscar for 'Best Re-Creation of 'Unkempt Room with a View'' goes to Erin.

And the Oscar for 'Best Parroting of a Siblings' Script' goes to Allyson!

I'm sure that Mom and Dad would have also won awards in various categories, but they were never nominated by their peers.

Otherwise we might've made a clean sweep in the following categories:
"Best Cinemetography of a Tantrum"
"Best Imitation of the Incredible Hulk"
"Best Remake of 'Stalag 17'"

To illustrate the above, at 3:15 this afternoon Cindy strode into the kitchen, grabbed an unopened 1-lb bag of Christmas M&Ms, ripped off a corner, put said corner in her mouth while raising the bag above her head, and let gravity do the rest.

To show my empathy, I held out my hand and received a generous handful.

(As Cindy later explained, she was just 'putting into practice' what she learned today in RS about the wonderful properties of chocolate.)

(To 'Lilola's' daughter: Are you still sure you want us to live next door? It might make you appreciate your family even more, but the soundproofing that would be required would probably be cost-prohibitive....We are currently blessed with empty lots on either side.)

Time Marches On

Well, it looks like Ally is weaning herself from being a Daddy's girl.

Yep, I will soon just be "Ol' Whojiwhatsit" to our last child as well.

She now prefers to have Cindy put on her shoes, change her diapers, put her to bed, give her snuggles, and all that jazz.

But being the new center of attention is all roses for Cindy.

She called me at work today at 2:50 to ask when I would be coming home.

When I said, 'Soon' she sounded relieved, saying, 'I'm getting worn out entertaining Ally!'

Prayer Circus

A couple nights ago Cindy made a slam-bang dinner (not to be confused with 'bangers and mash' dinners), and as we sat down at the table the kids were rather animated (bat crazy), so I asked Cindy if she would say the prayer (I had said it the past couple meals).

She gave me a wry sideways glance, sighed, and then said something like, 'Thank you dear--for letting me cook the meal and say the prayer...too.'

It was the '...too' that did it--I couldn't stop chortling throughout her prayer and the kids also followed my example. (Of course, it didn't help things that Cindy took special pleasure in blessing the hands that were 'worked to the bone to prepare such a delicious feast' and other similar language.)

Whew! I just remembered what had been on the menu! Chicken bundles, pretzel/cream cheese/jello salad, and rolls! (It's hard to remember when she makes so many wonderful, delicious dinners!)

No dog house for me tonight!?

A New Church Program?

Yesterday (Monday) it was approaching dinnertime, but there was no activity in the kitchen. Cindy had been working around the house all day, and the kids had been coerced/bribed/threatened into helping to at least some extent.
I jokingly said, ‘Even though it is Family Home Evening night, maybe just you and I should go out for dinner!’
Cindy instead suggested that we all go to CiCi’s for dinner, because kids eat free on Mondays. (She knows that the word ‘free’ unlocks even my miserly heart.)
When we told the kids, they were ecstatic to the point of bouncing off walls, off each other, off furniture, all the while yipping with glee.
Sadly, such antics quickly deteriorated into miasmic chaos, and we ended up calling the whole outing off.
Out came the leftovers, and a quite delicious (and nutritious), cheap, and eclectic meal was enjoyed by all--or at least by those not pouting mightily with ‘What did I do?’ written all over their faces. (These just happened to also be the primary contributors to the above-mentioned chaos.)
Anyway, after we had eaten, Cindy looked at me and said, ‘Maybe just the two of us should’ve gone out for dinner.’
I replied, ‘Yeah. We could have called it ‘Leaving the Family Home’ Evening.
I didn’t think my phrasing was transcendently comedic, but Cindy couldn’t stop laughing for 2 full minutes. (I guess a full day alone with surly kids can do that to you!)

Even I admit that the more I think about this idea the greater its appeal becomes.

Whoa, Beuntoyou!

What else is lunchtime for?

Ally has been watching too many princess movies, and sometimes she even rides side-saddle.

She's usually easy on the quirt and spurs too.

