2012 Favorites

Here is it. The easiest post of the whole year...right? Except that you have to read almost all your posts to choose your favorites. Well, here they are. Hope you enjoy them again.

 

If you don't have time to read them all again, just re-read Feb and Aug and Honorable Mention. Those are my mostest favs.

 

Jan: Wicked

 

Feb: If you're happy and you know it

 

March: Behind Closed Doors

 

April: You're not going to believe this

         Stupid Farmville

 

May: I don't think that's what it says

 

June: Some itches

 

July: Do you do it too?

 

Aug: When I grow up

 

Sept: Don't mess with Mama!

 

Oct The request

 

Nov: All in the name of pillows

 

Dec: You probably shouldn't stab your eye

 

Honorable Mention:

 

Love of my life

 

 

What friends are good for....

I am a relatively calm person. Not the freaking out kind.

There have been very few feak-out sessions in my life: my 13th birthday party, the time my piano fell on my son, and the time the doctor told me I couldn't have an epidural.

That's pretty much it.

Hubs...different story. Anytime there is blood involved, he pops one. First he flips out, then he feels light headed and finally he has to sit down. This also happens when he changes a poopie diaper, but that's irrelevent.

The other day I had an almost freak-out moment.

My friends and I went to go watch Breaking Dawn-Part 2....again. We went into the almost empty theatre and sat down. As the movie started, we heard this low yell from the back of the theatre.

"What the..." I thought, looking around. A few minutes later I hear it again. I looked around, just to see if I could see the individual making the noises. It was too dark, but I figured it was someone with some sort of disability.

As the movie went on, he became much more vocal. He was yelling at Charlie, saying "Belle was lying!"  It was at this point that my friend went and spoke with security. I mean, come on, guy. At least get her name right.

By the time Alice figured out the Volturi were on their way to destroy the Cullens, the guy was yelling out obscenities every few seconds. Don't get me wrong, I don't like the Volturi as much as the next guy, but the man was starting to make me nervous.

The manager came in along with a few police officers. As they walked up to escort him out, I began evaluating my surroundings...you know...just in case....

Granted, this Twilight has been out for more than a month. And it was a matinee. And there were only like 10 people in the theatre. The threat level was plenty low. But still....Crazy is unpredictable.

What were my options? I could dive on the ground and play dead. I could use one of my friends as a human shield. My purse is full of tons of crap...probably enough that not even a bullet could penetrate it's contents. I could hold it up over my vitals and make a run for it.

Luckily I didn't have to do any of those. Lucky for all of us he left without a problem. Lucky for me, my friends didn't know that I had considered sacrificing them.

At least not unless they read this blog.

Now I'm freaking out.

Not exactly as I would have planned...

What happens when your husband decides to change jobs at the end of the semester?

14 appointments, that's what.

You see once Hubs switches jobs, all the health insurance goes away.

And so we have crammed in eye appointments and dental appointments into the last 2 1/2 weeks.

14 of them.

Because that is what I want to spend my money on month of December.

Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like a root canal.

Nothing!

Meggings

The most popular trend in men's clothing...
.

(I just threw up a little in my mouth)

Are you kidding me?  What is wrong with our world!?!!!!

The guy in the purple looks like he needs professional help. I'm sorry, but no man should wear those pants. They are wrong on so many levels!

Please tell me these are not on your husband's Christmas list!

I'm begging you.

Please!!

How I know he loves me?

"Mommy. Can I watch a movie?" he asked.

"You can. But first you have to give me a kiss and tell me one thing you love about mommy," I answered. Yeah, I know I was begging for some lovin', right?

He gave a kiss, stepped back and said, "I love you because I didn't pee my bed last night."

Not quite the compliment I was fishing for....(scratching my head.)...but hey, I'll take whatever his three year old heart deems worthy of admiration.

You probably shouldn't stab your eye...

I wouldn't recommend stabbing yourself in the eye. It really hurts.

I wouldn't recommend holding a pair of scissors in your hand while trying to grab stacked glass Mason jars. You might stab yourself in the eye with them. 

I wouldn't recommend stacking two glass mason jars on top of one another and then putting them on the top shelf. One of them might start to fall while you are retrieving them.

I wouldn't recommend choosing to put cut up hay in a glass Mason jar. You might have to get the Mason jar on the top shelf.

I wouldn't recommend cutting pieces of hay from the bail you bought in October. You might need to put them into a mason jar.

I wouldn't recommend wanting to have cut hay on your bookshelf. You might have to cut some from your bail you got in October.

I wouldn't recommend having an empty manger on your bookshelf that you want to fill with hay. You might want a jar of hay right next to it.

I wouldn't recommend wanting to fill a manger with hay that represents random acts of service. You might want an empty manger on your bookshelf.

I wouldn't recommend wanting to teach your children the true meaning of Christmas. You might come up with the idea of filling a manger with hay that represents acts of service.

I wouldn't recommend having children this time of year. You might want to teach them the the true meaning of Christmas.

I wouldn't recommend having children. You might look forward to this time of year.

So, my friends, here's the bottom line: Having children makes you stab yourself in the eye.

And that really hurts.

(See, we really can blame everything on our kids. I'm just saying.)

Air soft...yeah right.

My son owns a gun.

