Choices

Tough ones. Important ones. Like creamy cauliflower or tomato basil at Zupas? Or just skip Zupas and go get hot and sour soup at Shoots? (Shoots is the most recent recipient of the five star Lorien Recommendation, by the way!) Scrubs re-runs (I just found the show and have a lot of catching up to do) or one or two episodes of last season's 24 (YOWZA! 4 episodes in and I'm sunk!)? A mug of Stephen's Gourmet Hot Cocoa--Chocolate Cinnamon or Dulce de Leche Caramel? Be money wise and scrimp and save or spoil the kids just a bit at Christmas? Girl's Night Out or Hogi Yogi ice cream cookie sandwiches after the Christmas concert at Provo Tabernacle with my hubby and 2 oldest kids? What do you do when there are 2 things you want, but only time for 1? Usually I do my best to squeeze them both in anyway somehow, but sometimes it just doesn't work out. So I end up choosing one kind of hot chocolate or soup or entertainment, wondering if the other kind is better or what I am missing the whole time I should be enjoying the one I chose. These are the quandaries of life. *Sigh* I need a clone of me.

Money Matters with Max

(my 4 year old)

"Mom, how much dollars could buy a new house?"

"Mmm. Lots."

"Like a million?"

"Like two hundred thousand. Or more."

"Crack-a-doodle! [pause] Mom, do you know how much dollars could buy a light switch?"

"Like, one?"

"No. Three."

On the Making of Beef for an Arby's Roast Beef Sandwich

By my 6-year-old daughter--over dinner, of course:

"You peel off the skin and squeeze out the blood and cut off the butt and the little thingies that squirt out the milk and, of course, cut off the hooves."

Mom Pockets

I'm sure most of you, my lady friends, have a pair of mom jeans lurking somewhere in your closet. Except for my sister-in-law Anne. She probably doesn't own any mom jeans. But she's not a mom yet, so I'll give her time. I have a pair of mom jeans I try to only wear around the house, although occasionally they may venture out on an errand with me when I'm behind (pun intended) on the laundry. They aren't attractive, but really, how many people am I trying to impress while I wash toilets, do laundry and vaccuum?

But this is about mom pockets, not mom jeans. At the end of the day as I crawl out of my clothes (mom jeans or no), I empty out my pockets. I am often surprised at what I find. Crayons, legos and other small toys, hair elastics, and pieces of garbage are not uncommon. Today I thought I'd report the contents of my mom pockets.

3 used dryer sheets (finishing up Monday laundry day on Tuesday)
2 hair elastics, black (I'm surprised this count was so low--sometimes it's as many as 5 or 6)
1 piece of halloween bubble gum--unchewed (confiscated after trying to clean gum off the sofa today and now being chewed by me while blogging)
1 chapstick (I actually started out the day with this and it's going back into the pocket)
1 office clip, black
1 wadded 1/3 sheet (canary) note from school about the lights-on ceremony last night (and what a ceremony it turned out to be)
1 kleenex (partially used and going back into my pocket with the chapstick)
2 bobby pins, black
2 more hair elastics I didn't see before, brown and fuschia (that's more like it)
1 piece of pocket lint string
2 ripped out ads from today's K-mart mailing (Christmas gift ideas)
no money (paper nor coin)

I am sometimes very surprised at what I pull out of my pockets. I almost don't remember putting some of it in there in the first place. When I sort through these treasures, I start feeling like some kind of traveling trash can or storage system. There are days when they are downright bulky. Heaven only knows my pants don't need more bulk. Maybe I should start tucking things into my pockets in a more systematic way--trash in the left front pocket, chapstick and tissue in the right front, and the other various items in the back pockets. Then the pockets in the jacket I wear around in the cool seasons will need their own organizational strategy, too. But knowing me, I'll forget which pocket is for what stuff. Do I label them? Mom jeans with pocket labels. Now there's something. Motherhood is so glam.

One of the People I Missed this Thanksgiving

Even if he is an evil little brother. Missing you, Dally. And we really would have scooted to make a spot for you if you had been here. Party on.

Velcome to My Haus

Yes my darlink, it's the most vonderful time of the year and the Gallery of Terror, featuring the artwork of renowned artist Guy Francis, is now open for your viewing pleasure. So, my pretties, please feel free to stop by....if you dare!

