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.

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.