It's Come to This

Last night I passed a new mile post in my life. I put Bill Cosby's "Mother's Curse" on my children.

"I Hope! That Someday! You Have Children! Who Act! The Same Way That You Act!"

And a variation on the same theme:

"I Hope! That Someday! You Have Children! Who Hate The Food! That You Cook!"

Chili, anyone?

By Bread Alone

I was pondering one of those deep, life altering questions this morning during breakfast:

How do I eat my bread?

So I observed myself. I know that this is a very qualitative study with an n of 1, and that the data are skewed because the subject was aware she was being observed, and at the same doing the observing, but stay with me here.

When eating toast with raspberry jam, I first bite into the top crust, usually on the right-hand side of the bread (when looking at the bread in upright position, straight on) and then procede to eat around the bread in a counter-clockwise direction. I eat with a "save the best for last" philosophy. I eat around the bread, consuming crust and middle, until the last bite is some middle attached to that squishy bit right between the top and the sides of the loaf. That squishy bit is the filet, my friends. The very best part of the bread. Unless it's another kind of bread. Eating methods may need be altered depending on the type of bread. If it's banana bread, the top crust must be eaten last.

So I challenge you to self evaluate. Delve in and ask yourself the deep, life altering question: How do you eat your bread?

Potionism

A conversation with my almost-5-year-old son this morning:

"Mom, I wonder how Jesus made the world."

"Me too."

"Do you know how he made the world?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, Mom. Maybe when we die we should ask him."

"Yep. I think that's a great idea. That's the first thing I want to ask when I die."

"Well, I think he used a ginormous potion."

For those of you that know me well, you will see my delight in this conversation. Just last night I had a discussion with a friend about science and evolution. You don't even want to get me started. But I really do plan on signing up for Creation 101 first thing when I hit the other side. Are there prerequisites, I wonder? Anyway, I'm thrilled that my almost-5-year-old son wonders how this world came to be. And I'm equally thrilled that his sense of fantasy and imagination makes a potion creation completely plausible.

Then a few moments later:

"Mom. Will you get me a potionmaker with a dog on the box for my birthday?"

"Why do you want a potion with a dog on it?"

"Well, Mom. Just go to a store that you can see a potion and get it for me for my birthday, okay Mom?"

Do you get the feeling he's got an ulterior motive?

Moth and Rust

and Clorox Clean Up doth corrupt.

We've had these classy yet casual, contemporary yet timeless, brown leather sofas for close to 10 years now. I hadn't realized they were that old until just tonight when I started thinking about it. They have survived jumping and climbing kids, gum, drool, spit-up, vomit and urine. And with an occasional cleaning and conditioning, have survived it all pretty well. Until Saturday night.

Word to the wise: make sure your kids put the Clorox Clean Up away, not on the sofa, when they are done cleaning toilets. The stuff eats holes in leather. I mopped up the bleach, cleaned and contitioned it the spot, and now I'm left with a blotchy thing about the size of a quarter in the middle of one cushion. It looks like the cow had some sort of flesh-eating bacteria before it graciously became my sofa.

It's true, it wasn't as bad as Kacy's experience (right now, this is just a teaser...I'm still looking for the link), but sad still the same.

And yeay me: I only said "What the h-e-double-hockeysticks?" once and I didn't even go off on the kids when I found it laying there. I must be getting more mature.

In other news, I'm gonna need that maturity. Just got a new church assignment. Primary: look out!

My Spiritual Daughter

I think you should go read my good friend pflower's account of my daughter's wonderful, spiritual influence in the neighborhood. You never know how your children are going to reach out to others and share what is inside of them.

Whales Ahoy!

Next stop: Juneau
Population: approx 30,000
Temperate Rainforest

In this port we went whale watching. We were fortunate enough to see a pod of about 12 or 13 humpback whales bubble-net feeding. This behavior has only been observed in humpback whales in a few places in the world, and south-east Alaska is one of those places. It was amazing. The whales go down and blow bubbles in a circle, which traps the krill and other little critters they eat, and then, all at once, they come up with their huge mouths open and come out of the water to about their eyeballs. You could see their baleen and their stretchy under-throat things full of water. And one whale even breeched (jumped all the way out of the water). It was one of the most exhilarating things I've ever seen.



On the bus ride to our whale-watching boat we passed Mendenhall glacier. I wish we'd had a bit more time in Juneau so we could have taken a tour up closer to the glacier.



