Big Changes

Since I last wrote, Willie has retired from the Army and we're having another baby. So yeah, we've been busy. We're having another girl. Be warned: the next person who laments what an awful thing that is to my face may get punched in his/her face. If children are a gift from God, should we really mock what God gives to ourselves or others? Besides people, what do you want us to do - send it back? I asked someone that and Morgan perked up her ears. She was hoping it was a viable option.

The morning we found out about #3, we asked Halle what she thought about another baby. "Sure," she said. We posed the question to Morgan. "I say, NO! Just like that: I SAY NO!"

Willie and I were shocked. We had no idea how much Morgan treasured the position of youngest. We took the girls to the first ultrasound, hoping it would help with the adjustment process. Morgan was in denial: she commented a couple times on what a cute baby elephant it was. When the ultrasound was over, she dissolved into a puddle on the floor and told the tech, "I do NOT want this baby!"

She'll get over it, at least we hope so. In the meantime, we're enjoying having two girls in booster seats who eat solid foods. We left them at an hourly day care center last night for a Valentine's Dinner. Willie asked me what I was most looking forward to about dinner. I told him I was excited about not dealing with poop for a couple hours.

I was right to put this at the top of the enjoyment list. Morgan told the women at the center she needed to use the bathroom and then proceeded to paint herself in the bathroom with... well, you get the idea. Fortunately, the women at the center found the situation humorous rather than a deal breaker. Still, I don't know that they'd be excited to see us coming again.

Olympic Inspirations

Early this morning, we heard the sound of terror squeak through our house. Fortunately, this was the kind of terror of which we are in favor. Rex had caught a mouse. Rex, being a well-fed cat, sees mice as solely a source of entertainment. Through (I'm sure) extensive thought and research, Rex has decided the best place to play a mouse to death is in the girls' room. It makes sense: there are three beds, one closet, one dresser, and a huge mess to hide in, under, and around.

This venue has its drawbacks. Some friends came to our house only to discover a dead mouse near the Little People's barn. Barns are better places for mice. This morning's mouse ended up having two assailants since Willie went to see where the squeaking was coming from. Willie squashed the mouse, severely upsetting the cat who felt that playtime wasn't over yet.

The girls slept through the entire incident, probably because we've all been exhausted staying up every night watching the Olympics. Halle, who has no chance of ever becoming an Olympic gymnast, has declared her love for the sport. She shows us her "moves" every time we watch those inspirational athletes flip all over the floor. I tried that once and I really hurt my wrist. "And Mom," she said to me last night, "if I do Olympic gymnastics, I don't have to wear pants or undies!" It's incredible where inspiration can come from.

No plain piece of paper is safe in our house. Several times in the past couple of days, Willie or I have printed off a document only to find it decorated later with stick people and animals in various colors. We have even given up cleaning for guests. We figure no one really notices the dirt when there are so many bright colors to look at. Decorating is way more fun than scrubbing.

This new relaxed take to cleaning has been especially nice lately since we've had visitors quite often. Our kids noticed about a month ago that we have neighbors their same ages. In the beginning, children would just disappear. That is the worst feeling a parent can have: "wait. It's quiet. Did I lose the children?!" Our neighbors and I worked out a system where we threatened our children with many types of miseries if they made an unauthorized visit and then ask the neighbor children whether they had their parents' permission when they show up. I think the system is working. If it isn't, the kids aren't telling.

Sometimes the kids clean the tub instead of just color it. Last week, we were watching a couple other kids when I heard one crying. I found three of them in the tub covered from the waist down in body wash. They had turned the tub into a skating rink. It was fun until their hands also got covered and then couldn't move without falling. We're all about good, clean fun.

Rabbits and Boxing (but not a rabbit punch)

If you just watched the video (if you didn't, you're going to have to stop now or nothing else will make sense) you'll understand why that bunny died a couple seconds later. It wasn't all our fault we literally scared it to death; it was kind of wet from our dog and cat's mauling when we found it. We just finished it off. I fed it sugar water (which Morgan thought was lemonade) and I think it may have sent its little heart into cardiac arrest. We gave the bunny a proper funeral, then ate ice cream. Ice cream helps everything.