An air-soft gun. Why are they named that anyway?  It's not shooting air and when it hits you it hurts. No softness about it.  Kobe has recieved many a bruise from these air-soft guns. Basically it's a BB gun with platic BB's.

I know, because I have picked up about a million of them with my bare hands. I tried picking them up with my vaccum, too. Yeah, that doesn't work very well at all.

Reguardless, those little suckers can really hurt someone. Just ask Briggy.

I was exercising the other day (Hey now, get off the floor...it does happen every now and again) and Briggy came into the room saying he needed to blow his nose. "I need to get it out," is what he said.

So I gave him a tissue. "Blow it in this," I instructed him. -Side note, teaching kids how to blow their nose is so hard. They just want to suck in their stuff. Anyone else have that problem? End sidenote-

So he blew and I thought we were done with it, right?

Wrong. He kept saying, "How do I get it out, Mommy? It really hurts."

"Wow. Okay, well blow really hard. Sometimes the boogies are hard to get out. So blow really really hard."

He did. Nothing.

By this point he is crying. Wow, this kid is really wants the boogies out.

"Ok, Briggy. Blow as hard as you can," I coached. And blow he did. And out came one of those air-soft pellets.

Good thing he didn't sniff that one up into his brain. Can you imagine. "What happened to him?"

"Oh, you know. He snorted air-soft pellets as a child."

See, dangerous!

'tis the Season

Five kids. Three stores.

That was to be the extent of our outing.

Three quick stops to pick up a few needed items and then we would be done.

Five kids. Three stores.

Store #1 Kohl's.

So much on sale. So little time. Focus. Focus. Five minutes in. Five minutes out. Quick and painless.

Again, five children.

If you have boys you may know what "corn-dogs" and "hot dogs" are...If not, just know we are not talking about food. Nope. Both require one person's knee and another person's lower half.

Apparently Kohl's brings out "dog-ers" in my children.

Store #2 Hobby Lobby

I was in need of some crafts and a few gifts for my sister. This shouldn't be as bad, thought I. I mean, it is a craft store. Kids love crafts.

And they did.

I learned to stop telling your 12 year old to act his age, because when he is bugging everyone around him, he IS acting his age.

Store #3 Deseret Book

This one should have been the easiest, right? Smallest store. A bunch of pictures of Christ, hanging on the wall. Music about Christ playing in the background. Books about Christ displayed on every shelf. Yeah, this ought to be a breeze.

Except that they have this table of building blocks to distract children so mothers can spend and spend and spend.

My kids enjoy fighting over building blocks, especially when Jesus watching them.


Three stores. Five kids.

Frazzled mom!

'Tis the Season....

All in the name of pillows.

Alright. Is anyone else done with Black Friday?

 I was never really into Black Friday until about 4 years ago. Since then, I have gone somewhere every year. I don't go to get the deal...at least not entirely.

It's more about doing something sneaky. You know, when everyone is asleep, unaware that you are not home. Unaware that you are out spending money. On them.

There's just something about being out in the middle of a really cold night, in a very long line with other people who are just as excited as you are, freezing their butts of for pillows. Fun, right?

Well, it is.

Then they changed the time. 

Hello! My family isn't sleeping yet! It isn't cold enough! It isn't dark enough! There is no sneaking!! Less fun.

But I thought I would go anyway.

Hubs and I decided to go at 10pm...because I refused to leave any earlier. When we got to Target, there were parking spaces. Hello! There are never parking spots. So we walk in and I am telling you everything was gone....except the line. All the fun crazy....done.

So we left empty handed after 5 minutes.

"Hey! Let's go to Kohl's," I suggest. They had a lot of great deals on things I wanted.

So Hubs and I pull into Kohl's about 10:45pm. We get out and start walking to the line...which wasn't bad, as far as Black Friday lines go.

"It isn't opened yet??? We have to stand in line? I'm cold. No way I am waiting in line," he complained.

"What! Who....why are you trying to ruin my fun!!!"

"Well, it's not like it's an iPhone. It's pillows," responded iHubs.

"Pillows are like iPhones on Black Friday! Don't you get it! It's not about what you are buying, it's about standing in line, in the freezing cold, in the middle of the night, for a really long time, watching people go crazy....for pillows! It's fun! That is fun!!!" I was being slightly dramatic.

"I'm going to wait in the car," he said. And fun decided to leave.

And I went home, turned on a movie and opened up my laptop and got my pillows. Very anti-climactic.

Hubs, on the other hand, went out again with his friend to look at guns and stand in a long line to buy bullets. Yes, I did say bullets.

How is that better than pillows?

I just simply forgot

I think I am losing my mind.

Oh, wait. You already knew that. It only says it in my blog title. Ha. Right.

But this time I am worried because I am not having any more children, and still....there it goes. Leaving. Walking out the door. Not even chocolate can bring it back. Sigh.

So what did I do this time to reaffirm that, yes, I am indeed losing my mind?

I locked myself out of my car.

No biggie, right? People do it all the time. I am not the first one to have done that.

Except that the keys were in the ignition. And the car was still running.

Right?

In the middle of the day, still not a big deal. But I am not that simple. I, of course, have to make things more complicated. Live life on the edge a little. 

You see, I work at night. Late into the night. I don't get off until midnight. And it wasn't until that time that I thought, "Uhhh, where the heck did I....ummm...I don't think I remember turning off my car."

