Hearing voices...

Once upon a time there was an exceptionally stupid mother (me). She took the advice of a neighbor, who happened to write video games for a living, about purchasing a game for a teenage boy. She bought the recommended game for Thing Two's birthday, and a monster was born.

Ever heard of Halo?

No? There must not be any adolescent boys in your household. Or adult males who behave like adolescent boys....

Anyway.

Thing Two plays Halo nearly every waking hour. He does bathe and eat occassionally, but mostly he plays Halo. I don't really understand much about the game. Or why someone would play for 16 hours at a stretch. I think it has something to do with shooting at everything in your line of sight. And blowing stuff up.

I tell the boy to stop. "Please, there are better things you can do with your life!" and "This is really not preparing you for life in the real world, by the way." He listens not. He sits there having very animated conversations with people half a world away.

Yesterday I wrote down everything he said to the imaginary people he plays this game with. Using his actual words, let's apply what he's yelling into the headset to a real life situation:


Boss at work: "Have you cleaned Theatre One yet?"
Thing Two: "I think that's as destroyed as it gets. I'm gonna 'nade it, watch out."


Mother: "You need to get your laundry done and clean your room."
Thing Two: "I don't think having the warthog is an advantage anymore."

Bishop: "How are things going for you, son?"
Thing Two: "I think I'm retarded.
Bishop: "Is there anything I can do to help you with your goals?"
Thing Two: "OH NO! NO! OH...awwww. I'm dead."

Person on the street: "Can you give me directions to the mall?"
Thing Two: "There's two jackals you won't have to deal with if you go this way."

Poor girl on a date with gormless son: "What do you think of my best friend?"
Thing Two: "BANSHEE!"

Friend at a party: "Help me out, dude, where did our dates disappear to?"
Thing Two: "Dude, they're on your six. Dude, your six! DUDE!!!! YOUR SIX!!!!"




Yeah.

Well, that's pretty much the dialogue you would hear if you spent any time at our place. I'm hoping that someday he will grow out of this. If not, I will just have to get used to it. It's just a wee bit discouraging to have my first conversation of the day start out:

"Hey, I'll just kill you and you can spawn over there."
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How do I love thee

I love these bums. For some strange reason.

Even though they are completely insane.

This is the whole gang, enjoying pizza last year at a demolition derby. Nothing brings a family together like wanton wholesale destruction.

Here's my little Eclaire. She is scrumptious and adorable. And always good for a laugh.

Hubby and Luke Sywalker -- these two are peas in a pod. Both sweet and sincere, and each would give you the shirt off his back should the need arise. I don't think they realize how alike they are and how much I love them both.

The Screamapillar. With her infectious grin. She thinks everything is awesome. Everything. And she makes you think it is awesome too.

Thing Two. He's making my life pretty miserable right now, with all the "I'm a grown up and you are an idiot" stuff going on (hence the lack of joy and funny blog posts lately). But I love him. Even if the thinks I don't. Please? Hurry up and get past this miserable stage so I can have my sweet boy back? 'Cause you're really a lot of fun when you are not being a total turd. Thank you.

Thing One. It all began with her. She is sweetness and light. When she is not sourness and darkness (it all hinges on how much sleep she has gotten lately - mostly sweetness and light). You grew up WAY too fast. Seriously.

Yep. Forever family. Whether they like it or not.

Mostly they like it. Life is sweet.

Happy Valentines Day. Go hug the ones you love.

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Patience...

If you've ever been pregnant you know.

(Especially if you've done this multiple times)

The months drag on and on.

Each milestone passes.

First trimester = lots of throwing up, accompanied by incredible fatigue.

Second trimester = nothing fits anymore and the true discomfort begins.

 Sometimes the morning sickenss goes away. And the strech marks begin.

Third trimester.

BIG AS A HOUSE

I'M JUST A WHALE

CAN I GET ANY FATTER?

WHEN WILL THE BABY FINALLY GET HERE?

You're praying: Please, Lord, that maybe he will arrive a little early?

But only if he's healthy and ready to be born.

That last few weeks seems interminable.

AND IN THE END.... It seems like it all went by so fast.