This is a boxing match Halle set up between the T-rex and Parasarolophus. Man, that second dinosaur is way harder to pronounce. That's probably why it isn't as popular. Come on, paleontologists - give us something the kids can say (or at least the moms)! I don't know who's going to win, but I'm betting the fish don't leave the match happy. If you're thinking to yourself, "What's up with Halle's hair?" you wouldn't be alone. Halle is into styling it herself these days, including giving herself and her sister a trim. It's kind of nice because then if someone asks me who cuts their hair because they don't ever want to go there, I can have complete deniability. At least Halle isn't boxing her sister. You can always find something to be grateful for. Right now, I think I'll place my bet on the Parasarolophus. His arms are longer.

Surgery #7

The best thing about hospitals is that they are temporary. (This is the same as to say that nothing is the best thing about hospitals.) You can get through just about anything with pain pills and the knowledge that it won't last for long. Willie had surgery almost a week ago and I discovered that I have basically conquered the hospital. I felt sorry for the rookies in the waiting room as they tried to entertain themselves. Here are my rules for waiting:

1. Leave the waiting room immediately after your loved one is taken back. You are going to be hungry, and there is no way you'll find out anything for hours. This is the best time to find the only vending machine that carries Cheetos. You're not supposed to eat in the waiting rooms, so you should also practice eating really sneakily. 

2. Sit next to someone entertaining. If you lose interest in your book, you can eavesdrop. I sat next to a lady with dementia who was convinced that she had caused something awful to happen. My great grandmother used to eat toilet paper so I'm pretty sure I'll end up as one of those old ladies. 

3. Bring a cell phone charger. If you're anything like me, the only person who calls you on a regular basis is your mom. But at a hospital, your phone blows up with text messages and phone calls from all sorts of people. I realized during this hospital stint that I have exactly six people programmed into my phone that I don't know who they are. 

This hospital stay was the best one so far. The surgery went better than expected. God took care of everything just like always, and my Mom was able to fly out to help. Grandmas are very important, special people even if they don't know how to work remote controls very well. 

The Truck Haircut

Willie is rebuilding his truck right now, occasionally making me a grease man. (If you're reading this and know WAY more about mechanics than I do and are thinking, "There's no way she's occasionally a grease man", you caught me. I have no idea what that means. I just help him every now and then.)

The truck project reminds me of a bad hair cut I once gave Halle. I just kept cutting and cutting and cutting. My friend saw it and said, "It's cute. Wait. What happened in the back?" I assume he knows what he's doing, but I am a little apprehensive. One day while acting as a grease man, I asked what he was doing. He was just standing and staring at the truck bed. "I'm trying to figure out how to do this without crushing my legs." I encouraged him to really think that out.

I really do have faith in my husband, I'm just so intimidated by mechanical objects that I find it all overwhelming. Hair cuts don't even always go well for me.

We went to a salvage yard yesterday (we had a baby sitter - this is what we do on our dates now). Apparently they charge an admission fee to look at junk. It was going to be 4 DOLLARS to gaze upon immobile vehicles. White trash neighborhoods need to pay attention here. We didn't have cash, and since their high class establishment didn't accept credit cards, we were denied the pleasures therein.

Dates don't always turn out the way you plan, but I can say that this one wasn't necessarily worse for the change in plans. I'm sure Willie will figure the truck out. If not, we'll charge you to come see it in person.

I bought a "This Day in History" calendar, which is almost always bad news. Yesterday, instead of recalling a romantic anecdote, the History folks brought up the dual deaths of Theodore Roosevelt's wife and mother. At first, I thought I would switch over to some kind of inspiration calendar, but then I realized that no bad day I had would probably match up to whatever the calendar highlighted. That kind of puts things in perspective: I completely dropped the Valentine's Day ball, but no one died. 

Willie had run to the store on his way home from work and delivered chocolate to all three girls. This is almost impossible to top since there is nothing else we like better. I would have to buy some kind of saw or fishing contraption in order to even break even on the satisfaction level. But I went to the grocery store to at least try to compete. 

The Valentine's display had been replaced by toilet paper. I darted around in aisles and compiled the best that was left: a skunk card, "Toadally kissable" frog balloon, marshmallow heart, and Captain America tattoos. Willie challenged the frog balloon to a fight and, not surprisingly, Willie won before round one was over. The frog ripped and didn't look very kissable anymore. I probably should have just bought the toilet paper. 