Who remembers turning off their car? I mean, really? I think it's like breathing....except that you don't need it to live...we just do it without thinking. Well, this time, I didn't turn off my car without thinking. I didn't turn it off...at all.

Oh, and I locked the door.

So there I stood, at 12:05am.....scratching my head wondering what to do.

I couldn't really call my husband because...well, he's Deaf. And so unless he is sleeping with his phone under his pillow and the vibrate option is at full throttle there is no chance of waking him. Who am I kidding? There is zero chance of waking him even in the idealest of situtaions. When he sleeps, the world is dead to him.
`
Lucky for me, my co-workers were with me. Lucky for me my co-worker was willing to drive me home. Lucky for me, our spare key is lost and is no-where to be found. Lucky for me Hubs had to be to work by 7:40am. Lucky for me, it was parent/teacher conference day and all my kids were at home with me.

I am one lucky woman. 

It's alright. I'll forget it all happened next week.

Never heard of him

Something is amiss in my house. Haunted-ness. Paranormal.

Fortunately for me, I know his name.

It is Invisible Guy.

How do I know this? Not because he walks around, quietly singing his name as I nod off to sleep. It's not because he writes it on my bathroom mirror and it shows up after my shower. Nope.

Briggy told me.

Invisible Guy likes to hang-out around Briggy. The thing is, he only seems to appear when Briggy is alone, doing something that he shouldn't do, in a place he shouldn't be doing it.

For example, Invisible Guy likes to paint Briggy's toes with his sister's super special nail polish.

He also likes to write on the wall with not so washable markers.

He pees on the floor in the bathroom and dumps out Brody's special shell collection.

Invisible Guy has got to go.

Anyone know a good exerocist?

So I Married a Deaf Man: I'm not a dog!

So it was a rare occasion last week when Hubs and I went out to eat together. Just the two of us. No kids. It was nice.

We sit down, place our order, get our food at start to eat.

Of course, we were talking/signing the whole time....because that's what husband and wives do when they have been deprived of each others company for whatever reason....I have five of those "whatever reasons."

Well, we were chatting and our waiter, I kid you not, stood right at our table and stared at us. We are talking full on staring...not staring and then looking away for a few seconds and then look back. He was full on staring at us...and he was standing right at our table.

It was a little awkward and really annoying.

After about 15 minutes of him leaving to take care of his other tables and then returning to enjoy the view of our table, he finally approached and asked, "So, are you considered his interpreter?"

Huh? Bwahahaha. Wait. He was serious. Perhaps his reasoning went something like this, "Well, blind people have seeing-eye dogs that see for them...."

Not wanting to be compared to a dog, I responded, "No. I'm considered his wife."

Poor guy. In his defense, I was interpreting for Hubs. Secondly, we weren't making-out in the booth either, which would have made it obvious we were married...that or a really unethical interpreter.

And he did redeem himself. At least in my eyes.

"Wow. Well, you have a really good wife." Good boy.

But I am not a dog.

Laugh...and then vote!

Anyone else excited for tomorrow....to be over?

Yeah. I am so hopeful that my guy will win. Not Hubs. Nope, he isn't running. But I hope that Mitt ends up on top.

But until them I am left with stress in my belly and really weird dreams.

You are gonna vote, aren't ya? If you aren't, you should. It's one of the things that sets America apart from most other countries. The ability to have a government chosen by the voice of the people....it's a great thing. I'm telling you who to vote for...MITT ROMNEY... but rather just encouraging you to vote. Period.

So in order to release a little of the stress I have been feeling, I thought I would share with you some really funny jokes. I have a neice who is obsessed with Chuck Norris. Not weirdly obsessed, but slightly.

Here are some of my favorites. Enjoy and happy voting. Mitt Romney

• Chuck Norris never uses a stunt double, except during crying scenes.
• Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas to bed.
• Even Google can't find Chuck Norris.
• Chuck Norris was bitten by a cobra, and after five days of excruciating pain...the cobra died.
• When Chuck Norris was born, the only person who cried was the doctor. Never slap Chuck Norris.
• When the Boogeyman goes to sleep at night, he checks his closet for Chuch Norris.
• Chuck Norris never won an Academy Award for acting in any of his action movies- because he's not acting.
• Sweating bullets is literally what happens when Chuck Norris gets hot.
• When you say, "No-one is perfect", Chuck Norris takes that as a personal insult.
• Chuck Norris can bounce a football.
• Chuck Norris will never have a heart attack...His heart isn't foolish enough to attack him.
• When Chuck Norris does push ups, he isn't pushing himself up, he's pushing the earth down.

Buhda-budab-budab-budats all folks!

The request

"Honey. Please don't wear your pajamas," he added before he left this morning.Although it sounds like he was being frisky, I guarantee you he wasn't. No-one gets frisky in front of their 5 kids and right before they head off to work.

Okay....so maybe some people do...but Hubs does not.

I thought to myself, "Hey! I do get dressed." I just choose to get dressed the night before.

For most people this means putting on clothes they call pajamas. Me? I wear my exercise clothes to bed and call them exercise clothes.

Why do I wear them to bed? Because if I have them on when I wake up, I am that much more likely to exercise in the morning. Or at least in theory. It hasn't worked perfectly yet, but I have hope that it will. And hope is what keeps me in my sleeps...er...I mean exercise clothes that I wear to bed.

