Star Wars, Episode 7

About 7 years ago when I was pregnant with my first child, I started using a fan at night to help me sleep because I was so hormonal and hot all the time. I used it all throughout my pregnancy and it saved my life. Once I had the baby, I continued to use it because it was late spring and just getting really warm outside. When fall finally rolled back around, I decided I probably didn't need it anymore and switched it off one night. That's when the shat literally hit the fan.

I tried to go to sleep. Really, I did, but suddenly the noises that my husband made while he slept made me want to plunge off the nearest cliff. Sounds that I once found charming in early marriage now made me want to staple my head to the carpet and have someone run over me repeatedly. At first, I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to hurt the feelings of the man I loved beyond all else, but I found myself wondering if I could continue to love a man who sounded like he was being strangled by Jabba the Hut night after night.

The next day I gingerly brought up the subject over breakfast. To my utter shock and amazement, he felt the same way!!! While he was busy each night wrestling Jabba, I apparently was channeling Darth Vadar with my "heavy breathing." "Luke, I am your Faaatttthhherrr....." over and over again. The Force definately was not with us.

At least we agreed that the fan would always be part of our lives and we became increasingly dependent on the white noise that accompanied us to sleep each and every night. We're at the point now that we even have a "travel fan" we take with us wherever we go.

We were still using our original fan up until a few nights ago when it started making odd noises. Suddenly, the very thing that kept Jabba and Darth out of our bedroom was starting to sound like R2D2 on crack. Eeeeekkkk, wwwoooonnnnk, brrnnnggg, ccchhhaaggggg. It was awful but I still turned it on each night because I knew what was waiting for me if I didn't. And then it died, a full blown death, one giant Yoda arse-whooping. I panicked. Freaked out. What do we do? How will we sleep? Is Wal-Mart still open? I can't handle this! I need my sleep! I hate Jabba! Please oh please Fan Gods, help me out... Never fear, I suddenly thought, we are the psycho family who has a travel fan! That will work. As my pulse started to slow down I hunted for the travel fan. I grabbed it and headed to the nearest outlet only to discover that the prongs were completely bent whacko, most likely the result of our last travel adventure. There goes the pulse again.

I finally MacGyvered the fan into working order, a full 1/2 hour later, but I laid my head down secure in the knowledge that Jabba would be kept at bay for another night. I guess The Force really was with us afterall.

Wonder Woman's Got Nothing On Me

I may be a slow learner, but when I catch on, watch out! After years of being one of those slow-to-rise people who still found themselves in their jammies at 11 am more often than not, I have finally turned myself around. It's amazing the things you can accomplish in a day when you actually get going in the morning. And as someone who needs constant accolades for their work, here is what I did today: at 5 am I got out of bed and worked out. I found myself at Wal-Mart for some last minute groceries by 6 am. By 7, I was showered and dressed for the day with full hair and makeup. I welcomed my babysitting kids back at 7:10 and had two loads of laundry going by 8. After making breakfast for 5 and cleaning the kitchen, I gave Sienna a bath while I cleaned my bathroom. Then it was off to Home Depot to buy some more paint for the family room which I managed to paint later in the day while Sienna was napping and the others were in the sprinklers. Two different gilfriends stopped by for quick visits and then I ironed my new curtains, made lunch for the crew and cleaned up. (Ok, I just re-read all of this and it sounds unbelievably snotty but I can't help myself. Either find yourself a trash can to barf into or stop reading) By the end of the day, I had managed to pack a picnic for my family, visit my son's new first grade classroom and stop by some friends for dessert. I really can't believe it's only been one day. In my old life, it would have taken me a week to get all that stuff done.

We'll see what happens tomorrow. Hopefully I'll keep up my new stride but if you stop by mid-morning and find me in my bathrobe, you have my permission to smack me upside the head. And if you want to bring a bazooka with you to blow my head off for being such a prideful beast, well, that's fine too.

I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up

Last night, while at dinner with some girlfriends, the following phrases authentically came up in our conversation:

"Just because he's crippled doesn't mean he gets to beat other children."

"Are you sure you're putting it in the right hole?"

"At least your daughter doesn't look like Joe Dirt!"

"Stop being a Tijuana crackwhore and tell us!"

So it's not just me that says inappropriate and funny things. I may do it more than the average person, but it's not just me.