Romance is difficult to coax out of hiding at the last minute, especially when the stores only stock enough good stuff for the organized people.

Questions I Hate Asking Myself

I hate it when I have to ask myself the question, "Why does my house smell like poop?" At least the answer came quickly today: because there was dog poop all over the floor. Fortunately, I had removed the area rug in the living room the day before because it had smelled like pee, so the poop was on an easily cleaned surface. Morgan has decided to potty train herself. It turns out Morgan is actually worse at potty training than I am. She removes her diaper and pants, sits on the potty, then proceeds to get up and pee wherever she happens to find herself. I do get a break from changing diapers, but a stinky house.

My New Year's resolution is for my dog to lose weight. It's not going well. Her diet is causing her to steal food more than usual and then get sick in various ways throughout my house. A resolution really works better when one party in the resolution isn't sabotaging the other party. She's actually trying to steal food off our plates while we're still seated at the table eating our meal. She's a desperate Labrador.

Another question I hate asking myself is, "Why am I awake in the middle of the night?" Last week, it was because there were moaning sounds coming from upstairs. I checked on Halle with the compassionate question, "What?"

"Well, I can't sleep because my head hurts." She then threw up all over me. She also threw up in front of the check stand at Walmart later that day when we went for supplies. I quickly cleaned it up with the paper towels riding on the belt. I had needed paper towels because Maddy had thrown up (because she had snagged some of MY FAVORITE DONUTS) and gotten sick. I had used up the last of the roll cleaning up the rug where Halle's throw up had missed me at 2:30 that morning. The lady's expression behind us in line was priceless.

It was a rough day, but I think we're all recovering. Except for Maddy, of course, who is very upset with me for making her my resolution. She needn't worry; I'm getting worn down enough that the resolution will probably be resolved before the average three weeks are up.

80 Percent Fun

 I took the girls to an aquarium and the beach this past weekend. It was about 80 percent fun; I think sleeping in the same bed as a two year old who magically morphs into a giant slug that slowly pushes you off the mattress accounts for 10 percent of fun loss. The other 10 percent was lost by losing Morgan for about three minutes.

Our hotel was right on the beach so we marched right on down to the shore. The first time was great. We found shells, put our feet in the water and called it a day. The second time, Halle plopped herself in the ocean, Morgan fell in it, and we were all so sandy and dirty that I quickly remembered why we rarely visit the sea.

Near the hotel entrance, there was a hose you could use to wash yourself off with. While I washed Halle's pants and feet, Morgan hid behind a bush. Looking up and not seeing her, I panicked and started calling her. I told Halle to stay put while I started searching the area. Some people from a balcony started yelling directions to my lost daughter. It would have been helpful had they been directing me toward the correct child. As it was, it was only irritating and distracting. Morgan popped out from behind her bush a few minutes later and asked me what was wrong. "What happened, Mommy?" I told her we were not going back to the beach for a very long time.

Morgan has done this once before; while Halle is two years older and terrible at hide-and-seek ("Mommy! You're missing a little girl! I'm over here!"), Morgan is a master at it. While my mom was visiting, we went shopping in Raleigh. Both of us thought the other adult had Morgan, and thus shopped in peace until we realized our error. We started searching for her, and then I realized if Morgan was hiding, she would never reveal her location. When we found her, she was smiling and barely containing her delight. She couldn't believe how well her trick had worked. Funny, I didn't think to threaten not taking her shopping for a very long time.

The lacquer thinner is surprisingly working. It's exciting to think of living in a house where it doesn't feel like Barbie snuck in and graffittied the couch. While I was scrubbing the couch, trying not to pass out from the fumes, Halle commented on the improvement. "So you were just teasing me when you were so mad and said the couch was ruined!"

I assured her that I had not been teasing her, but that I was glad the couch wasn't ruined. I also told her that she was more important than any couch. I'm never sure if I get through. But I hope if something gets through, the more important thing does.

Besides, Willie seemed to be on board with having a pink couch. Maybe I should have just bought more pink and doused the whole thing.