But, as being a mother of 5 children always goes, things come up. Someone forgot their lunch, or their homework, or is feeling sick, or, all of the above. So, without a moment to change, I pick up and drop off...all in my exercise clothes.

It's not my fault that one of these times it was HE who had forgotten something. And so, being the giver that I am, I ran it over to him in my exercise clothes. And let me tell you I was looking hot! Uh-hmmmmmmmmmm. (I had brushed my teeth, by the way. Just in case you were wondering. I do that at night before I go to bed as well....but also in the morning for good measure.)

So imagine my suprise when I told him this morning I would be coming in to have lunch, his response was, "Honey. Please don't wear your pajamas."

Well, of course I won't wear my pajamas.

But I may wear my exercise clothes.


**I didn't, by the way. And for the record I almost always get dressed by 10am. Just so you know.

Slugs, snails and puppy dog tails

He wished we were all boys.

My dad.

He had 7 girls...and then finally a boy. Okay, technically it was my mom who birthed us out, but you know...the whole two-to-tango thing. That. Yup, but he wished we were all boys.

Oh, he would never say that out loud. But I knew. 

It wasn't because he treated us badly. Or tried to force us to wear boy clothes. He didn't make us swear or spit or pass gas or burp or anything like that. We weren't required to wrestle, or play with trucks or guns or green army guys. He didn't make us sit and watch hours and hours of NFL, NBA, NHL or WWF.

In fact, he was the perfect girl daddy.

He loved Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea and loved musicals. He listened to and sang show tunes. He cried often. He talked about his feelings. There were even times when you could catch him wearing pink. Yeah, I know. Perfect, right?

That's what he wanted all of us to believe.   

Oatmeal.

It was the oatmeal that gave it away.

You see, every time he made oatmeal, he made about 3xs more than us girls could ever eat. It wasn't just once, or once in a while. It wasn't once a month or every now and again. It was probably 2 times a week. I kid you not.

To keep us from getting suspicious he would said something like, "Darn it all. Looks like I made too much oatmeal again." But what he was really thinking was, "Eight boys could have eaten this much and never blinked an eye."

See, he was subtle. He thought he was fooling us. But I knew.

It was in the oatmeal.

Don't give up on me....

I used to be a blogger
Who posted everyday
And I was always tickled
With how much I had to say

I'd talk about my children
My husband  and my life
My childhood and my children
Wait, I just said that twice

I'd wake up every morning
My comments sure to read
"How many people do I have
Who want to follow me? "

They'd read my blog and I theirs
Because that's what we do
I'd leave my sentence on their post
And watch as my numbers grew

Then something happened, call it life,
Or tuggers on my time
But the posts that flowed so easily
I couldn't beat out of my mind.

People say "I've lost my mojo,"
others say "Writers block"
With five kids and a husband
I've not time upon my clock

By the time I have a moment
To sit and catch my breath
My brain has gone all mushy
No creativity left.

I'm still married to a Deaf Man
And children I still have five.
I'm still a little quirky
And have family stories to contrive.

So if you're wondering where I've gone
Don't worry, do not fret.
Although I write less frequently
I've got some stories yet.

Won Twin-Tea Won

121. One hundred twenty one. CXXI. One Two One.

121....the temperature at which one should decide to move to another state. I know. I felt that way when I lived in AZ.

121...the number of hours I work outside my home every month. Believe me, the IN-home hours are much harder, and yet that's where I would choose to spend my time.

121....11x11 (In case you didn't remember.)

121...the number of times my children asked for costumes when we had to go to Party City today. I know. I know. I was asking for it, taking them there this time of year. But sometimes we are glutton for punishment. (What an odd idiom...)

121...from today would be Feb 3 2013. This date has no significance to me other than it fits into my 121 theme. But if it has significance to you, note that it is only 121 days from today.

121... an age I hope I never reach.

121...the number of hours I sleep every 18 days.

121...an unattainable weight...for me...at my age...and at my motivation level. Not happening.

121...the number of pictures my 3 year old took that I just deleted off my phone. They were mostly blurry pictures of my neighborhood, his shoes, the back of my head, total strangers...his shoes.

They are pretty cool shoes. At least he thought so.

121 times. 

Humiliated

My earliest memory was being dropped on my head. But since I really can't remember the details...only that it hurt, a lot....and a story without details isn't a story at all, I will tell you of the first memory that I can remember.

So my first real memory is of me hugging a stranger's leg. What? You didn't hug stranger's legs? Me either. I think that is why I remember it so well.

I am pretty sure I was like 2 or 3 years old. I remember my dad was wearing this turquoise suit. Yes, my dad was all that...whatever that was. This may also be a reason for remembering the hugging...grown man in a turquoise suit, traumatizing. Who makes that kind of suit....I mean...yikes! And who buys them...zoik!!

It happened in the front lawn of our church. My dad was talking to some guy...who apparently had legs that looked like his. Not paying attention, I grabbed onto the man's leg, thinking it was my dad's.

I know I held on long enough for my dad to notice and to say my name. I remember looking over at my dad and up at the man and then realizing, "Hey, why do you have my dad's leg?"

Then I cried.

This was the first time I remember feeling embarrassed and humiliated. Don't you feel that way when you grab something that doesn't belong to you.