Imperial Vulcan Stormtrooper?

Or the Man from the White Lagoon?
Or The Man Without a Face?
The White Elephant Man?
Robert Frost?
Skeletor?


Tonight I began sanding some drywall seams. Cindy came down to see how I was doing, and immediately scampered back upstairs to grab the camera.



Those paper facemasks didn't work quite as well as I thought they would either....

Ahh, the joy!

I can't wait to blow my nose!

If only I had black tissues!

Domestic Feverish Goddess

As I mentioned below, Erin was home with a fever today. She spent her time watching Season 1 of Malcolm in the Middle, and when I got home she showed me the other thing she had done in the afternoon after she started feeling better--she made a batch of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies!


And then there was the kicker--she had even hand-washed the mixing bowl, the cookie sheet, and other related cooking implements!

And they tasted good (even though she couldn't find the teaspoons and just guesstimated the salt!), the house hadn't burned down, and her mom's KitchenAid mixer wasn't broken!

I was very impressed! (I now need to teach her how to make cheesecake!)

Atta' girl Erin!

UPDATE: Further investigation showed (i.e., Cindy told me) that Erin only used the KitchenAid bowl, not the actual mixer, and that she dumped all the ingredients in and then began stirring. That would explain the consistency, but with at least 20 chocolate chips in every square inch, this minor defect was overlooked.

Direct Orders

The kids were in bed by 9:30 last night, so at about 10 PM I figured that they would all be asleep, so I walked down the hall and turned off the bathroom light (this serves as a very expensive night light).

I immediately heard a deep gravelly voice that quietly--yet with great emphasis on every word--growled, ‘TURN THE LIGHT BACK ON NOW!!!’

I sighed as I turned it back on.

Looking in at the complainant, I saw that she was lying on her side, eyes blissfully shut, sucking her index and middle fingers on her right hand as her left hand methodically caressed her silky blanket.

A More Perfect Union

Erin was sick yesterday, and she still had a fever when she woke up today, so she was able to miss church and school. (I wonder which one she savored the most?)

Anyhoo, as Erin, Ally and I watched as the other kids got on the bus and it began pulling away, I noticed a couple girls in the back rows looking around as if to find Erin (she sits on the very back row).

“Hey, Erin,” I said teasingly, “I think there are some girls wondering where you are!”

“Yes,” she replied simply, “I complete them.”

She continued, “Yes, it’s true. Without me, they are not complete.” She then walked serenely back to her couch of affliction.

I guess it's been awhile since I've had a good steak....?

Please, Play Outside Even More!

In Japan they have a celebration in early February where you open the door to your house, throw out some beans, and call out, ‘Demons out, Fortune in!’ repeatedly.

Naturally, we don’t celebrate this in the US--at least not directly.

However, the other day most of the kids were outside playing, and I was overcome with tingly feeling as I counted my blessings.

Yes, truly, the demons were out, and that meant that fortune* was in!

*Fortune, as every parent knows, is often just the utter bliss of (momentary) peace and quiet.

Pre-Teen Male Logic?

When Cameron, Ally, and I arrived at church on Sunday, it was pretty cold outside. Cambone got out first and trotted the 40 feet to the door as I was getting Ally out of her carseat. We arrived at the door about 1 minute later, where I found Cameron waiting for us--he was still outside.

'So, Cameron,' I said, 'Why aren't you inside already?'

He replied, 'The doorknob is cold.'

True, it is a metal knob, and it was a cold day. Then again, he spent a minute out in the freezing cold just to avoid getting his hand cold for a second or two.

In a feat of courage to save my son from freezing to death that could only be termed 'heroic,' I opened the door for him.

He sped inside with a quick 'Thanks.'

Ally and I just looked at each other and sighed.

A Sure Sign of Old Age

As some of you know, I grew up in a less than affluent household where the bill of fare every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning was cracked wheat mush. Sometimes the menu would vary, and we were treated to sticky oatmeal (made from regular oats), or, if we were really, really lucky, we got to have some cream of wheat (the generic bulk kind, not the brand name). We blessed our lucky stars that we were able to sprinkle sugar on it before pouring the reconstituted powdered milk on top.

