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.