Clean Harder

We are going to a superhero birthday party today. I'm kind of feeling like a villain, but we're going in spite of that. It's not like four year old boys can do anything to villains, anyway. Yesterday, I made a cape for Halle and thought I would save us 5 dollars and a trip to the store by making a bag for the gift. When I was almost finished sewing, I took a break to paint the girls' toe nails. It seemed like a nice motherly thing to do since I hadn't paid a lot of attention to them while I was working on my projects. After the toes were decorated, I went back to the sewing machine to finish up. I smelled something funny.

Jumping up from the machine, I saw that my couch had been murdered. There was bright pink fingernail polish EVERYWHERE, which of course does not come out. Furious, I sent Halle upstairs. (Morgan hadn't had time to make much of a mess, so she skirted most of the wrath.) When I had calmed down, I asked her to come downstairs. I explained that the couch was ruined, that nothing could get out the stains and that was why I was so upset. "Is there anything you would like to say?" I asked.

"Like... maybe you should clean harder?"

That was not the "something" I had wanted. Her blue eyes blinked up at me innocently. "Then maybe you should tell me what I'm supposed to say."

"Sorry. You're supposed to say you're sorry."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mom."

I'm looking into lacquer thinner today, but it would take Superman to get this out. That's what you get for trying to save 5 bucks. Next time, I'll just buy a bag.

Apple Core, Baltimore

We didn't get a VCR until Blockbuster stopped renting them out in bags. Remember that? During that time, we rented both the VCR and an obscure chipmunk/Donald Duck movie. In it, a chipmunk would eat an apple then say to it's chipmunk buddy, "Apple Core." The other rodent would reply, "Baltimore". Chipmunk 1: "Who's your friend?" Then the second would point out an unlucky pal and the first would hurl his apple core at the "friend". My brothers and I thought this was a spectacular idea and have continued the tradition to this day.

This ritual is so ingrained in our family that sometimes we forget not only how obnoxious it is, but how obscure. I don't think anyone else saw this movie. So when my mom accidentally dropped an apple core into a birthday gift bag for her boss and he found it, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Apple Core, Baltimore." Not surprisingly, he missed the reference.

I foolishly taught my daughter this game and now it has extended to peas. Much of the dialogue has been simplified: "Peas Porridge, who's your friend?" She doesn't even need an answer. If it wasn't for my black lab, there would be peas everywhere. Those black labs are amazing. Mine is also fat.

Finding Christmas

In six years of marriage, Willie and I have only had two Christmas trees. Every time I put up a Christmas tree, I remember that the stand my mom gave me is only for decoration: it's missing a couple screws and is probably 80 years old (actually, it doesn't have any screws). But it's been three years since we had a tree and just long enough that the stand seemed perfectly capable. We had to have a tree this year because Halle explicitly asked for one last year. The conversation went like this: "Merry Christmas, Halle!"

"No, it's not."

"What do you mean?"

"I looked for Christmas everywhere and can't find it. Can we at least have a tree next year?"

It's hard for me to justify buying Christmas decorations when they cost money and get stored the majority of the year. But, seeing my three year old's disappointment in her parents has fueled my decorating fire. We had to get a tree. And a deer head. 

So I called friends to deliver my tree. After a lot of effort, Chris explained to me that the stand was not going to work and that I would need to get a new one. "But when you get a new one, call us and we'll put it in for you. Don't try to do it yourself."

Of course, after they left I immediately sawed off several more branches and enlisted my four year old to help me in getting it back in the stand. The tree fell on me three times. 

After all that effort, the tree was still a little tilted. But it was in my house and decorated. I would have left it. But my friends called me again, knowing that I would do something stupid and try to fix the stand. They delivered a stand and installed it. The tree only fell on Karen once. Moving a tree around is way more efficient with adults.

I'm hoping that Halle is appeased this year. I know that I, for one, am all ready having a great Christmas. Not only are we celebrating Christ's birth and our rescue from sin and darkness, I have a deer mount. My brothers and husband have all shot deer. I have hunted and captured one as well. I'm sure my family will be very proud.

Hives

The first time I saw Halle break out in hives, it was all over her face and I did a classic mom-freak out. I called the doctor and actually said that I feared for my child's life. I rushed her into the doctor and by the time we sat down in the waiting room, her hives had cleared up. This prompted me to lean over and whisper into my two year old's ear, "itch your face, child. I look like an idiot."