If there were any leftovers, never fear. It would soon be added to a meatloaf (very light on the meat, heavy on leftover mush and oats) or wherever else Mom figured it could work its ‘whole wheat goodness’ magic. I think she even put it in lasagna once? It's hard to know--she was very tricksy!

Then I went on a mission, and one of the rules was that we had to eat cracked wheat EVERY morning. As the Japanese didn’t eat this but their livestock did, the mission office had kindly provided the contact information to an animal feed supplier who sold this wonderful fodder. Being missionaries, we found innovative ways to obey the rules. It could be mixed with flour to make pancakes, and I even found that it didn’t taste too bad mixed with curry stew! And when the sack became infested with cocooning weevils? Never fear! A collander could quickly separate the wheat from the living ‘chaff.’
Since that time--over half a lifetime ago--I have never been able to even be in the vicinity of wheat mush without gagging. Ditto for oatmeal and other sundry hot cereals.

However, for the past 2 weeks--and for no particular reason--I have been eating oatmeal (admittedly Maple and Brown Sugar flavor) most every morning--and LIKING IT!

And some mornings I have even had idle thoughts about eating cream of wheat with a big dab of butter and some brown sugar!

Somebody please save me from myself!

INTERLUDE

Writing the above brought back a flood of cherished[?] childhood memories, and also reminded me of the delightful essay my sister Denna wrote on this subject. Enjoy!


Wheat for Man
by Denna L. Coburn
"And all these things shall give thee experience and be for thy good." Is this what it meant? I wondered miserably as another drop of milk dripped from my hair and splashed into the small pond that had already formed in my ear.
Somehow I could not believe that this is what I had prepared and waited for, for eons of time. Oh certainly I had expected skinned knees, bruises and bumps, even disappointment, but this was humiliation in its cruelest form. My mother, now blurred by my tears, was standing staring at me angrily, the empty mush bowl still in her hand. I could bear her piercing glare no longer. I lowered my head, causing another clump of cold sticky mush to splat on my tray.
Thus I learned early on that it had not been my misfortune to have been born to a mother who believed in sugary, empty calorie "Froot Loops" nor "Frosted Flakes," not even "Lucky Charms" which are magically delicious. Rather, my mother believed firmly in "Wheat for Man." She believed in it on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings in a most delectible form. Not that it was easy for her, certainly it was an involved gourmet dish.
To be so dedicated to one's beloved offsspring required an early start, for it had to simmer several hours in order to form the delicate leathery crust, then allowed to cool so the climate would be conducive for the formation of delightful lumps. This was then complemented with "mixed milk" (powdered milk mixed rather thinly so as not to have too strong of an imitation flavor), and, against her better judgment, sugar.
As I grew, my ability to eat wheat mush ironically diminished. Certainly with maturity my appreciation should have increased, but rather my cleverness began to develop. By age five I had learned that "You have to eat enough that I can see the bottom of the bowl" could be satisfied by employing the natural elements of mush. If not too much milk was added, the mush would fiercely stick to the sides of the bowl, thus allowing the bottom to be visible. This tactic worked for awhile, but soon mother tired of it and insisted that I eat it. However, she was not totally heartless in her demand. She would allow me as much time as I required to eat it. She would say, "I don't care if it takes you all day!!! You're not leaving until you eat it!" If mother was in a particularly sensitive mood, I could leave the table without eating it, and her melodious voice would follow me out the door, "It'll be waiting for you at lunch, and if you don't eat it for lunch, you can have it for dinner! I was determined that there had to be another way.
I experimented next with a more dramatic approach. It involved actually putting some mush in my mouth and attempting to swallow it. Invariably it would cause waves of nausea and gagging. The noise would command my mother's attention, and as she turned to look at me I would meet her gaze with pitiful misty eyes. Without a moment's hesitation she would point her finger at me and growl through clenched teeth, "Don't you throw that up! I'll give you some more if you do!"
Finally, I discovered a way to dispose of mush that mother never did get wise to until I confessed years later. Breakfast was almost always served at the kitchen bar, located conveniently close to our scrap paper collection. As usual, I would wait for everyone else to finish and leave, then while Mother had her back turned or left the kitchen on a timely errand, I would hastily put the mush in a piece of paper, roll it up, and then slide it into my sock. Later, I would guiltlessly dispose of it.
The years have gone by, and contrary to my Mother's predictions, I have grown into a healthy adult. As a parent there are certain things that I have solemnly sworn I would never do: fixing wheat mush tops the list. Only once have I broken that vow, at which time I was pregnant, and therefore not responsible for my act.
© 1988, Denna Lynn Floyd Coburn