If you can't make it over, you can swing by his website to see what's hanging.

All In a Day

Wonder what my 3-year-old has been up to? Here's a photo from yesterday.

The bang trim was after he'd spent some time in his room earlier that day. Why did he do time? Because as he had come out of the bathroom, he had announced "Mattie was being mean, so I peed on her shoes." (Well, they were in the bathroom...what would you do?)

Last week I was just thinking how grateful I am that, unlike last summer, this year I've been fortunate enough to have a pretty excrement-free summer. I guess I was a little too grateful a little too soon.

VICTORY!

And just in time for HFL (Hamley Flome Leaveleem).

My Awesome 8-Year-Old

She catches bugs, wears and loves her brother's hand-me-down shorts, dons 4 different bracelets most of the time, sings BNL's "Canada's Really Big" without missing a word, makes castles (complete with drawbridge) using only paper, scissors and tape, and writes about most anything you can think of.

Today she decided to make cookies. She asked permission, I said yes and told her which recipe to use and then she went to work without another question. She worked diligently for about an hour and in the meantime I ran to Macey's to grab a chicken dinner for a sick family (because I forgot to fix the casserole). When I got back, the cookies had just gone into the oven. I looked into the mixing bowl to get a little snitch of the dough and immediately recognized there might be a problem. I ate some of the dough-batter anyway and somehow found myself smeared with Crisco. Approximately 8 minutes and several hand washings later, I helped her pull the pans out of the oven.

Discouragement. Frustration. And the realization that the recipe said "2 1/4 c. flour" not "1/4 c. flour."





Her little brother loved them.

I'm still working on the Crisco Abatement Plan.

Rows

I thought I'd have a go at braiding and beading. I think I did alright, considering I had no idea what I was doing.

A Plea

Dear Mr. Comcast Technician Man,

Please come and fix my phone.

I know you are busy. I know you have a good chunk of Provo to fix. But why wouldn't you come over and fix mine while you were here fixing George's next door?

Lots of my neighbors have phones that work.

I'll give you a coke and I'll buy you a pizza.

Really, I am a nice person and I really need my phone.

We don't have a cell phone as a back-up.

I've been really really patient, pleasant and understanding and even made some pretty good jokes when I have called (on my neighbors' phones, of course) trying to get my phone, internet and cable fixed.

I'm a good customer and always pay my bill.

Please?!?

Your mother would be proud of you.

I'll be your best friend.

We can keep it a secret between the two of us.

It will only take a minute.

Tomorrow is just too far away.


Your best customer,
Lorien

Stars

Guy and I watched Amelie the other night. It was at this happinin birthday party out in a yard under the stars. I love yard movies and I love sitting out under the stars. I wish I had a snazzy projector and I'd have yard movies all the time! Anyway, Amelie was great. It was really artsy and I don't mind reading subtitles. The company was wonderful and I even got to see an old student of mine. Cute kid. But not so much kid anymore. And the candy, soda and sugar was delish. Too bad I missed Carina's meat pies, but that's what happens when you're late to the party because you had your own bbq in your own yard with your husband's mission companion from Canada and their five kids (very fun people, by the way...too bad they live in another country).

After Amelie I sat up and rubbed my left calf. Something slimy and smushy rolled up under my finger. Ewww. I went over to the light by the house to confirm my suspicion. Sure enough...



When I was up at the Homestead a few weeks ago doing a workshop we stopped in at Snake Creek Grill. No, Compulsive, I didn't have the sea bass. We were just checking on menus to see if we could bring our group of teachers to dinner (turned out a little over our meal budget so we ended up somewhere else, darnit). As we walked up to the door, I passed and smiled at this fellow who was awfully familiar--and yummy. I kept trying to think where I knew the guy from. Then I decided he was just better looking than most of the people I encounter during my regular daily activities, and that he must be someone famous. Great smile and eyes, nice dimples, and rather short. He looked like this:



Once inside the restaurant, I not-so-subtly asked the waiter if there was a famous guy out there (real classy, Lorien) and he told me who the fellow was. That was my star sighting. Only one ever, I think.