I just wanted to clarify.

The Great Diaper Wipe Heist

Last week, my girlfriends Christy, Erica, and Michele all came to town with little ones in tow. To give you an idea of the craziness that ensued over the next few days, I'll break it down for you:
Spencer: Age 6 years
Hannah: Almost 4
McKay: Age 3
Saray: Age 1 year 3 months
Sienna: Age 1 year 1 month
Cole: Age 8 months
Kayla: Age 5 weeks
You can see what I'm getting at. Believe it or not, we had a fantastic time. Granted, there was a whole lot of breast feeding and butt changing going on, but we still managed some great conversation and a few good meals. My poor husband was a CHAMPION as the lone male in our group as he literally saw more of my girlfriends than he wanted.

Since only three members of our collective brood are potty trained, we often found ourselves literally up to the elbows in dookie. It was often like a baby factory with each of us manning our assigned post: "Alright, Baby A is done in pre-wash. I'm sending her down to Wiping and Ointment. Re-dressers and Swaddlers, please be advised."

As the stellar hostess that I am, I made one last run to Costco to stock up on the thing that would make or break our weekend: BABY WIPES. I had packages staged all over the house so that wherever you found yourself, you could change your baby without having to get up at all. And since everyone on the planet uses the handy and conveinent blue-bagged baby wipes, everyone was happy. It worked like a dream.

After everyone was gone, I disinfected my forearms for the last time and settled into the couch. When Sienna woke from her nap, my only diaper wearing child was in need of a change. I checked her room for the necessary supplies: No Wipes. I stopped in my bedroom: No Wipes. The Living room: NO WIPES. Sienna's cubbie in the laundry room: NO FREAKIN WIPES! It was a wet and rippy paper towel job for me.

Now, the rational part of me understands that when everyone packed up, they all simply added a package of wipes to their suitcases convinced they had brought them here in the first place. But I can't help wondering, was a greater diaper wipe consipiracy really at hand? Are my oldest and dearest friends trying to pull one over on their mommy-brain counterpart? Are they secretely hoarding my wipes for ransom, or possibly as a bargaining tool to get the best guest bedroom the next time they come back?

I'll get the BOTTOM (hee-hee-hee) of this sooner or later.

Home Depot: AKA The Altar at Which I Worship

It turns out that the world's most perfect paint color really does exist, and it's name is RYE by Behr Premium Plus. How do I know this you ask? Because my living room and kitchen look positively AMAZING when flanked in this beautiful color. Everything looks better, from the pictures on the walls to the food caked onto the banisters by Sienna's high chair. I am so smug with myself. Even my girlfriend who is in the middle of a major overhaul of her 70's styled house is going to switch her colors up to include the almighty Rye. It's truly something special. What is equally remarkable is that we started this project this evening around 7, while tending to four small children, and finished at about 11:30. Brad came home from class and presto-change-o, our home had been transformed.

If only the universe would reveal all it's secrets to me.

Not For The Faint of Heart

For some of you, this may be way more than you want to know about my family and our inner workings, so read on fully advised that you are in for more than your average blog....

While at church yesterday, I noticed my daughter Hannah doing an animated version of the pee-pee dance. Not wanting to interrupt the Sunday worship of those around us, I leaned forward and quietly said "Hannah, do you need to go to the bathroom?"

In a voice loud enough to be heard in a 20 pew radius, Hannah replied, "No Mama, I just have a bubble in my bagima and I'm trying to poop it out."

New church shoes: $20
Purple dress: $15
Pink Sweater: $12
Trying to maintain composure during a Sunday service while convincing yourself that your daughter really does have manners as well as a basic anatomy understanding: PRICELESS

Thank You, Small Businesses of America

My son Spencer is a genius. Seriously, we're talking Einsteintonian intelligence. When he learns something it's like he's known it forever. It clicks in his brain and away he goes. Brad and I have had a great time watching his little mind in action for the past few years, especially when he discovered reading. Once he figured out how sounds can go together, he has been able to read almost any word that is put in front of him. He's been reading for quite some time now but still, it's fascinating.

Whenever we find ourselves in the car, Spence will ask us questions based on the signs he sees around us. Usually, our dialogue goes something like this:

"Mom, how come we always go into Wal-Mart under 'Low Prices' and not 'Food Center?"