Teenage Female Logic?

A conversation between Erin and Cindy this AM:

‘Mom, my body isn’t healthy.’

‘Oh? And why do you think that, Erin?’

‘Because I don’t wake up refreshed in the morning.’

Hmm, I remember telling her to go to bed at 9:15, then again at 10:15--I almost had to pry the DS out of her hands--and then I went to bed. and so who knows at what time she actually fell asleep!

Being so “grown up,” she wants to stay up until at least 10 o’clock “like all of her friends do,” but I have noticed that if she does turn out the lights soon after 9 PM that she is sawing logs soon thereafter, and she doesn’t seem to wake up any earlier the next morning.

So, she wants to stay up later and also wants to feel ‘refreshed’ and ‘healthy’ when she wakes up in time for school the next morning.

It sounds like diametrically opposed goals.

Maybe her mind is the part of her that’s not quite so healthy!?

Mr Thrifty

Normally you would guess this is a post about Louis. Not so today.

Last night Cameron had a friend spending the night. When I was awakened at 1:30 AM I decided to tell the boys it was time for bed. They were in the kitchen and Cameron's friend was asking Cameron why he couldn't have any orange juice. Cameron didn't reply and being a little groggy, I didn't really care. I just wanted to go back to bed. As I waited for the boys to climb in their sleeping bags so I could turn out their light I listened while standing outside the door.

Friend: Cameron, Why wouldn't you let me have any orange juice?"

Cameron: Because it is expensive. Each carton is like $3.00.

Okay my lips curled up at the sides when I realized Cameron was just repeating what he has been told. We always have orange juice at our house but it is only for breakfast. It is expensive and the kids would drink it constantly. I just had to laugh though.

The saying is true...."The apple (or orange) doesn't fall far from the tree!"

Music to A Father’s Ear

We have had the first significant snowfall of the winter today--we may even end up with more that 3 inches!
Woohoo!!
School let out 2 hours early, and according to Cindy, as soon as they came in the house Cameron sang out, ‘How much will you pay me to shovel the snow?’ (He is earning money to buy a DS--though he is now dreaming of getting a Wii. And yes, that is pure unadulterated dreaming!)
She called back later to tell me that he had done a slam-bang job of it too!
Woohoo!
I guess the snow-blower will have to wait for a deeper snowfall!
So instead of shoveling snow when I get home, I get to go down in the basement and measure and cut sheetrock!
Woohoo....?

The same thing happens every night.....

Erin, who is old beyond her tender age of 12 (at least in her own mind) likes to find any excuse to stay up later than 9 PM.

Whether it is the call of nature (such calls include a book, and thus they usually last longer than a major ice age--and modesty forbids mentioning where she learned this), reading in bed, or just fooling around, she is often not in bed until well after 10 PM. Which suits her jest fine!

Last night was no different.

She goofed around with Cameron until we were able to finally extricate him and shoo him to bed, then she read in her room. At 10:07 as I was just getting ready for bed, Erin knocked on the bedroom door.

“Erin!” I gently hissed, “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I need to ask you a question.” she replied.

After a deep sigh (I seem to be doing this more and more often!), I gave in. “OK, what is it?”

“Okay, Dad. So....when do you get your tonsils out?”

As I was pondering the deep significance of this obviously pressing question, she continued, “I want to have mine out.”