Welcome Pedro.

the newest member of the family, held here by my nephew-in-law.

My little neice Dorita (not her real name of course, this is my insane blog and I can use whatever embarrassing nicknames that we use in real life if I want to) who was flower girl at my wedding four thousand years ago gave birth to this little miracle just this morning.

It's a beautiful day.

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Present for mom

My OLDER sister (people think I'm older for some insane reason, just making it clear here that she is OLDER than me. OLDER than dirt. Older. Got it? Good. Now don't forget it. I'm younger. SO much younger. I'll never be old.) anyway: my OLDER sister is putting together a present for our wonderful fantastic mother. And she asked me for some pitchers when she was here for Thanksgiving.

Many times.

Many many times.

She called and left messages after she went back home: "Please, when you get a sec, would you email me some pictures?"

and more messages.

and more...

She sent me an email: "Please send pictures!"

And another.

And another.

And she FaceBook message-ed me:
"PLEASE!!!! SEND PICTURES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
(I do not exaggerate. She used many exclamation points. Because I was ignoring her. 'Cause I'm ornery like that.)

Since I'm a photographer and my kids are SO completely over-photographed, you would think this would be an easy task. But because I'm a photographer and I SO completely over-photograph my kids this is a daunting undertaking.

There are literally 14 gabillion photos on my computer.

Daunting, indeed.

So last night after getting ANOTHER Facebook message, I had to stop playing Mall World and get to work.

Here's what I sent my sister (who asked for my best, mind you):

Luke Skywalker at his 6th grade gratuation.

Screamapillar eatin' a snowcone.

Thing Two Easter morning.

Thing One eatin' a s'more in the woodsen.

And I saved the best for last.

My dear, sweet, little Eclair.

Don't I have lovely adorable offspring? I'll bet everyone out there reading this envies me and my perfectly photogenic children.

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Daily List

Every day I make up a list of stuff I gotta do. I've been doing it since the dawn of time. I love to cross things off, even if they are stupid things like "drive to work" because then I feel like I might have actually accomplished something today.

I'd like to share with you the most recent items that really need to get done, but never quite get off the list:


Finish hanging Christmas lights. I LOVE having a billion lights up. During the 2002 Olympics we lit up the house and yard with a ton of red white and blue lights that we kept up thru the the end of February. With Screamapillar's help, there are currently 600 LED bulbs lighting up the front bushes. And man are they bright. I still have approximately 659 more strings of lights I would like to hang. There is a neighborhood lighting contest on the 16th. Thing Two begged his father to leave me in the dark (ha!) about this, but word got out. I just need to sort through all the lights, figure out which ones are busted beyond repair, then hang them before the temperatures drop below freezing again. Maybe this year I'll actually throw away the busted lights so I don't have to sort through them again next year...

Retake the family photo for the annual Christmas card. Eclair was having a meltdown during the original shoot, and looks like she had been crying. Because she was. Desperately needs a re-do. Everyone looks lame. And then I need to compose the Annual Epistle of Exaggeration and Outright Falsehoods. And then fail to mail it.

Remove the gelatinous pumpkins from the front porch. These are not Halloween ones, just the uncarved punkins from Thanksgiving that I keep meaning to remove to the garden so they may fulfill the measure of their creation and make more pumpkins for next year. One of them looks like a puddle now. Frankly, I've let this go so long that I am now afraid to move them.

Anybody wanna come over and help?

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Tis the season

December. The beginning of the madness. SO MUCH BUSY-NESS!!!!!

Shopping.


Decorating.


Cooking.


Crafts.


Recitals & performances & events.


Family gatherings.


and one other item......


Shopping: for some the madness began last week with Black Friday. Which I swore I would not participate in. You shouldn't swear. It's bad. And it doesn't help much. Especially when your oldest daughter talks you into participating in Black Friday. She was at the shops at 3am. I accidentally slept in until 10:30. And then she carted me hither and yon until 10:30 pm. I got some amazing deals, and so the shopping is almost done and I have lived to tell about it.