Thus, when her face broke out in hives this week I just pulled out the Benadryl. I won't be fooled again. I still have no idea what causes these hives, but I am sure that if I take her to the doctor to find out, they'll clear right up.

These skin irritations must run in the family because Willie also has had some frightening episodes. His ear, lips, and cheeks have all spontaneously swelled up. The doctor diagnosed him with, "unexplained hives." I could have diagnosed that.

Willie's biggest foe, however, is poison ivy. When we lived in Georgia he broke out in a rash and didn't get rid of it for a YEAR. If someone talks about poison ivy, he breaks out. I, on the other hand, am immune. This greatly aggravates my husband. I like to call it my superpower. He may be cuter, more athletic, smarter, and luckier than I am, but I am immune to poison ivy.

Shushing

I got shushed this week by some old lady at the post office. She was hogging the window because she wanted to fill out some paperwork, which could have been done anywhere else. I was trying to send a large sewing machine across the country. My children were being very good, which never lasts all that long. The second you think to yourself, "I must be doing something right!" all hell breaks loose. Morgan wriggled out of my arms as I signed the credit card slip. "Don't touch anything!" I told her. She immediately went to the packaging supplies to touch all of them. Halle put her in a headlock and started dragging her toward me. Morgan let out a milk curdling scream, causing me to gasp and say, "Oh my!" I grabbed my receipt and the window hog irritably turned her head and shushed me. I would have shushed the kids, but that's just me.

I go in between thinking that I can't wait to be old so that I can be obnoxious and thinking that I hope I'm nice, even if I'm crazy. There was this old guy who used to come into the store I cashiered at during college. He suffered from narcolepsy, which made him very entertaining. He would start digging out money, and fall asleep. After a few snores he usually woke up and finished the transaction. One visit, he fell asleep three times before I could hand him the receipt. But he was very nice.

Another old lady who came into my store asked me to help her out to her car. I happily obliged, asking her which was her car. "I don't know," she said. "You mean, you don't know where you parked?" I clarified. "No," came her reply. "I don't know which is mine. I can't see them. I parked in the front row. It's a blue car," she squinted and meandered around. After settling on a Lincoln, she went on her way. I entered the store, raised my arms and made an announcement. "Nobody leave the store for at least fifteen minutes. There's a lady on the road who is considered blind and dangerous." She was nice, too.

I think I would rather be nice and crazy. That way, even if you don't have an excuse to be obnoxious, you have someone to drive you to the store while you sleep in the checkout line. Sleeping while you shop plus good company. Win/Win.

Parties

 Parties and I don't mix. The last party I went to, my cat ended up dying. When we were new to our church, we had a group of people over. In the group was our pastor and his wife. In the middle of dinner, I discovered that I had forgotten to remove the fly tape hanging over the table. We never used our table; we mostly ate at the counter since it was just the two of us. I mentioned this fact as I climbed on top of my chair in my dress and removed the fly tape (hopefully not flashing anyone in the process, but it is a possibility). Our pastor said that it was okay; he had been to lots of redneck houses and that hadn't scared him off at all. That really was his reassurance.
 Later, it was discovered that my fish was dead in its bowl.
I am terrible at remembering things like silverware, too. I think of the plates, napkins, balloons, but forget about basic necessities.

Thus, after Halle's first birthday party bust, (wherein no one enjoyed themselves) I made the decision to cancel all birthday parties. Instead, we go somewhere. We went to the zoo this year, last year we visited the Children's Museum and the Museum of History.

Unfortunately for Halle, we were travelling home from Oregon on her birthday this year. It was a long, exhausting day. The next day, I bought an ice cream cake (still in our freezer) from Dairy Queen, dug out some farm-yard themed candles from two years ago, and we sang. The candles kept going out so by the time I got them all lit at the same time, the chicken's head had burned off.

Morgan's birthday yesterday was a good time had by all, and the presents were all opened at the same time after a proper cake was lit and sung over (it was actually a carrot cake roll that happens to be my favorite sort of cake - Morgan was easily persuaded). All this fun and festivity prompted Halle to ask, "Mom, can tomorrow be my birthday? Because my birthday was kind of messed up."