"Mom, we should go to the Trac this weekend because McCurley Motors is having a Gigantic Rig sale at 4.9% APR."

"Mom, did you know that West Pasco Dental is offering new patients a free Zoom treatment?"

(Ok, hilarious sidebar: Spence literally just came into the room to see what I was doing and read the above to me perfectly!)

Anyway, as I was saying, his reading skills offer me a lot of silent laughter as I drive around town. Until last weekend. We were in Boise visiting Brad's family and were headed to Uncle Matt's photography studio to get some family pictures taken. As we drive along Spence is, as usual, reading to us.

"Arby's"

"Furniture Row"

"Treasure Valley Bank"

"Adult Shop. Over 18 only."

You heard me right. Brad and I looked at each other while trying desperately not to laugh and hoping that Spence wouldn't ask any questions. But he did, starting with the obvious one:

"Mom and Dad, what's an adult shop?" Neither of us knew what to say so luckily Spence figured it out for himself. "It must be a store where adult's go to see other adults."

Bascially, yes and since he moved onto the next sign, we let it go. I know I've been told time and time again to monitor my son's reading material, but I didn't know that meant adding black-out shades to my car's windows.

Dream A Little Dream With Me

Have you ever woken from a dream only to find yourself completely confused by your overnight thoughts? I would love to know how dreams really work...why we dream what we do, where it all comes from, what it means. It's so fascinating. Actually, I take that back. I have no real interest in knowing the hows and whys of our REM induced stories. I'm just intrigued by my latest dream.

It went a little something like this:

As most of you know, I have three girlfriends who are very near and dear to me. We share just about everything. My dream starts with all of us gathered (Christy, Erica, Michele and me) for the impending birth of Christy's first child (who was born a little over a month ago.) As Christy goes into full blown labor, it's decided that Erica and Michele will escort her to the hospital and I will stay with all the other kids (my three, Erica's two and Michele's one.) They promise to call me as soon as she gets close so I can get to the hospital to be there for the actual birth, which is something I have made every pregnant lady within a 30 mile raidus promise me. (I seem to have some sick fascination with childbirth.)

Anyway, I wait anxiously at home, tending to the children, waiting for them to call. They never do. Finally, after a gazillion hours, there's a knock on the door. I answer it to find Christy's neighbor standing there with a print out of some baby pictures. THE baby pictures. Kayla's picture's to be exact and as I stand there bewildered, the neighbor says politely "I thought you'd want to see some pictures of Kayla." Completely confused, I ask when she was born. "About 12 hours ago" is her reply.

Let's just say I'm PISSED.

I shut the door, slam around the house and get myself ready to head to the hospital to have it out with Erica and Michele. (I let Christy off the hook since she was techincally busy with the whole push-the-baby-out thing.)

Once I'm at the hospital, I go to Christy's room only to find all of them there cooing over Miss Kayla. Erica and Michele won't make eye contact with me and Christy is struggling to find something to say. Finally, Christy asks to speak to me in the other room. (Fast recovery, apparently.) We head to an adjoining suite (Chris seems to have given birth at the local Marriott) for a chat. This is what she says: "We know you're pissed and we're sorry, but we didn't want you to be here because you're Mormon and you say weird things."

Um, what?

"And," she continues, "your hair is completely jacked and you need to get it done."

Excuse me?

Then LITERALLY a poof of smoke comes out of nowhere and my friend Rebecca, who's a hairstylist, appears from nowhere and says "your hair really is jacked and I'm here to fix it."

I sit down and get my hair done while Christy continues to tell me all the weird things that I say because I'm Mormon and not just because I'm, well, weird.

Dream over. Wake up time.

ISN'T THAT TRULY BIZARRE????? I woke up laughing, trying to figure out how it all came together but not really caring at the same time. I guess it doesn't matter so much what happens in your dreams as long as you have something to dream about, which for me is three fantastic friends who happen to think I'm weird but love me all the same. It makes for a good night's rest no matter how you slice it.

Unfamiliar Territory

This is truly bizarre. Usually, I go about my day and watch what happens around me, constantly thinking how I can work it into a blog or wondering when I'll have time to make it into a blog. Whenever I do get a chance at the computer, I feel like I'm racing through as fast as I can so I can get back to a crying kid, a hungry husband, or some other menial task that makes up my life.