Decorating? Well, most of the stuff   never got put away  last year, so I guess I'm nearly done! Just getting the tree up and decorated, with an anti-cat program in place. Last year Gus was a cute little kitten and climbed the tree daily. He broke nearly EVERY glass ornament on the tree. This year he has lost the cuteness factor, and I have sworn (there I go again) to KILL him if he does it again. I have a little tiny pair of shackles with his name on them...

Cooking. Always looking for an excuse to make some good stuff. I won't mind cooking one bit. Bring on the butter.

Crafts! Crafts!!!!! I have 14 billion ideas I want to do!!!! Will they ever be completed? With my track record, probably not. But I will make a valiant effort. And I will blog them for you. I will show you how to make a little tiny cowboy hat ornament out of a styrofoam cup.....magical!

As for recitals, performances, and events:  Screamapillar is performing today at Temple Square in Salt Lake City with her choir. And she sings again Friday at the Christmas party at the church, and another choir performance twice on Saturday. I'm sure there are a dozen other performances that she hasn't told me about yet.

Thing One sings with Mapleton Chorale. They are performing at the Covey Center today and Thursday, and then only a half dozen other performances, one of which might not cost me $12 to attend. She also will be singing at Temple Square. Apparently, if you sing in a choir it is required by law that you sing at Temple Square at Christmas.

Thing Two is a slacker. His sax is gathering dust. He no longer has a band to call his own and there will be no Temple Square for him. So sad. Instead he will (as the only partially sane member of the family) boycott all band and choir performances in favor of playing Halo with people he has never met who haven't made his life unbearable like the miserable beings he is forced to live with.

Luke Skywalker is in a band. A very lame 7th grader band. Have you ever been to a 7th grad band concert? I dare you to label them anything but lame. If you are invited to one, make sure you have a backup plan with something you'd like to do better. Like having a root canal. It's all part of being in 7th grade. I assume that he has a Christmas concert at some point. He keeps telling me every morning "I'll ask my teacher," which is followed up after school by "I forgot." I wonder if we will ever know....

Eclair plays piano. Incessantly. You may drop by at anytime, because we are currently living in a perpetual state of "Christmas Recital." In fact, when Luke Skywalker was downstairs in his room practicing "Silent Night" on his clarinet, Ecliar started accompanying him from the living room. This ended in fisticuffs, as Luke Skywalker (new to clarinet after abandoning the violin) assumed he was being mocked.

Ah, harmony. Ain't is a beautiful thing?

Almost as great as Family Gatherings. It's especially fun in my family. Eveyone comes here to visit, and I'm expected to put my life on hold and follow my extended family's schedule (even if they don't). My sister invests loads of time creating the schedule. It is sent out a month in advance and I am warned that I had better be available for every event. So if the schedule says "Sledding" on Wednesday, I should not prepare my children for sledding. I should be ready instead for a movie, shopping, or perhaps some other activity that pops into my sister's head. Sledding will have happened the day before and I missed it because someone forgot to tell me that they modified the schedule.

She can't really be blamed for it, though. ADD runs rampant through my entire family. We are ALL very impuse driven. We have good intentions, thus the attempts at a schedule. We just have a real failure to follow through. Which makes for a lot of spur of the moment fun.


Now don't forget my "one other item."  The Annual Epistle of Exaggeration and Outright Falsehoods. I have to write it. When I do, I will share it with you. As you know me so well, I am sure you will be able to sort fact from fiction.

Stay tuned.
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Epic Family Stories Chapter 1: My ankle hurts.

My ankle hurts because I'm old. And because I have some serious arthritis going on.

But mostly because Luke Skywalker ran over it with the car.

It was many years ago, when he was a little tiny three year old. And it's an exciting tale. Every family has these epic tales that add spice to our lives. So I share it with you today.

I had just made a quick run over to the school for some reason, and I had to go somewhere else in just a second, so I left the van parked uphill on the wrong side of the road in front of our house. At the curb. In PARK. I promise. The kids were all in the backyard playing, supervised by the ever-responsible Thing One.

I ran into the house to grab something: the bag of aluminum cans hanging from the doorknob in the kitchen. And ran back out again. In the house for less than one minute. Didn't stop to use the restroom or feed the chickens or anything.

When I stepped out the door, I saw the van starting to roll down the street.

Luke Skywalker is standing up on the drivers seat.