Hotch Hotcher Bee Watcher

This morning as I was considering doing my desperately needed housework, I began thinking how lucky I am because I have so many AWESOME friends. So I forgot about the housework and sat down to blog (wouldn't you?). How cool are all of you? And how lucky am I that I feel I can consider you my friends? Last night I got to pick up my good friend Compulsive and we went to meet Bek and see her three yummy children. I got to see Marie-in-Chick-filet ala Lisa V. I got to love Luckyred's camera and eat some of Carina's real food (oh yum). I got to hug ~j and admire her joy in carrying a child. I saw old friends and made new ones. I laughed till my face and gut hurt. These are the times in life I love. I came home refreshed, ready to love my family more and give the mundane another go. Thank you, friends, for being wonderful. I love you!

Did I ever tell you how lucky you are? When I was quite young and quite small for my size, I met an old man in the desert of Dryz. He sat in a very prickly place, yet he sang with a sunny, sweet smile on his face. He sang me a song I will never forget. At least, well, I haven't forgotten it yet. He said to me, Ducky, when you feel sour and blue, when you start to feel sad you should do what I do. You should say to yourself 'Ducky, you're really quite lucky. Some people are muchly, oh ever so muchly, so muchly much much more unlucky than you.' ...Think you're unlucky? Think of poor Ollie Sard. He has to mow grass in his uncle's backyard. And it's quick-growing grass, so it grows as he mows it. The faster he mows it, the faster he grows it. And all that his stingy old uncle will pay for shoving that mower around in that hay is the piffelous pay of two dukles a day and Ollie can't live on such piffelous pay, so he has to paint flagpoles on Sundays in Gruze. Now aren't you glad you don't live in his shoes? -Quoted as I remember it from Dr. Seuss' Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?

Where Do They Get Their Good Looks?

I've made a goal to take the blogfiber Julie recommended and become more regular. I'm going to try to make an entry at least once a week. We'll see how it goes.

So I was trying to think of something to blog about, and thought my photo album might be a good place to start. I ran across this photo of my kids. It's a picture we took for Grandma on her birthday. Grandmas can be hard to do gifts for because at that time in their lives, they either already have everyhing they want, or if they don't, they go out and buy it. But I came up with a good one this time. I took these great photos of the kids and we made button fridge magnets (a neighbor has a pin-button maker) with this and a couple of other photos. Darling children, aren't they?

Last night I had a dream that it was Halloween morning and my kids didn't have costumes. Now that's scary. (Around our house, that's almost as bad as Christmas without presents.) So I guess it's time to start thinking about costumes. I have yards and yards of bright pink felt (formerly a wedding aisle). I'm thinking energizer bunny and pepto bismol. How many costumes can you think of to use up the felt? C'mon. Think pink.

Summah Summah Summah

It turns everything upside down--schedules, eating habits, sleeping habits, housework, yardwork, and blogging. (Not that I've been regular for some time anyway, but still) But there are some great things about summer, and I thought I'd list a few.

1. Kids can wear whatever they want. And 99% of the time, I don't even care.



2. My yard is lookin good. I love good lookin yards. I got mine ready for a wedding, and it's just lovely (yes, that was a bright pink aisle and no, they didn't rappel from the treehouse). I should have a party. Would you come if I did? We could even have a pool party (see #5).


3. Toenail polish. Three letters, ladies: O-P-I ! This is the most amazing brand of toenail polish I've ever experienced in my thirty-some-odd summers. The stuff survives scuffs on swimmingpool bottoms, it wears for about a month, and the colors have great names. Right now I'm wearing "Charged-Up Cherry." I also picked up "Red Red Rhine" for 60% off. The first color I tried was "My Chihuahua Bites!" It was a great color, but a bit on the orange side for me. The only thing I've found that messes it up is if I hit it with my summer scent, Deep Woods Off. That kinda mucks it up and takes off the shine. So tuck the toes when scenting up for the evening. And yes, I call it TOEnail polish because I can't stand the stuff on my fingernails. Anyway, some of you may already know about O.P.I. Shame on you. How you could keep this a secret and not shout it from the rooftops, I'll never know. So now I have a new mission preachin the good word about O.P.I. Nail Laquer. If you don't have any, run (don't walk) to the nearest beauty store and getcha some sweet color for your toeseys.