You know, my birthday wasn't much of anything this year either. I would also like a do-over. At least I can still talk my kids into getting my favorite kind of cake for their birthdays.

Oh, and the first picture is of albino alligators. I just thought that needed to be shared. Albino alligators - who knew gators could be even more terrifying and ugly? Their eyes are red because they have no pigment. You're actually seeing the blood behind the eyeball. Learned that yesterday. See? No clean up and educational.

Actual Unexpected Gifts, Part II

4. Fanny Pack
Willie asked for a fanny pack for his birthday a couple years ago. I asked if he had had a flashback moment to 1992, but he said that in the fishing world a fanny pack is considered fashionably acceptable. He didn't use those words, but he did tell me that they are incredibly handy and he didn't care what Tim Gunn thought.

5. When we were dating, I lost a pocketknife that I had claimed in a lost and found box at the end of the school year. I was so disappointed, not because I ever used it, but because my Grandmother had always carried a pocketknife with her. I figured I would probably need one at some point during the aging process. I did not want to find myself without one when that day came. Valentines Day rolled around, and I was presented with a blue and purple Kershaw knife. I use it all the time. My Grandma was totally right.

6. Dinosaurs
We stayed the night at a friend's sister's house while visiting West Virginia about two years ago. A dino-obsessed little boy lived there, and Halle was instantly taken with the reptilian monsters. She opened her arms wide toward the plastic replicas. "All these could be MINE!" She exclaimed with glee. They couldn't be hers, but I did give her two that I found for a dollar a piece.

Now, every night after her bath, Halle disappears. "There's no Halle anymore!" a muffled voice says. Covered in her towel, she makes cracking noises. Leaping out of the towel stands a baby T-Rex. "Wrrrrraaaaa," she says. From that point until morning, she answers only to "Baby T-Rex." She has also introduced herself to strangers as "Baby Triceratops", "T-Rex", and "Spinosaurus".

Actual Unexpected Gifts

One day I decided to see what people find when they google my name. They would find my blog, of course, but the reason they would look for it is because they're looking for unusual gift ideas. I figured I might as well write some entries about that subject so that people aren't completely disappointed.

1. Krystal Burgers
The first year we were married, we moved to Georgia from Washington state. Willie was literally the only person I really knew in three thousand miles, and he forgot my birthday. We had just moved into our apartment and I couldn't even find the box that might have a shower curtain. Willie wore a panicked expression as he left to try to  remedy the situation. He returned a couple hours later with a small paper bag. "It's Sunday," he said. "Everything is closed. I couldn't get you anything, so I bought you these." The bag held ten tiny, square hamburgers. I declined the offer, telling him that the dry cereal I had eaten earlier was more appetizing. He devoured the tiny grease squares and then asked with a desperate expression, "How can I redeem your birthday?" We ended up going to Savannah, which is charming and the entire day is one of my favorite memories of our time in Georgia.

2. Eisenhower
Before we got married, I adopted a cat from my Grandparent's house. It was a Siamese and I thought (erroneously) that it would be fun to name our cats after Presidents. After the wedding, Ike had difficulty adjusting. He hated Willie. He would sneak into a room, leap into the air, rake his claws across Willie's back, and then hide somewhere in the house. Anything that smelled like Willie got sprayed.

Ike also made friends with a local racoon. I found him shredding a bag of garbage on our back porch with his masked companion. They ate side-by-side from Ike's bowl.

Willie had a custom-made guitar sitting on a stand next to its custom-made case. Ike decided this case would work as a second litter box. It was then that I agreed Ike had to go.

Willie's parents came for a visit and we happily gifted Ike to them. Eisenhower only lasted about a month in the country before he got ran over.

3. Smartwool socks
My brother Jarred is famous for the comment, "Thank you. I hate this" which he made about a gift I gave him one Christmas. I repeated the phrase when I opened a pair of socks he gave me one year. It was a pair of neon yellow felted wool socks. They were the most uncomfortable, ill-fitting, ugly things I have ever laid eyes on. What had happened, was some guy at college who needed money had made them and then suckered Jarred into buying them.

No one in my family can say no to a traveling salesman. Once, I let a rambling black man wash Willie's truck for ten bucks. It was the worst car wash known to man and Willie was incensed. This summer, I bought a bunch of books from some college kid. Girl scouts actually frighten me.