Panic (just a wee bit, mind you).

What do I do? Continue running. Down the sidewalk. Chasing the van as it rolls backward downhill hugging the curb. I'm pretty sure I dropped the cans at some point. I played basketball in high school and college, and I don't think I EVER ran faster. Thing One comes into the front yard to find the missing Luke Skywalker, sees what's going on, and offers the useful contribution of screaming at the top of her lungs.

The neighbor across the street (not the one who spent the better part of a month painting the mortar between the bricks of her house with a craft brush and craft paint, the other one) who is out front pruning her roses, hears Karen screaming, sends her husband after me and calls 911 (I especially love how she didn't wait half a second to see how it would turn out -- she prepared for the worst). Her elderly husband tries valiantly to catch up with me and the van.

Me? I'm able to catch up with the van because I'm amazing. Then I try to open the driver's door. Which I actually succeed at while running sideways now. The transmission is in reverse. Thank you Luke Skywalker for changing the gears for Mommy. We had just had a new transmission put in, and I recall thinking "Crap. New tranny. Must save kid from certain death. To hell with the tranny."

Have you ever tried to change gears in an automatic transmission while it is rolling downhill and you are running sideways outside the vehicle?

I don't recommend it. I don't really think it can be done.

You'd probably just trip and fall. Like I did.

I hung on to the steering wheel, and proceeded to be dragged by the car down the street. Left hand gripping the steering wheel, both legs under the car. Right hand? Put that on the foot brake and stopped the car.

Yep. I'm amazing.

Except the car stopped on me, the tire having rolled up my foot onto my ankle.

Ow. Quite a lot of ow.

The two elderly neighbors caught up with me (another saw what was transpiring and joined Neighbor One in the chase) and then pushed the car off me. Luke Skywalker wasn't even slightly unnerved by the adventure.

The paramedics, a police car and a fire engine arrive. Did I mention we live one block from the fire station? Very convenient. Allows you to be humiliated in front of ALL your neighbors so much more quickly. They check me out, diagnose me with "lacerations and contusions," and a little bit of road rash. Since I can walk okay, they chose not to transport me. They do recommend that I see a doctor if the ankle gets any worse. And then they blessedly leave quickly.

Thank the burly neighbor men who pushed my van, and Neighbor One's quick-thinking wife. Start the car, drive it home and park it in the driveway. Reassure Thing One that she is not a failure at babysitting, Luke Skywalker is just an unstoppable holy terror. Calm the kids down, and start counting the bruises.

Fifteen minutes later, my INSANE PSYCHIC MOTHER calls. "Is everything okay? I was just feeling kind of worried about you." What's up with that? This is not the first time Insane Psychic Mother has done this. Gave her the run down, everyone is okay, no worries. "But what about the baby?" Oh, he's fine. Just fine.

"Not him, the new one?"

Holy Crap.

I forgot I was preggers.

Four months along, three high risk babies with history of miscarrage.

"I guess I could call the doctor and get checked out."

There's an understatement.

I spent two months in a giant black velcro walking boot. Eclair was born 5 months later, and I still wonder if maybe Pervasive Developmental Delay can be caused by extreme levels of stress and anxiety? We'll never know.

Alas, no good lessons were learned. Luke Skywalker? He learned that it's easy to put the car in reverse (new cars you have to push the brake pedal to change gears from "park" so this lesson no longer applies), and if you run over your mom with the mini-van FIRE TRUCKS AND POLICE COME TO YOUR HOUSE!!! Thing One? She learned that you can't take your eyes of that kid for even a fraction of a second. So instead she went on babysitting strike. Had to take that little ornery boy everywhere with me.

Why do I share this today? Because Luke Skywalker just turned 13. He's a teenager now. Almost old enough for a learners permit.

Not in a million years, buddy.
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November 11

It's Veteran's Day. A day where we should express our appreciation to the many brave men and women who serve our country. Many. Past, present and future. Their willingness to serve allows us to live our peaceful little lives.

So, if you see a vet, or an active duty soldier, or anyone who might fall into that category, give 'em a high five today. You owe them. Big time.