After whale watching we had a little more time to walk around the tourist trap shops in Juneau. It's a neat city and we met up with a neighbor and friend of ours. Just before we got back on the boat we had a huge Alaskan King Crab leg at a little crab shack. Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm. Divine. Then back to the ship and on to the third and final stop.

Dude. You Don't Even Know.

My grandparents rounded up their kids and grandkids (that means NOT my kids) and took us--21 in all--on an Alaskan cruise. It was sublime. Here are a few photos and highlights from the trip.

On the ship in Vancouver, Canada just before leaving port


At the mandatory safety-and-where-to-go-if-the-ship-is-sinking meeting


My cute parents on the observation deck as we were leaving Vancouver


My 2 brothers and me


We played on the boat for a day while we cruised the inside passage up to our first stop.




Sting Pong.

Dallas: 13, Lewis: 2



First stop: Ketchikan
Population: approx 8,000
Temperate Rainforest (alder, spruce, hemlock)
annual rainfall: 13 feet--yes, FEET!
airports: 1
access: airplane, boat, birthcanal

Who knew there were rainforests in Alaska? I'm embarrassed to say I didn't. Ketchikan is beautiful. The little town has about 40 miles of road, and then nothing but wilderness from there on. We went out of town about 15 miles and went sea kyaking.

This is the group who went kyaking: Guy and I, Monica (my sister) and her hubby Jeff, and my darling cousins Brett and Andi. Bald eagles were everywhere and the kyaking was lovely.




The old red-light district in Ketchikan (now little tourist shops)



The weather was cool and beautiful and due to the humidity, my skin has never felt better. There was, however, one really big, pus-filled zit on the face of the trip. Grandma's Meniere's disease acted up and she got really sick and so she and Grandpa had to get off the ship at Ketchikan. How sad is that? And to add to the disappointment, my aunt Jeannine and Dan had to go with them to help them get home. Jeannine was the one who had done all the leg-work putting the cruise together--all the way from coordinating the dates we could all go to arranging flights and cruise stuff. So that really sucked. We had fun anyway, which is what Grandma and Grandpa wanted, but it was such a bummer that they weren't there to enjoy it with us.

I've got more to report on, but it will have to wait for another post. Until then, enjoy this sunset.

More From My Kids

On Mother's Day my 6-year old daughter told me I had a beard and pointed to my upper lip. Thanks.

Today my 4-year old son asked if he could use gel to spike his hair. He wants the very edge fringe of his bangs to point directly forward--and don't touch it or you might mess it up! You have to understand that there are no precedents for males in this household using gel--Dad hardly has enough hair (in length, honey!) to hold any gel in, and my 12-year old son's idea of doing his hair is smashing it forward with his hand. At age 4 I already sense teenage issues coming...

And 2 questions in rapid succession from my 9-year old daughter...

"Mom, why do people itch?"
"Because they need to scratch." (Hey, I was busy doing Su Doku, okay?)
Sarcastically, "Oh. That was really helpful. I'm gonna go write that down."

"Mom, is it really true that farts are flammable?"
"Mmm hmmm." (Still doing Su Doku)
"So if you farted by a match, your bum would catch on fire?"
"Yep. That's called a blue dart."
"Wow. That's really weird."

Makin Mom Proud

Yesterday

Six-year old daughter: "Guess what! I can pick my nose and ride my bike all at the same time!"


At breakfast today

Twelve-year old son: "I'm oblivious!"
Nine-year old daughter: "What the heck does oblivious mean?"
Twelve-year old son: "I have no idea."

Calling All Gardeners

Do you want Shasta Daisies for your flower garden?

And I don't mean a few. I just separated a couple of plants and I have GALLONS of plants waiting here for you. They are beautiful flowers that bloom mid-summer, grow about 2-3 feet tall with the right water, and out-compete weeds. The clump spreads and needs to be thinned out every couple of years, but it's a nice no-brainer perrenial. They want full sun and will fall over if a sprinkler hits them once the blooms come out, but caging them early in the spring seems to hold them up pretty well.

They need a home or the city compost pile will get them come next Tuesday. If you want them, they're yours. Free of charge. Only tell me that you love me. Or you can bring me a start of your favorite flower if you want. Come get all or just a few of them. Email if you need my address. lorien@guyfrancis.com

Happy Gardening! (I just found some of my dirt under a bunch of weeds--I was wondering if it was still there!)