Being the ever-gentle father, I benevolently replied, “Yeah. Right. Uhuh. Well, to answer your question, probably NEVER! I’ve never had mine removed! NOW GET TO BED! NOW! NOW! NOW!”

(Cindy later explained to me that Erin had watched a Brady Bunch episode where Cindy and Mrs. Brady had both had their tonsils removed. And one of her cousins has also had hers removed. I deduced from this info that Erin was really just interested in getting lots of ice cream to eat, and this was as good a way as any to get it!)

Anyway, someone woke me up at 10:45 PM as they noisily bustled into the bedroom on the way to our bathroom, where they fiddled about in front of the mirror for 5 minutes. It was only when I saw the hulking silhouette as they came out that I realized it was Erin.

Her machinations had again achieved spectacular results!

Belated Christmas

Enjoy the slide show of our Christmas.
We had a great time sharing the day with our good friends.
The kids were happy and Santa seemed to spoil them.
I guess that is what he is supposed to do.
We hope your Christmas was just as goood as ours.

It's the snot that counts!

Tonight Erin was playing around with Ally at bedtime, and as it was time to sing Ally her bedtime song* and get her into bed, Erin picked her up and said,'Give Eeno a hug!'
Ally got a huge grin on her face, extended her arms in a hug-like manner, then deftly lowered her head and wiped her nose in an 8-inch swath on Erin's shoulder (fortunately Erin had a sweat jacket on!)
Erin yelped, 'Ally, did you wipe your nose on me?!!'
Ally grinned even more hugely!
'C'mon, give me a real hug!'
Ally reached out, extended her arms in a hug-like manner, and then tried to do it again, giggling with glee. Erin was prepared this time, and--giggling right along with Ally--lifted her up high enough to prevent her snotty behavior.
This was repeated a number of times.

Hugs from Ally, anyone?


*Ally's Bedtime Song
'Go to sleepy little baby,
Go to sleepy little baby,
And when you wake,
I'll spank your butt-cakes,
And ride a shiny little po-o-ny'

It was like 12 Dancing Princesses--on Steroids!

There was a dinner/dance at the church on New Years Eve for the entire family, and I made the mistake of trying to explain this beforehand to Ally.
I should’ve known that after all the Barbie movies she had seen that she would get kinda excited when she heard about a ‘dance.’ So every day that week she kept asking me with great expectations, 'Go to the church today?' and she would get a dejected look (or get mad) when I told her it was still a couple days off.

Of course, even I was looking forward to it. I envisioned Ally and I dancing a couple dances, with me holding her and doing the fancy footwork as we danced cheek-to-cheek. I also envisioned dancing many times with Erin, Kenner, and Cindy.

However, once the music started, Ally urged/pushed/shoved me out onto the dance floor and made it quite clear that she wasn’t going to be held--she was going to keep her feet on the floor and dance, dance dance! She took me by the hand and began doing what might be best described as the 'Tornado Dance.'

This is a dance where one partner (Ally in this case) holds onto one hand of the other partner (me) runs and runs and runs and runs around them in circles. I would keep up for a couple turns before getting dizzy, but after that I would stay in place and just skillfully pass her hand from one hand to the other as she continued revolving around me.

When Kenner tried to cut in, Ally made it very clear that she wasn't at all pleased. As Cindy carried Ally away kicking and screaming, I was then able to dance a couple with Kenner, but after that Ally again charged out and took over.

By 11 PM Ally seemed to be getting tired, so I carried her out into the hallway, hoping she would go to sleep. But the moment I walked back into the gym she perked up, said, ‘Dance, daddy, DANCE!’ and we ended up doing the tornado dance many more times.

At midnight she was still going strong!

So for the night: 10+ dances with Ally, 2~3 dances with Kenner (she showed a lot of potential!), 1 dance with Erin (though I tried to get her out to dance more!), and 1 dance together with Erin and Cindy.