I have family members who have served in every branch of the military, Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines and Coast Guard. And since my scanner is on strike, I can only share a few here.

Thanks, Dad! 

Thanks Doran! 

Thanks Carl!

And thank you Uncle Buddy. He wrote on the back of this picture "Ready for polar bears."

Nearly ALL the menfolk on my dad's side -- all the uncles and a few of the cousins.




Not pictured, but valued all the same:
Grandpa Hummel
Grandpa Lewis
BIL Paul
and hopefully I haven't forgotten any.






Also remembered today, for a different reason 
is a dear friend, Amanda.

As you can tell from the incandescent smile (and the duct tape pants), she was our kind of people. She passed away two years ago today after a car accident. Karen misses her "stylist" and friend.
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Mop & Pop

Happy 48th Anniversary to my lovely parents.

Who appear to be 14 years old in this picture.

Actually, they were so much older. All of 19 I think.

With parents like this, how could I have ever had a chance? 

Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Apparently Disneyland was in black and white back in those days....things were so tight they couldn't afford color...... 

And yes, insanity is hereditary.


What does this have to do with Halloween? I have no idea. But they got married in October, and by law, that's when you have to have an anniversary. Not in October, but on the date you got married. I'm just making it worse by trying to explain it. So never mind. 
Goodbye.
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Child Abuse

It's Sunday. A day that sometimes I dread. Because if the girls. And their HAIR.

Why is it that the hair is at its most horrible tangled worst on Sunday mornings? The rest of the week it seems fine, we get through it pretty well. Just a quick brush and out the door. Sometimes a ponytail. For some crazy reason, on Sunday we feel like maybe we could do a little more. Usually, because we have some extra time. Or think we have extra time, anyway.

Here's how it went this morning:

10:30 (church at 11:00) -- I look at the clock, knowing that shower to pavement takes me 15 minutes, because: I planned ahead and have everything ready, it's still warm out and I don't have to do the pantyhose dance, and because I HAVE NO HAIR TO WORRY ABOUT. Seriously. My hair is done almost instantly after showering. And I love it that way. But my grils, they got hair to worry about. Thing One and the Screamapillar have theirs all worked out. They're capable of doing it all on their own as long as I keep the bobby-pin box replenished.

Eclair. Yeah, gotta help her out dere, she's got issues. It'll take me what? Three minutes to put in a quick ponytail? No problem.

Not today. Problem.

The root (ha! get it? Root?) of the problem this week was that she went to Grandma's for two days, and apparently didn't brush her hair Thursday or Friday. Or Saturday. She did wash it last night, but forgot conditioner. Then went directly to bed without combing it out. Thus, the tangle that made me so happy today.

Getting my hands on a brush was not easy. They're as easy to find as orphaned twenty dollar bills. Not the round brush, a regular hairbrush. Or a comb. ANYthing but a round brush! After compromising with a pick, I start on the hair. And here's the commentary.

(CRYING AND SCREAMING)
(MORE CRYING AND SCREAMING)
(keep in mind, I love this child, and I am doing this as softly and gently as humanly possible)
(MORE CRYING AND SCREAMING)

E: I need a tissue.
(yelling and attempted getaway)
E: I'm trying not to stand up and run away! I just can't help it!
(hysterical crying and shrieking)
E: Are you doing from the bottom like that trick you told me?
M: Yes, I'm going as gently as I can, please hold still.
(wiggling and whining and more tears)
E: I'm itchy everywhere and I can't hold still
M: Maybe you have dry skin. We should get some lotion. Let's take a break and you go get the lotion from my dresser - it's white and it has a pump on top.
E: Like the dynamite pump thing? (She's been watching too much Loony Tunes)
M: Yeah, go get that.
(brushing resumes, with continued whining and whimpering)
E: I can't do it, my hands are weak
(mom takes a break and applies lotion. Brushing resumes with continued tears)

30 minutes after starting: Half-done
Note: her dress is on backward.

E: I'm still itchy.
(sobbing and despair)
E: Why do i have to have hair?
(crying whining and more sniffling - has abandoned the tissues for a nearby bath towel)
E: Can't we just cut it?
(moaning and groaning)
E: I'm itchy.
(tears with prolific sobbing)
E: I'm really trying to be brave. It's just so HARD!