Not today. Kids are sleeping. Husband is occupied with the XBox. The computer is all mine. And I have absolutely nothing to say. Nada. Zip. Zilch. No funny atecdote. No meaningless story about some silly experience. Nothing.

Maybe the moon is out of whack or something.

One Girl, Half a Brain

Brad just informed that the picture I posted below, although being a great picture, is not one of the jet ski we actually bought. And I was so smug with myself for finding it all by myself!

So that's not our jet ski. Ours is similiar, bluer, with some other things happening as well. I will officially stop trying to be clever and smart and just go back to cooking.

Two Men, One Brain

In mid July, my sweet husband Brad and I had the chance to spend a few days with some dear friends, the Sandifers, who had just bought a jet-ski. We visited with them at a friend's lake house and had a blast tubing on the lake and racing around on such a fun toy.

Once we got back home, I noticed Brad had spent some time "investigating" said jet ski on the internet. A google here, a yamaha.com there, assuring me that it was just some "interested research." As one who never lets money get in the way of fun, I said REPEATEDLY "go buy one. We'll have such fun!" At one point, a picture of his dream machine was even set as our desktop image but he continued to tell me he wasn't all that interested.

One month later, after countless discussions on the pros and cons of personal watercraft ownership, enter Matt, Brad's other half. Brad and Matt, while sharing a striking physical resemblance, are identical in brain function (or lack of brain function as many past experiences can attest to!)

Matt arrived for a visit late last night (Thursday) and by 9 am this morning, Brad was on the phone with the bank securing financing for the jet ski. Interesting.

Now, I have no problem with this purchase. I am completely supportive and excited about our newest toy. My only issue is that while I been cheering on this purchase for the past month, it apparently took the cajoling of Tweedledum for Tweedledee to finally relent. Whatever persuasive power I thought I had in this relationship went flying out the window.

So here's our new toy, complete with one extra large tube for your enjoyment. We'll see you on the river.

Okay Thighs, You Really Have To Stop Meeting Like This

After walking through life as a chubby girl for the past few years (ok, more than a few but who's counting??) I may have FINALLY figured out what my problem is.

It all became clear as a bell last night as I lay in bed, WATCHING a new show on Bravo called "Workout" which is about some psuedo-human workout machine opening her own gym in LA and READING Shape magazine.

For most, the combination of the watching and the reading would be more than enough to motivate them into a size 2. For me, however, only two words rang out in my head.

TACO. BELL.

Here's how the dialogue went:

TV: "Okay Tess, I really want you to focus on your form and get those last few reps in."

Inner Monologue: Should I get a crunch wrap supreme and the nachos or just one or the other?

Magazine: How To Finally Rid Your Abdomen Of That Baby Weight

Inner Monologue: Two items seems gluttoness, so maybe I should just go with one nacho cheese Chalupa.

TV: "Nice work, Tess, almost there..."

Magazine: From Flabby to Fantastic in Six Easy Moves

Inner Monologue: You know, a 7 layer burrito sounds awfully good....

You get the picture.

The good news is that I have actually learned something in my battle of the bulge and I didn't go to Taco Bell. I went to bed ravenous as all skinny people do and woke up feeling like a rock star for my huge accomplishment. The bad news is that I really do want to end my day with cheese and salsa. At least now I know.

I'll be skinny in no time!

Still Trying To Keep Her Off The Pole

Apparently, my daughter is in need of some serious parenting. I've been so busy doing all the things I do in a day that I seem to have neglected some very basic training. I thought some of this was a given, but Hannah seems to need some more clarification.

She appeared before me the other day as seen in the accompanying picture.

Trying to stifle a giggle, I calmly said "Hannah, love, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting ready for Halloween" she sweetly replied.

Wondering if I had accidently left the TV tuned to the Pay-Per-View channel, I asked what she wanted to be.

"A grown-up" she answered.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that I don't always look my best around the house. Sometimes it's a struggle to make it out of my favorite PJs in the morning. But never, ever, as far back as I can remember, have I shown up for carpool in the ensemble pictured.

"Don't I look beautiful?" she asked, eyes yearning for Mama's approval.

"Of course you do, sweetie" was all I could say.

Lesson #427 in the Parenting Guide for Dummies: Never forget how closely your children watch you and that they'll interpret what they see however they want. And put your Mama Magic Wand back at the end of the day!