4. Garden produce. Just made my first batch of zucchini bread. Mm-mm! And I love my yellow squash. And I have 2 cherry tomatoes that are orange, and have eaten one cucumber. None of the regular tomatoes are ripe yet, but my bushes are 100% better than last year (if any of you remember my last year's lament). Almost as good as my 90-year-old neighbor's.

5. Swimming. Got me one of those poor-man-swimmingpools. You know the ones. Big vinyl things with a blown-up ring to keep the top edge up. The company tries to make you feel really fancy by including a filter pump and you can even put in chemicals. We'll see how it goes, but I thought why not, since my kids are all tall enough now to reach the bottom--although I'm still fairly paranoid about kids and water. It was actually one of those keep-up-with-the-joneses purchases. I wasn't about to let my friend Neighborhood Watch have the corner on the pool market on our street. (I got the one the next size up) Plus it was on clearance.

6. Tan feet. They just look better that way.

7. Tan bodies. They look better that way, too.

8. Bedtime? What's that?

9. Bathtime? See #5.

10. Getting lost in a great book. I have always loved curling up in a chair and reading, reading, reading. The rest of the world can all just go to h___ when I'm reading (and my house usually does). I'm a shameless Harry Potter fan, and reading a HP book just seems like a summery thing to do, so since we all still have a while to wait for the final book, I took a day and a half and read #6 again. ***SPOILER WARNING*** (although if you haven't read it by now I'm guessing you just wont, which is fine) I read carefully this time through, and I think our double agent Snape will end up a good guy in #7 (Dumbledore knew about his unbreakable vow and plead for Snape to kill him, not for mercy) and Dumbledore is really and will stay dead, though his influence will still be there via his portrait in the headmaster's office and perhaps the penseive. I do wonder about all the phoenix imagery, though...***SPOILING FINISHED*** You may not be a Potter fan, but whatever your genre, I think summer is definitely the time to lose yourself in a book.

Well, there are loads of other great things about summer, but these are just the ones I've noticed in the last couple of days. Gotta go help my kid get packed for scout camp. Maybe that's #11.

Why Writing Tests Isn't Such a Bad Gig After All

Here’s to all those conversations I’ve killed. Killed by talking about my jobs editing test items. Why the shout-out? Because right now I’m in Portsmouth, New Hampshire editing test items. I was invited to review test questions for a company that writes CRTs (standardized tests) that some states use. They flew several of us out here, paid us for a good day’s work, and now I get to see the sights. A friend and I have had a great time wandering around. Last night, after a bumpy flight, a less-than-perfect landing, a very long bus ride (accident on Route 1 so we wound through some neighborhoods or something for 2 hours), and a pleasantly brief cab ride, we ate at a fabulous place called The Oar House (the boullibaisse was amazing). Tonight we walked around, shopped, and walked across Piscataqua River to Kittery, Maine (which I hear has amazing shopping, but it was getting late). Tomorrow morning I’ll go to Strawbery Banke before catching a bus to the Boston airport. I did the tourist thing and pulled out the camera (which I absolutely hate doing, but I did for the sake of entertaining my husband and children), so I’ll have a few pictures to post when I get home.

And book group girls…have a good time without me. Sorry I had to miss it.

Diagnosis: Contact Dermatitis

Since Tuesday of this week I’ve spent hours scratching. Scratching my horridly itchy legs—hip to ankle. And not just a little scritch here or a nice scrub there. We’re talking SCRATCHIN. The kind where you make little bruises and draw blood in a few places. The kind where you sit and groan as you dig your skin into red swollen bumpiness. So I finally went to the doctor. He confirmed it…I have…(dum dum duuum!) a rash.

Odd that it’s only on my legs, don’t you think? At the doctor’s office we went through the list of what might have caused this tragic condition:

New clothes or underclothes worn before washing?

No. Except the viral blog shirt and that was long ago. And also not worn on my legs.

New laundry detergent (Tide or Downy)?

Nope. Still the same institutional-sized bucket of Costco laundry soap I’ve been using for months.

New soap?

Uh-uh. Been using Dove for years. It has 1/4 moisturizer, you know.

Shampoo?

No, and besides, that would give me a rash on my head, right?

New lotions or creams?