Busted

One of my dear friends recently developed mastitis. The poor thing. I've never had the condition, but I know it is just miserable. Fever, chills, aches and feeling just wiped out generally. All this on top of trying to care for a little one. Ugh. When I found out she was sick, I thought I'd take something to her. She refused dinner or any other help, so while I was out and about with my pfriend, we just decided we'd pick something up and deliver it, whether she wanted it or not. While we were at the grocery store, p mused, "I wonder if there is anything here that represents breasts." Well, how could there NOT be? The creative juices flowed as we wandered around and finally found powdered donuts, peach-o's and gumdrops. They would assemble very nicely into a representation of our friend's affliction. They were so cute I just had to take a photo with my phone. And my darling friend was delighted with the delectable teats...er, I mean...treats.

A few days later my hubby and I were out on a date and our son was babysitting. I got a call from my boy who said, "I've got a problem."
Suppressing alarm I asked, "What's the problem?"
"The handle on the sink just broke off. I'm holding it in my hand."
Relief...wait...
"Is the water still running?"
"No."
Relief confirmed.
"Okay. Don't worry about it. Dad will fix it when we get home."

Great. My house seems to be falling apart. It must have hit the 30-year-hardware-all-breaks mark because just a few weeks earlier my front door handle broke too. Except that the sink faucet was only a few years old and I don't think the front door handle was original to the home either. Go figure. The house must just have bad breaking vibes right now. Anyway, this faucet project needed immediate attention. So we got home from our date (Saturday night of course), picked up the broken faucet handle and left again, this time heading for Lowe's.

We found out that Moen has really great customer service and that they would replace the broken part free of charge. We just had to be patient enough to use pliers as the sink handle until the new part arrived. Fine. I figured that's better than spending a couple hundred bucks on a new faucet at this point. So we looked at front door handles instead. We quickly picked out a handle that would match our other doorknobs we just replaced last summer (because the old ones broke, of course).

The next morning my fabulous fix-it man hubby installed the new door handle. It was only then--a few hours later, actually--that I realized the new doorknob didn't match the other recently-replaced doorknobs like I thought they did. Now this might sound picky, but come on! If I'm going to spend the dough to put on a new doorknob, it ought to be one I like, right? So off came the doorknob and back to Lowe's I went to exchange for one I liked. But this time I was smart. This time I came prepared. This time I tapped into my tech-savvy self and took a photo with my phone so I could find the perfect match for our doorknobs.

At the store I found our very doorknobs I was trying to match. Unfortunately Lowe's just didn't seem to have anything like them in the front door variety. I looked and looked, comparing my cell phone picture to the displays, and finally asked the young doorknob specialist for help. I thought I'd show him the picture of the handle I wanted to match so he'd know what I was talking about. I put my phone out for him to see, and apparently I'd pushed a button inadvertently, because this is what popped up instead.
Busted.

it's here! it's here!

Spring has sprung! My little crocuses look happy to see me and it is therefore time to shake off the shoes and bring the toenails out of hibernation. A pedicure with my pfriend was just the thing. Thanks p! Now I know it will (not might but will) snow again before May. But that's okay because there is hope of sunshine and warm sidewalks and that makes me happy. So here's a call to all you ladies--if you haven't already, break out the OPI and get on it.

And if you still doubt that there is hope on the horizon, even after seeing my fab toes, just ask this bee.


And what's with my fall banner? What happened to Halloween, Christmas and Valentines? Where's my blog administrator? Don't I get a cute springy banner?

Sunday In the Kitchen With Lorien

Any time you want to come over for dinner, just holler and I'll whip up a little something.

Mmmm. What a cook.

it's my birthday

and I'll eat sushi if I want to!

It's official. Or at least it will be by the end of this month. I won't be early-thirty-something anymore. Mid-thirties it is. So to embrace and celebrate this next phase of my life, I am inviting you to come eat sushi with me! Now who could pass that up?

When?
Thursday, Feb 22, straight-up noon

Where?
Asuka Japanese Sushi & Steak House
2244 N. University Parkway, Provo
(across the parkinglot from Olive Garden)

What?
A most delish all-you-can-eat sushi bar--everyone picks 3 rolls and we all share, eat, chat, order some more, eat some more and chat some more till we're done.

Who?
All you bloggers and anyone else I feel like inviting.

Why?
You'd eat sushi, too, if it happened to you!

Morning Conversations

This morning my 4-year old son said "Mom. My spit tastes like metal. Echh."