Done at 10:20


ELAPSED TIME 50 MINUTES.


It would have taken less time to shower her all over again, wash hair, apply conditioner, and comb out with the conditioner still in. Needless to say, we were late for church.

Now what does this have to do with Halloween? Well looking at all that hair reminded me of my good friend Lynn (who Eclair in named for) who had beautiful long blonde hair like Eclair. And one year for Halloween while we were in high school, she went as Cousin It from the Addams Family. It was epic. Hair combed over face with sunglasses on, then trench coat over hair. She was amazing and I miss her.

I just spent an hour looking for the photo and couldn't find it. Someday I will. Make do with this image so you get the idea:

Kinda like a cross between Cousin It and Chewbacca, actually. Oh well. Thank you for modeling, Eclair.


And Eclair? You. Haircut. Tomorrow.

Fine Portraiture, Part Two

WE INTERRUPT THE HALLOWEEEN POSTING BECAUSE I'M TEARING MY HAIR OUT HERE.

SO here's  something Halloween that is completely unrelated to the subject of this post:

She's a Tribble. And she's holding my phaser. 

And if you don't know what that means, you need to go watch Star Trek. Now.

BACK TO MY PENDING RANT:

We recently took our annual family picture. We do this every year in the fall, and about the same time I do portraits for my wonderful friends & family so they can send me a Christmas card. My goal is to have every Christmas card I receive enclose a photo that I took. So I been kinda busy. Taking pitchers of everyone I know and their wonderful kids.

When it came time to do my own kids, something completely different happened. My kids don't like it when I take their pitchers. It took me 90 minutes to do my family, and less than thirty to do the family I scheduled for right after our portrait. And the other family had more kids than we do. I have evil childern.

I'd like to share some examples with you -- we'll start of a couple normal kids as control:

Normal Child

Normal Child

Unfortunately, my child.

Normal Child

MY child, who is apparently Queen of the Rock

Normal Child

My child, again.

Normal Child

My child

Insane Niece masquerading as a normal child

My Oldest Child

Normal children

My lovely daughters....

Adorable normal child

My attractive boys

Sweet little sisters

Brothers demonstrating a headlock. 

Normal sweet child.

When will this end?

Sweetness.

Sourness.

Looks like they like each other, the normal family.

I have no response for that. The normal family. There are limits, you know. That family looks SO good that I wouldn't want to screw it up by posting our disastrous photo. Maybe if you get lucky, I'll send you one for Christmas. Hope that I don't. You really don't want to see what happens when I put the camera on a tripod, walk away and hope for the best. Maybe next time I'll try one of those electronic dog collar things on each of the kids -- I could press the button and force simultaneous smiles. Gonna have to look into that....

Attrition

Once upon a time I had a lovely set of six stainless steel bowls. Much like these:

I love these bowls. They were big enough for a variety of cooking uses, they're easy to clean, don't stain, won't break, and are easy to store because of the whole nesting thing....yep. Loved these bowls. I love metal, wood and glass in the kitchen. Only use plastic if I have to.


Apparently Hubby found the bowls very useful too. For many of the same reasons: easy to clean, don't stain, won't break, and apparently because of the EASE THE DOG HAS FETCHING THE BOWL FOR HIM TO FILL.


Yes.

He took my bowls and gave them to the dog.

One at a time they have disappeared. I now have two left. The itty bitty one (like our lovely Lab would bother bringing that back, it's too small to even hold a snack for her) and the really big one.

Today the really big one went missing. I really needed it to make Muddy Buddies for Dayna. I looked and looked and finally found it -- ON THE DECK.

Of course I panicked.

Eclair confessed that she used it for water balloons.

Whew.

But I have decided to take premptive measures. I washed and dried my big bowl, and then got out my big paint pen:

In full, it reads: IF YOU FEED THE DOG USING THIS BOWL, START RUNNING NOW: I AM GOING TO HUNT YOU DOWN AND KILL YOU WITH A RUSTY SPOON.

You think that will ensure that my bowl doesn't disappear into the kennel?

I hope so.

But I'm realistic.

Probably not.
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