Like the time I was a senior in high school and I joined band because I loved it so much!! Okay, so maybe my boyfriend was in band and they were taking a trip to Six Flags. That may have influenced my decision to join...a little.

I, of course, spent the whole time with him. Standing in long lines, going on rides, standing in long lines, holding hands, standing in long lines. It was in one of these long lines that I reached back to hold his hand. I grabbed on, only to realize that my boyfriend was standing to the side of me and I was holding a total stranger's hand.

That was embarrassing. But when I did it a second time, 10 minutes later to the same guy....yeah, I felt humiliated. And I cried.

And I remembered the turquoise suit.

Re-Post:So I married A Deaf: Speak Up Sony.

Resist the urge.

When you meet someone who is Deaf, do not talk louder. Resist, I say.

Resist unless that person is over the age of 75 and has a lot of white hair and at least one person calls them Grandma/Grandpa. If this is the case, then by all means, shout away.

But if the person is like Hubs, Deaf from birth or an early age, no amount of voice raising is going to change that the fact that they just can't hear a word you are saying.

I think it is just natural that when we are told someone is Deaf, we assume that means that they simply can't hear us. It is true. They can't. So we take our voices up a notch.

Not only does this draw attention to you, the person who is yelling, but also the innocent Deaf person who may or may not be wondering why everyone around them is staring at them like they must be dense to need this person to yell their conversation. All for naught.

It is really funny, however, when that person knows Hubs, knows that he can't hear diddly squat and still...

My mom,  for example. She knows Hubs. She knows Hubs can't hear. At all. So why, for the love of Pete, will she call out, loudly, for him to turn around. Or why, when she is trying to communicate with him, does she speak in an abnormally loud voice.

Did she forget?

It doesn't bother either of us, really. We are used to it. We simply laugh it off. And my mom isn't the only one. Many friends and acquaintances, family and professionals do the same thing.

Resist.  Believe me, if they need you to speak up, they will tell you.

So let me save you the trouble. Hubs is opting out of the shout.

Because if you talk louder...

...he still can't hear you.

5 passions

If you are passionate about something, you would spend every waking hour with it. You would surround yourself with that thing.  One look around your house and people would know...that's your passion.

One look around my house and you would assume that my passions were:

Laundry... because you know I have a ton of it. And I practically spend every waking hour with it. I have piles and piles and piles. Practically in every room of my house. Dirty. Clean. Folded. Unfolded. We have laundry.

or

Soccer balls. For whatever reason I seem to have an abnormal amount of soccer balls. If I had to count I would guess I have 13+ soccer balls. Between me coaching two soccer teams last year and one this year...then add to it that to get the great deal on soccer shoes and shin guards, you have to get a ball...times 2 boys times 2 years. Then I bought them the wrong sized balls but couldn't return them because we had already used them. Don't ask where the other ones came from....yes there are others....because I don't know where they came from.

or

Smiths plastic bags. Remember, I have 7 people in my family. We eat a lot of food. So it is no shock that I often visit the grocery store. And since I want to destroy the Earth I make sure to get as many plastic bags as I can get each time I visit. Which is a lot. Too many. They're taking over my pantry. I do throw them away because, again, Earth hater.
or

Toys. This week it's Lego's. Other days it's Galactic Heroes. Blocks. Cars. I've tried to get rid of them....but they are like rabbits...they multiply in the box. I am not even kidding. Okay, yes I am. But wouldn't that be insane. Can you imagine? If toys could multiply and replenish the Earth? Yeah, now take that image and write Stef's House on it. Too many toys!!

or

Hair. I know. That's gross, right? Not gross because it sounds like I am confessing to being a hairy...not that there's anything wrong with that...err...ummm. But let's be clear: I am not hairy. But I shed. More than I knew. Plus a have a daughter with long hair. She inherited my sheddy-ness. I also have a lab....not a place where I do experiments on my children kind of lab, although...hmmm... I am talking about the barking, fetching, wet nose, mark my bedroom kind of lab. The dog kind. And he sheds more than all of us. Boy, do we have hair.

Are these my passions? Not in the least. But if you walked into my house...

....you might disagree. 

What's your passion??

If I had twins...

Sometimes I run out of blogging ideas. I know. Hard to believe that my little brain would run out of things to say, but it happens from time to time. And when it does, I look for random questions to help me pretend I am clever.

Cat's out of the bag now....

So the question I came upon this time was this....

If you had twins what would you name them?

Okay, first off, if I had twins I think I just might kill myself. Women who have multiple babies are amazing...but on the same day and live to tell it, they are going straight to Heaven. And if I went to Heaven right now I think I would get a swift kick in the butt and sent back down the yellow brick road that leads to a much hotter place that includes hockey sticks.

I'm not Heaven ready.

I mean, besides the pain, and you know there would be a lot of it, you have to come up with two names that both people can agree on. I mean, it's hard enough coming up with one name. Did I tell you that Hubs was totally serious about naming our first child Cosmo....you know, after the BYU mascot. Not because he knew the guy who played Cosmo, he just loves big, furry, stuffed cougars...that or he loves BYU. I like BYU, but not enough to name my firstborn after the cougar named Cosmo.  Oh, and if my first was a girl, he wanted to name her Peekaboo.

Yeah, I know. Thank goodness my children have me.