No…

Wait…I did pull out the sunless tanning cream to tone down winter’s blue glaze the other week. I used it once or twice, waited a week, then used it again Sunday and Monday, just before the break-out. But not on my whole body. Only on MY LEGS.

That’s pretty conclusive evidence, I think. Jack Bauer invaded the Chinese Embassy on less evidence than that. We’re watching last year’s 24 right now. Love that show. We used to be junkies, but then other stuff made it too hard to watch every week, so we quit. So now we just watch the last season on DVD, and I think I like that even better. We can watch 2 episodes a night after the kids are in bed, and each episode only lasts 45 minutes—no commercials to agonize through. The only problem is if you itch. It makes it really hard to enjoy TV if you are always shifting around to get the next itchy spot on the other knee.

But the doctor gave me some allergy medication and some cream to use, and it’s made the rash much better. I really only start itching in the evening, and an oatmeal bath plus some meds usually take the edge off so that I can enjoy Jack and the gang. Did I mention I really like Chloe? She’s so disgruntled and has such a lousy attitude. I love her crabby eyebrows. I haven’t watched any of this season, but I hope she sticks around. So here’s my advice: First, don’t use No-Ad brand Sunless Tanning Cream, especially if it’s last year’s bottle. Spring for the extra 5 or 10 bucks and get a good brand and avoid a week’s worth of itchy agony. Second, if you haven’t ever watched 24, you need to. Rent or buy the first season and get going on it—you’ll love it.

Infected

The shirt IS true. Thank you, Compulsive Writer.

Guy calls it my Embroidered Garden of Hotness.

Smile Big, Everyone!

We had this photo of Grandma, Grandpa and all their grandkids taken last fall at their 50th wedding anniversary. A nice evening to bring in the photographer and create some lasting memories. Can you tell which one is my kid?



Here. Maybe you need a little hint.



*Second photo, “Now Show Us the BACK of Your Band-aid”, courtesy of my brother The Dally Llama.

An Experiment in the Kitchen

Today, folks, I am going to attempt to make flan. I got the recipe from a little lady in our neighborhood named Hortencia. Wish me luck. I'll be starting my adventure around 6:00 today, which means that if all goes well, there might be some good eatin around here by 7:30 or 8:00. Stop by if you wish. The best part about this is that I'm the only one in this house (that I know of) who will eat the stuff, so there should be plenty.

Cheers!

Spring Is In the Air

You might not think so, but I know it is because my three-year-old son has already peed outside twice in the last week. That I know of. At Grandma’s house the other day, he came moseying on into the house and said casually, “I peed in the flower holder.” I took a slow breath and calmly asked where exactly it was that he peed. He explained that it was in the flower holder (read flower pot) outside on Grandma’s porch. Then he and his dad had a nice man-to-man moment while he showed his dad precisely where. And how. Apparently the pot was just the right height. Then the next day, he came into Grandma’s house again and told us he peed in the bush. Somehow the time-outs and multiple discussions about peeing only in toilets aren’t registering. I’m trying to be calm and not overreact about this, but really! Maybe all you men out there can explain this to me. Why the fascination? Is it because it’s so convenient? Enjoyable? Freeing? Or just because you can? I don’t get it. It’s going to be a long summer around here. And it’s only March.

A few minutes ago he walked into the room and announced that he has hot pee. This is how my 5-year-old daughter has described a bladder infection, so when I asked, “You have hot pee?” I expected to hear more about pain or problems on the potty. Instead he explained that he peed on his finger for a long time and it was hot. Investigating his sister's claims, I suppose. Arrrgh! What am I going to do with my son and his “peanut”? If any of you know how to keep little boys from making their mark on the world, will you please let me know?

Anything I Can Do

I have a show for you to watch. It’s called “Anything I Can Do” and it’s on PBS. It’s one of those do-it-yourself shows. The hostess is Mag Ruffman and the project today was building a child’s bench. The bench is made from 4 pieces of plywood all glued and screwed together and then decoupaged with little squares of colored fabric. The clever part about the project was that Meg designed it with her eyes shut. You might be thinking, “What? How could someone design a piece of furniture with shut eyes?” Well, you obviously don’t know Mag. She is very free-spirited. She just took a pencil, shut her eyes, and drew out the sides of the bench on a piece of plywood. Then she instructed us in the finer points of a jigsaw, eye and ear protection, and cut away. She assured us it didn’t even matter if the two sides of the bench were different from each other, because they are kind of like the sleeves of a dress—it doesn’t matter if they are different because they aren’t right next to each other so nobody will notice. Brilliant. Plus, she pointed out that one of the great things about designing furniture with your eyes closed is that if it turns out badly, you can always say, “Not bad, considering my eyes were closed.”