From Makenna's point of view

Yesterday while Makenna and I were out shopping she told me about a time that Erin was asking Cameron to do something and he said, 'Just a sec." To which Erin replied, "There are no secs!" Thinking it was so funny because she had just said, "sex" while really talking about secs the kids all burst out laughing.
Soooo...I thought to myself why not find out what Makenna knows about sex.

Me ---"Makenna....what is sex?", I asked her.
Makenna---"You know. Like you and dad love each other."
Me----"Yes......"
Makenna-----"And you think he is Hot. You know like sexy." Giggle. Giggle. Giggle.

Ahhh...lets just hope her definition is the only one she knows for a long time!!

A girl who knows what she wants!

As I was getting Ally changed for a nap she said, "I want Daddy to put me in!" Realizing Daddy is not always available to do this I quickly obliged her and said, "Okay. Let me get Daddy."
She jumped off the bed and with added enthusiasm exclaimed
"He is my HANDSOME Daddy!!!"

You're Never Too Old for An Object Lesson

I really don't like cell phones much. They are more of a pain than an aid, but there are just enough times when they are handy enough to justify their miserable existence (as long as it doesn't cost me more than $9/month).

As such, even if I am carrying it, I rarely have it turned on. I figure that if I need it I can turn it on then.

For some reason, this drives Cindy bonkers.

I can always tell when she has tried calling me while I have been out.

The tell-tale signs are subtle, yet discernable to the seasoned expert.

One indicator is the wild look in her eyes.

A second is when--in a deceptively calm manner--she queries, 'So dear, sweetie, honey, is your cell phone perchance turned on?'

Being an expert in subliminal messaging, I have learned it is not wise to chuckle heartily and retort, 'Why? It runs down the batteries! And then I couldn't use it at all!'

So this evening I took Erin and Cambone to the Y, and as a wallet, cell phone, and keys tended to turn my sweat pants into low riders, I put them in a locker. I would like to say that I remembered to turn the cell phone off before locking it up, but that would be a lie, because I never turned it on in the first place.

We were there for a good 2 hours, which was a bit longer than I had expected. I shot hoops and exercised with Erin, and Cambone played with some friends we saw and I had forced him to say 'Hi' to.

But I digress....

We got home at 7:03, and as we walked in the door I saw a wild look in Cindy's eyes. But even before I could fully interpret the nuances of this look, a deceptively calm look came over her face, and she made the statement, 'So, you didn't have your cell phone on, did you.'

I tried to explain that the cell phone had been locked up in order to prevent an unsightly and unseemly display, and thus that I hadn't had it on my person anyway.' I produced the phone to show her that I had carried it safely home.

'Hmmm,' she said to herself, taking the phone from my hand. 'This is obviously useless.' 'Oh,' she then said brightly, 'I know what to do with things that are useless!' She then proceeded to walk into the kitchen, then she tossed it into the garbage can, a rather pleased look on her face.

Thus endeth the object lesson.

I sure hope it'll stick! (Otherwise, it may be found sticking out of my back!)

PS: Cameron fished it out.....

A Hulk Hogan of a father!?

Ally, for most of her adorable life has been a Daddy's girl. Even though I try to placate Cindy by reminding her that this also means that I am Ally's first draft whenever she has a poopy diaper, when she is being put to bed, and when she is being lifted out of the crib in the morning, there is still a bit of good-natured resentment.

You know, such as, "I carried her for 9 months and had to have her surgically removed, and yet she screams for Daddy when I try to get her out of bed after her nap time!'
Or 'I suffered from morning sickness for 3 months so I could be kicked at when I try to unbuckle her from her carseat when her daddy is nearby!?'

I was home all last week, and she was my little shadow. If she wanted to snuggle, I was there. If she wanted to get a ham sandwich for breakfast, I was there. If she wanted to play in the backyard, I was there.

Personally, I figure that dear ol' Daddy will be forgotten once she gets old enough to find out what a tight-wad I am.

So anyway, tonight I was laying her down to change her diaper before bedtime, and her head hit kinda hard on the carpeted floor. She started crying and told me to 'Go away Daddy!'