I did promise, however, that if I ever had twins I wouldn't dress them the same. Not because it isn't cute....okay, dressing twins like twins actually bothers me. As if looking alike isn't enough, why would you need to dress them the same? Do you not want people to be able to tell them apart? 

But, whatever. If you dress your twins the same, don't be offended. I'm not offended when people say, "Your son doesn't have shoes on and needs his face washed." Nope. The truth never bothers me.

So, if I had twins...what would I name them?

I definitely wouldn't have similar names...

Kayla and Kyla....nope. Mike and Mark...uhhh uhhh. Joan and Joanne...nope.  Meagan and Reagan....individually they are great, but for twins. No. Colby and Kobe....don't do it. Give the poor kids some independent identity. Cut down on the chaos. I also wouldn't name them all George. That's just weird. 

So, if I had twins....wait a second. That is never going to happen. And I do mean never. He took care of that...Hubs. Okay, well, technically it was the doctor....and more technically that doctor was my brother-in-law, a little awkward, ....but having twins is no longer a possibility

So if I had twins I would name them:

Howtheheck and Didthishappen. 

Overprotective....?

Common sense.  Prudence. Good judgement. Discernment. Wisdom

All things missing from my son's middle school social studies teacher.

Let me put this out there first off. September 11th was horrific! A day that should never EVER be forgotten. It was awful and unbelievable and mortifying all at the same time. I am not one to shelter my children from what happened that day.

They know that planes were hijacked by people who hate America. They know that some people died a horrible death. They know there were people who jumped out the windows of the WTC. They know there were courageous men and women who became heroes that day. Many of them dying. The loss was huge. One of the worst in American history.

My kids understand this.

All of them came home last week talking about the discussions they had in their classes. My younger ones had talked about it in their classes. My older two had watched videos. Kyla had watched the same video that we have at our house.

My son, however, watched a different video. A very different video. One that was going to be lasting more than 3 days. One that I am pretty sure I would NEVER have let him watch. I rarely let my children watch any PG-13 movies that I haven't previewed first. I have made a few exceptions, but they are few...very few and far between.

So when he came home telling me about his movie, I was a little disturbed. He told me about hearing the F-word over and over and over again. We don't use that language in my house and neither do most of the people that we hang out with, so to hear it repeatedly was noticeable for him. I am pretty sure the F-bomb puts any movie into the PG-13 rating.

But that's not even the worst part.

This film showed dead people. We're not talking about Hollywood's version of dead. We are talking about real people, recently dead people. Their bodies. Their faces. Eyes open and all. I have not seen many dead people in my lifetime, but the few that I have seen are seared into my memory. 

My son added that you could hear bodies hitting the ground in background. And he knew it was bodies because the camera guy said they were just falling from the sky. 

My question is this. Why do we need to expose our young ones to so much so young? I mean, really? I get teaching the tragedy of the attacks. But there are videos that show the tragedy without showing everything. And to me, that video was over the line.  

Maybe I'm over-protective, but it's my right to be that way. I don't see a need to have that age group listen to foul language, no matter the situation. It will only promote it. Secondly, once those images and sounds are in their heads, they will not ever leave. I wonder if he even thought about that.

It's one thing if he wants to show it to his own children. His prerogative. But he doesn't have that right to show highly inappropriate not to mention unnecessary disturbing videos to my child...not without my permission.

Yes, I called the principal. No, she wasn't aware of the video. Yes, she would take immediate action. The principal was great about it. She agreed with me.

Do you? Would you have a problem with that?

Don't mess with Mama

I had a dream and it went something like this....

Now that's funny

We were easily entertained.

Maybe because we would get tired of entertaining or being entertained by one another and anything was better than leg wrestling or pee-nuckle. Okay, so not my dad's music....that was not better...but pretty much anything else.

I have this memory in my mind of my whole family (that would be 10 of us) packed into our paneled station wagon, with all the windows down. And yes, that does include the back, back seats. You know, the ones where you were facing each other...we need to make more seats like those. But I digress....

I know it was a Sunday evening because we were taking our almost weekly Sunday drive. Oh, we would drive all over town. Granted, that didn't take long...the town had two lights. And let me tell you, a 4 minute drive around town was not giving my parents back any of their sanity.

So we took the backroads.

Where I come from there are lots of backroads. It is an area with lots of natural gas...meaning there are lots of gas wells all over and to get to them you make a road that leads to the middle of no-where. Technically we lived in the middle of nowhere so these roads led you to the middle of nowhere's nowhere.

Backroads were the best! They could take you to some really cool dirt hills to climb on and slide down. (Of course we would never do that on a Sunday.) There was normally no-one on these roads and so you could practice under-age driving...not that we ever did that, but I remember can imagine how fun that was could be.  It would also be a great place to make-out with your boyfriend....but I wouldn't know a thing about that.

But mostly we liked backroads because they had a lot of ups and downs. (Normal people call those hills. We weren't normal.) They tickled our bellies. Plus they were dirt and bumpy and windy.

This specific Sunday, as we were crowded in the car, with the windows down, driving down the dirty, bumpy, windy, hilled roads we saw a few cows. Cows in the middle of nowhere. So we did what any normal family would do. We stuck our heads out of the window and started "Moooo"-ing right back at them.

Oh, we thought this was funny.