One thing I love about Mag is that she uses catchy little phrases throughout her show and she always gives her projects clever titles. This little kiddie bench she called “Glue Me Like You Did Last Summer.” A show about making garden pots she called “Pot and Bothered” and her show on making and wiring lamps she called “Interview with a Lamp Wire.” Now how did she come up with all that?

Mag really speaks to women. As you watch her floundering with glue and falling pieces of plywood, you realize it’s okay to be a girl who has a tough time with stuff. As long as you’re cute and say funny things, no problem, and your fun little projects will turn out just fine regardless. Skill and technique don’t really matter that much. Mag reminds us that “there's nothing like hefting a power tool to tighten important muscle groups.” There’s my new workout! And I think high-waisted, peg-legged pants must be coming back in style if Mag is any indicator.

Mag is in touch with her inner child. It’s not uncommon to watch her running and playing in the big field outside her barn. Or sliding down the pole from her loft, twirling as she descends.

My very most favorite part of the show is when Mag has a reflective moment. We hear Mag’s introspection as she thinks or writes in her journal. She really has a few things going on in her head, and she shares them freely with us. Doing it yourself is a sort of spiritual thing, and you can find yourself in one of Mag’s projects.

If you haven’t ever watched Mag, I think you should. Let me know what you think. You can go here to see more of Mag and her clever ideas: http://www.homeenvy.com/mag_ruffman.html

So Where Have You Been?

That’s what I think you, reader, might be thinking. Where have I been since my last post? Richfield, Utah. Okay, not the whole time. But I was there for one day, anyway. Occasionally I go out of town without the rest of my family. Yep, just by my lonesome. Sometimes I have a conversation with a friend and the subject of my absence comes up. The conversation goes something like this:

“I can’t do this-or-that tomorrow. I’ll be out of town.”

“Oh? Where are you going?” my friend asks with interest.

“Richfield.”

Pause. “Where’s Richfield?”

Rural Utah towns don’t get a lot of hype. I explain that Richfield is about 2 hours south of Provo, past Scipio and near Aurora. That usually doesn’t help much. The conversation is losing steam.

“Ohhhh. Why are you going to Richfield?”

“I’m teaching at a workshop.”

I gain a little ground and my friend now seems slightly impressed. I even get a little bit of an eyebrow raise, as if I had just announced that I was an architect.

“Oh! A workshop about what?”

I take a deep breath. How do I explain what I do? “About writing tests. Assessment.”

“Mmmm.”

Conversation killed.

Really, the workshop is about much more than writing tests. It’s a workshop that teaches science teachers different ways to find out what their students have learned, and then to adjust their teaching accordingly. To folks in the field, that’s called formative assessment. The title of the workshop is “Using Formative Assessment to Inform Instruction.” But to the lay-person, and even to many teachers, that just sounds like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. So each time I do this workshop, I try and think of a way I can explain this to my friends in a simple way and make it sound interesting and fun. But the best I can come up with is, “It’s a workshop about testing,” which it really isn’t. Pretty much a guaranteed conversation killer.

I've been doing this type of stuff--either teaching workshops about assessment or working at workshops where we create assessments--for about 6 or 7 years now. And at the end of each workshop, I’m exhausted, worn out, and completely fulfilled. I’ve also experienced a change of scenery and a little get-away, which every mother needs. I find myself in a conversation with my friends and co-teachers Hugh, Janis and Kevin, and hear myself say, “Gosh, that was fun.” And then I step back and go, wha…? This is like major geek fun. Oh well. I’m pretty good at it, I like it, it’s fulfilling, and I get paid. Plus, the two workshops we’ll teach this summer will be in Heber and we’ll stay for 4 days (each workshop) at the Homestead. Not bad accommodations for someone teaching about tests.