And my 9-year old daughter said, as she was rubbing the crusties out of her sleepy eyes, "I had such a strange dream. I dreamed I was selling those 'no soliciting' signs door to door. That's so weird." I love that my daughter understands irony at the age of 9.

LEFT!

Please indulge me. It's time for a rant.

In the cold, polluted, or icy-sidewalk weather we've been having lately, my 2 sister-in-laws and I go to the Smith Fieldhouse to run on the indoor track. In case you've never been there, let me take a minute to describe it. It's a 4-lane track that is .2 miles per lap--you have to run 5 to get a mile vs. the standard (?) 4 laps per mile on outdoor tracks. The track was just re-done and is a lovely BYU blue. Really, I don't care for the blue that much, but I guess if you have to pick a color, blue works if you're the Y. Anyway, on the inside of the track is an enclosed basketball court (so you can't see across to the other side of the track), and on one end is a big open area where they chuck discuses, pole-vault, lift weights and the army guys can do drills and twirl guns and stuff.

The track is small and it can get very crowded, especially on inclimate days. The supervisors of the track probably recognized this and posted information to help with movement on the track. On not one, but two sides of the track there are signs--over-the-freeway-style-so-you-run-under-it--posted. One of them has 2 clocks. BOTH of them state "WALKING AND JOGGING IN OUTSIDE TWO LANES. INSIDE LANES FOR SPRINTING ONLY." For the purposes of this rant, let's number the lanes, 1 being the inner lane and 4 being the outer lane. Now what do you suppose this sign means? Take a minute. Formulate your answer. Good. Now, did you answer that if you are walking or jogging you should be doing so in lanes 3 or 4? Did you answer that you should stay out of the inside two lanes (1 and 2) unless you are running faster than most of the other people in the building? Great job! Now, could you please explain this difficult principle to the chick that walks and gabs with her two friends three abreast, in lanes 4, 3, and 2? And I'm not talking a skimpy lane 2, you know, squeezing over to fit as close to lane 3 as possible. I'm talking a generous lane 2, sometimes veering into lane 1. Now I'll admit, lane-violater chick and friends do walk quickly. But they aren't running and they never even budge to skinny up the space they take up. Not once have I seen that happen. On Monday my SIL and I were trying to pass the three of them when I heard a pack of army guys approaching from behind. Their 3 and our 2 made 5, plus these other 3 guys moving up quick on the inside. I finally hollered "Left!" and passed. She didn't budge.

I used to run with a friend who would yell "Left!" and then just plow into people if they didn't move to an outer lane. I used to be horrified and so embarrassed when she did this, but now I understand. She must have shared a track with lane-violater chick and had had enough. I'm about ready to try my friend's shoulder bumping technique and see if it does any good. I don't know if she'd get it, though. Once I watched them stop dead in the middle of the track by the door (after THEY were done with their workout, of course) to talk to 2 more of their friends. A big ole group of five self absorbed women chatting in the middle of the track. Nevermind that we have to dodge and run around them every time we want to pass them while they are walking, but now they need to have a conversation and lanes 2, 3 and 4 are just the place it needs to happen. The foyer of the building 7 feet away just isn't good enough.

Maybe lane-violater chick will come across my blog. If so, this is a plea. Please walk in the outer 2 lanes as the oh-so-clear sign suggests. Bertha (my affectionately named behind) and I have a tough enough time just keeping the feet moving, let alone the extra effort it takes to move around people. But I always check my blind spot, pass, and then move directly back into at least lane 3 and you can too. You can walk directly behind your friend in lane 4. I know she'd still be able to hear what you are saying. I always can.

Anyone want to make a bet? Think lane-violater chick will ever get it?

A Moment of Silence

Day before yesterday was a dark day. My 12 inch PowerBook G4 baby was in chronic hard drive failure. It hit on a day when my hubby had a date with fame (presenting at a local elementary school). Presentations were deleted, un-sequenced, deleted again, and then un-sequenced again. We were incredibly lucky we were able to pull the slides back together in time for the presentation, but we did and Mr. Illustrator did just fine. But then a stint installation--iLife06--in an attempt to fix the problem merely exacerbated the condition. It must have been too much strain because that evening the poor dear went into harddrive arrest. A last-ditch restart allowed me to recover my files and then we sent the machine to the mac hospital. After a drive transplant and some time in recovery I am happy to announce my baby is coming along quite well. If anyone wants to send "wishing you a speedy recovery" flowers or chocolates, I'd be happy to give you my address. Email privately.