Until another car, full of kids who also had their window rolled down and their heads sticking out the window saying "Moo" as well.

Now that was hilarious.

Easily entertaineded, I tell ya.

Curse you, Decvon!!!

We decided to get an alarm system.

Not because we live in an area that has a high burglary problem. And it's not because we have seen weird people lurking around our neighborhood. I think mostly we got it because we had $50/month that we didn't want so why not throw it at an alarm company....cough cough..ahem. Yeah. That it.

Truth be told, we got the system because Hubs really wanted it. Why? "Because you can control it from your phone! You can control the temperature of you house when you aren't there and you can look at pictures when you aren't there and you can arm and disarm it from your phone." That's really why we got it. Not because we wanted to protect our children and our property.

Do we use it? Hello! nope  I can't answer that on this blog. never I mean that would just be inviting someone to come and take our stuff. not even once. So do we use it? I'm gonna say yes. liar

There are aspects of the system that I do like. I like the verbal alerts we get when a door or window is opened. I know if someone is coming in or going out. I do like that. I like that I can control my thermostat, because for the first month of ownership we didn't. Have control. Of a lot of things but specifically the temperature of my house.
Want to know what I don't like? In the corner of my family room, way up high is a camera. This camera takes pictures. Around the same time every morning. A 180 degree picture of the three downstairs rooms. You would think that it would be used to take pictures in case an intruder entered the house.

Nope.

I think it's collecting evidence. Evidence that I am a slob. Evidence that my house is rarely clean before 11am.

I know this because every afternoon the picture gets sent to my email. Sometimes there is still breakfast dishes on the table. Other times laundry is half folded half not on the couch. Often there are toys and books left out on the floor. And there have been times when all three of them happen at the same time.

See what I mean, evidence.

No more pretending that my house is clean. No more pretending that my children put away their dishes every morning. No more acting as if my laundry never sits in baskets unfolded.

I've been found out. 

Birds and the Bees

Have you had it? The talk. No, not the talk about replacing the toilet paper when it runs out. Nor am I talking about the please-don't-wipe-your-boogers-on-your-brother. Though both are very important, those are no brainers.

I'm talking about....you know... the talk about...that....thing? That thing that mommies and daddies do to have children. That talk.

Have you had it? With your children?

What about me? Have I...had the talk?

Why, yes. Yes I have. My children were born having the talk. I have always been one, when it comes to those types of things, have always had an open door policy. (...open door to the conversation...not to the act...just felt I needed to clarify)

So when my kids ask, "Mommy, where do babies come from?" I tell them. "Mommies have eggs that need food. Daddies have the food...etc." I'm not one to call something by a nickname. They know it is sex we are talking about because we have called it sex all along.

The older they get, the more information they get.

Like when Kobe asked, "Mom, what is an ADULT VIDEO store?" Now how can you answer that without being honest and upfront. Do you want your child going in there to find out on their own. I told him exactly what it was.

Our children are exposed....overexposed to so much these days. Sex, pornography, immorality. It's all out there. Why, then, would I send my children out there uneducated. I figure the more they hear from me, the less interested they will be when their friends talk about it. And they will also feel comfortable coming to me for answers to their questions.

I am also really open with my children about the changes and things that will eventually happen to their bodies, that those changes are normal and natural, but that we need to keep those passions and drives in check. "It's normal to get excited when you see a pretty girl. But you need to keep your mind clean and don't let it go any farther than that."

My oldest needed to know what a blow-job (so sorry...I'm not a dirty blogger...I'm not) was so that if a girl asked him if he wanted one, he would know to say NO. How can I expect my children to remain virtuous and chaste if they don't know what that means exactly?

My point? If you haven't had the sex talk....you should. Your kids will thank you....later.

Much later.

Any questions???

She spanked the neighbors

My mom spanked the neighbors.

Not randomly. It's not like she would walk outside, grab the first child she saw and turn them over her knee. Well, at least I never saw her do it.

But she did spank a few deserving neighbors.

The first time was when Chuck and I decided to lock ourselves in the bathroom and throw wet pieces of toilet paper onto the ceiling. They stuck. How cool was that?! Only, if you are the mom who has to clean it, it is far from cool.

Once mom found out she spanked Chuck. Oh, I am sure that she spanked me too, but I don't remember that part. I just remember being scared for him.

Then there was the time that Chuck, yes the same one, and I decided to play barber and cut my sister's hair. Oh, and I cut Chuck's hair. Mom walked in just as I was getting into the hot seat. Chuck was the barber. Yup. Spank.

Then there was Sarah. We had some pretty awesome pink jungle wallpaper in our room. Well, Sara and my sister decided it was time to remove the stuff. So remove it they did. At least patches of it. When mom found out...you guessed it. Spank-a-rama.

Then there was the time when that high school kid thought it would be funny to pinch her rump while she was helping another student. Her first reaction was, SMACK! right across the face.

Yeah, yeah. I know. That totally wouldn't fly now-a-days. Times are different. I would never lay a finger on another persons child. Not because they didn't deserve it....but because I love my children and family and home and have zero desire to have them shipped off to strangers and me living in a cell. With bars. With a Sugar Daddy.

I don't spank my neighbors.

You should know that my mom wasn't a beater. She didn't spank with anything but her hand. And to be honest I don't remember it ever hurting. In fact, I really don't remember the spanks.