Since Cindy was in the room, I said, 'I'm sorry Ally. Do you want Mommy to change your diaper?'

Through her tears she managed to splurt out, 'No! Daddy do it!'

This led Cindy to comment, 'You could probably body-slam her and she would still prefer you!'

Nope, no Little Orphan Annie Decoder Ring yet.....

Allyson, aged a tender 2 2/3 years old, was lying on the bed as Cindy was getting her dressed, and when Kenner walked into the room, Ally called out to her,

'Whaddya want for Christmas?'
With only a slight pause--not allowing Kenner enough time to rattle off, 'I want an official Red Ryder carbine action two-hundred shot range model air rifle'--she then followed up with a twangy 'You'll shoot yer eye out kid!'

Cindy then asked her, 'Who are you? Santa Claus?'

Ally replied, 'HOhhhhhhh-HOhhhhhhhh-HOhhhhhh!!!!'

Maybe Ally watched 'A Christmas Story' a few too many times in the past couple weeks. (Fortunately we now have a Clearplay DVD player, so we can edit out the less-than-good language when watching it. She watched it unedited, but I'm pleased to say that she didn't pick up any of the salty language! Or am I being naive?)





I guess Cindy should feel lucky--Ally didn't have a boot on, and she didn't try implanting it in Cindy's forehead to push her down a Santa slide.

The youth of today.....

It was Christmas morn.

After the glee of looking at the presents under the tree wore off somewhat, Kenner thought to look over towards the kitchen counter and ask, 'Did Santa eat what I left him?'

Santa had obviously drained the egg nog, milk, and cookies, so I answered, 'Yep, he sure did!'

Erin was by me at the time, and being a Santa cynic, looked towards me with a grin, and made the following wry comment:

'We should do a DNA swab on the cup!'

It's a wonder she got any presents at all!

Faith-promoting experience

The phone rings.

It is one of Erin's friends.

Erin is downstairs.

I stand at the top of the stairs and call out to her.

She comes to the foot of the stairs (directly below me), looks up, raises her hands, and says, 'Drop it to me!'

Something in my countenance causes her to wheedlingly tack on, 'C'mon, Dad! I won't drop it!'

Taking a leap of faith, I drop it the 10 feet or so to her.

She caught it.

[You can't even begin to imagine how much I wanted to add the word, 'Amazingly,' to the head of the previous sentence!]

For the hundreth time....!!!

Erin maide it to the finals at the skool spellling bee, and ended up takeing sekent plaice.

Pa and I are jest tickled pinke! She's always been a grate speller--she aint never had to study words for her spellin tests--but maybe neks year (if she axually studeed) she could take first if she lernt how to spell 'hundredth.'

Mother of the Year Award

Between housecleaning, new member lessons with the missionaries and visiting teachers, and baking all the gingerbread for 5 gingerbread houses, something had to go....

Too bad it was the child!

I can't say how many movies Allyson watched, or what she ate, but it was about 3 PM when I found her in this position in front of the TV.

Erin's B-Day

On Friday Erin finally turned 12 (though she has been acting like a teenager for a good year or so already). Instead of a bunch of toys, she got more teeny-bopper gifts--lotions, balms, basic makeup, and a leg-shaving kit--and she was ecstatic!
After opening a Mary Kay mascara thingy, she even spontaneously broke out into a hymn of praise to express her deep-felt joy--



I would hazard to guess that few blog readers would have imagined that Erin would be so uninhibited....???

WWJD?

Erin, Allyson and I were driving home on Saturday from her first basketball game, and Ally got the great idea of trying to squirm and get her arms out of the buckles.

Erin noticed this and told her to get her arms back in.

Allyson blithely ignored this advice.

Erin then tried a different tack. (Which is a nautical term, right Amy R!?)

'Ally,' she sweetly cooed, 'Do you want to be like Jesus?'

Allyson (thankfully!!) replied, 'Yes!'

"Well,' Erin continued, 'Jesus would put his arms in the buckles.'

Ally finally acquiesced to this flawless--though not theologically sound--logic, put her arms back in for the rest of the trip.