At any rate, the next Christmas Jarred asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted some socks. He thought I was mocking him, but I really did want socks - just not handmade ones from alpaca boy. He bought me two thick pairs of gray Smartwool socks. I wore them for two weeks straight during a trip to Europe. The only time I took them off was when I took a rather rare shower.

I was telling my friend about my love for Smartwool socks: "They're more expensive, but you don't need as many because you almost never have to wash these things! They breathe so well that you can wear them for like three days and they're not too stinky." I could tell by the expression on her face that not only was she NOT planning to invest in Smartwool socks, she had also lost some respect for me.

That's probably enough for this installment. The moral of this entry: 1. Don't buy burgers to make up for forgetting your spouse's birthday, but DO ask her/him how you can fix it; 2. Do NOT buy Siamese cats, but if you get one, give it to your in laws who can dispose of it for you; 3. Smartwool socks are an excellent gift at anytime for anyone.

Showing Sheep

 The girls and I courageously ventured out west last month. To make the trip easier, Halle got a Leapster Explorer. She calls this electronic entertainer her "GPS" because she wanted a GPS for her birthday and I didn't want to give her mine. An aunt bought her a penguin game that we played for the first time on the ride home. I can only imagine what the other passengers thought of us. In this game, the penguin has to slap (at times using "fish-chucks", numchucks made of fish) cockroaches, birds, and rats. Halle needed help at times: "Mom, you've got to smack that rat! He's a bad guy! Those birds are bad, too! Smack the birds!"

Anyway, during the trip we went to the Walla Walla county fair, which is one of my favorite times and places. I grew up showing sheep at this fair, sheep usually named George. My nieces and nephews were all showing sheep this year, so we watched and even participated. The girls each earned suckers in Pee-wee showmanship. I'm very proud. Also, the suckers were delicious.

I talked my brother, sister-in-law Stephanie, mom, and one of my friends into showing with me. We all borrowed sheep and led them into the ring. My mom showed dairy cows when growing up, so she decided to use charm on the judge. Winking earned her a milkshake and third from last. Stephanie got asked the hardest question of the entire fair, "When was FFA founded?" Stephanie's wild guess was only two years off: turns out FFA was founded in 1928. She got last, which isn't bad considering she had never been in either 4-H or FFA. My friend Ashley used a ewe, who was about twice Ashley's size, and approximately forty times meaner. Ashley had hives afterward.

Meanwhile, my jeans were coming down a little in the back, so I decided to tuck my shirt in so that my bright pink underwear wouldn't show. In a video shot by Ashley's mom, it was revealed that I had actually tucked my shirt into my underwear. In showmanship, you're taught to pretend that you have a hole in the back of your pants that the judge can never see. I don't think that the judge saw my underwear, but everyone else sure did. My brother Tim did pretty well. He got third place, and I think a hamburger or something. They ran out of milk shake certificates, so they gave Steph a sucker. "Because you're a sucker for coming!" they joked. Steph did not find them funny. The Fair isn't always fair.

Afterward, we were all chatting in the stands while the girls played in the dirt. Mom bumped me and pointed at Halle. Halle's pants were down. I rushed to her and tried to pull her pants back up. "MOM, I'm peeing!" she yelled.

Mom had bought a tank top for me for $1.50 earlier, just because she can't pass up a deal. It turns out that adult tank tops can be turned into a child's dress with the aid of balloon string found on the ground.

We had lots of adventures everywhere we went. They'll probably make it into other blog posts because not much happens the rest of the year.

The Painting Diaries

My Mom is visiting right now. There is always some sort of project while she visits, usually to ward off her boredom. My brothers and I have a saying: If you ever want to feel lazy, have Mom and Dad visit. They are really the most hard working people I know.

During their first visit, Dad and Mom helped paint the entire downstairs, fix holes in the wall, and fix flooring issues. The second visit, they painted the outside of the house. The third, they built me a pond. The fourth, they remodeled the kitchen.

Actually, Mom and I are getting smarter. While the men (my Dad and Willie) remodeled the kitchen, we went to the spa. Halle and Morgan watched The Jungle Book and Snoopy Come Home five times each.

This visit, it's Halle and Morgan who are doing the painting. And they're having a great time doing it.