Except the time she spanked me when I was in middle school when I made my sister cry because she had something of mine. I was 14 years old, bending over my mom's knee so that she could spank me. Humiliation. That's what I remember.

So if you live by my mom, run....far, far away.

(ps. how do you feel about the no color post? I'm trying to decide if the color is worth the time....any opinions?)

What would you buy?

Socks.

That's what they should sell.

If they sold socks I would buy a plutherah!

But no. That's not what we get.

That's right, people. It's fundraiser time. I hate this time of year. You think they would give us parents a break. I mean, some of us spend around $750 just to get our kids back to school. Public school. I haven't even had a month to recover from that yet.

Yes, I know. I know. I chose to have 5 kids. That I did. And I wouldnt' change it for the world. And education is important. Of the utmost importance. I want to be supportive of my children and the things that they are doing in school. I do.

But bedsheets? Really? They are selling bedsheets.

The cheapest ones are $26 each. How am I, a mother of 4 school age children +1, supposed to spend $100 on bedsheets that I don't really need or want? And I can't just buy one set from one of my children. Are you kidding me!? Then everyone would know which was my favorite child. And we can't have that.

No, I think they need to sell something else. Something useful. Like toilet paper. I would totally buy toilet paper. I know that we would use it. Or what about toothbrushes. You can never have too many of those things. Light bulbs. Shampoo. iPads.... no wait.

I vote for socks. Everyone needs them, they can be fun, boring, gender specific, gender generic, colors or white, long or short, all ages, all sizes, rated E for everyone.

Socks anyone?

How often...

...do you clean out your car?

You mean people do that?

What? Not everyone can pull out a meal from their car at any given time?

I rather like my large collection of random rocks and sticks laying on its floor.

Crayons anyone?

My glove compartment puts Netflix to shame.

I can't tell you how many half empty....I mean half full water bottles I have rolling around in there.

There may or may not be an extra pair of shoes for at least two of my children at any given time.

Oddly enough, I even saw a roll of toilet paper in there. Don't ask.

So if you ask me how often I clean out my car, I would respond,

...not nearly enough.

When I grow up....

I want to be a mom.

Yes, yes. I know. Having five children kinda puts me into that category. But I want to be more mom.  What does that even mean, right?

I googled Mom, because we all know that Google knows everything....and if it doesn't, then it can take us to a place that does. Here. is what I found.

Mother:

1. A female person whose egg unites with a sperm, resulting in the conception of a child.  Ummm...that must have happened...five times. No problem with conception. At. All.

2. A female person who is pregnant with or gives birth to a child
Oh, I know that happened five times. Felt that for sure.

3. A woman who raises a child.
Sounds simple, right? Phwwtttt! That "raising" spans 27+ years of my life. That seems to be the hardest part about being a mother, the raising, wouldn't you agree?

4. A creative source.
Is this an option? We have to be creative in every sense. Creative in distraction of our young children. Creative in the meals. Creative in the budgeting. Creative in the school projects department. Discipline. Instructing. Chore charting. Etc.

5. A woman who holds a position of authority or responsibility
This is the un-fun part of being a mom. Sometimes it's not all fun and games. I have had to work my whole momy-ed life. It's a necessary responsibility. One I resent at times. One that brings a lot of guilt. But, sometimes we have to do what we have to do.

6. A woman respected for her wisdom and age.
Yeah, not sure my kids are calling me wise yet. Old, yup. Heck, I have been 40 for about 5 years now and I am only 37. I can say I am respected for my meanie-ness, my annoying-ness. Oh, and I'm also "sooo embarrassing." I'm thinking my wisdom will be respected later. Keeping my fingers crossed on that one.

7. The biggest or most significant example of its kind.
Wow! There is power in that, wouldn't you say? The most significant...wow! It's in us, ladies. It's in me. I need to make sure, though,  that my example is one that will lead my children to God, to happiness, to family, to love. That's huge. Moms are important.

That's what I want to be. That kind of mom.

Yes sirrreee!

Guess what.

Sometimes, I say....no. To my kids.

Yeah, I know. I know. I'm Horrible Mean Mother.

"Say yes to your children as often as you can." That's the new good parenting motto.

Really? Really? How is that good? I understand that children should be allowed to be children. And that we should choose our battles. But sometimes, the answer is no. Plain and simple.

And guess what. I say no.

"No, you have to pull your pants up. Everyone does not want to see your rearend cleavage."
"No, you can't skip your bath today because despite what you think, that isn't a tan on your leg. It's called dirty."
"No, we can't have ice cream for dinner because then it will be gone when I need to go to my special place in the middle of the night."

But in order to conform...in order to appease...in order to be Best Mom Evah.....I have come up with a plan to say yes more often.

Wanna hear it?

Child: "Mom, can I play the Wii?"
Me: "Yes. Three days from now, you can play the Wii." See, good mom.

Child "Can I buy a toy?"
Me: "Yes, of course my sweet child. You can work your little tail off for 4 weeks and earn just enough to get that toy you want. Have fun!" Great mom!

Child: "Mom. Can I stay home from school even though I'm not sick?"
Me: "Yes. That would be very helpful because someone will need to take over my daily duties of cleaning and washing and slaving while I take an extended vacation at the local jail. That would be fantastic! Thanks for volunteering!"

What do you think?