God moves in mysterious ways.


At church today, I was sitting in Relief Society, talking to a neighbor and waiting for the meeting to start. It was nice to catch up with a few of the ladies, and I was pumped for the music. I love me some Christmas tuneage.

After a few minutes, they started the meeting and the woman conducting scanned the room and called on some of the visitors to introduce themselves. Some women behind me, stood up and gave their names and mentioned that they had just moved into the ward, and where in Oakley they lived. I turned around and smiled all friendly-like at them.

I had barely turned around, when the woman conducting said, "Laurel, would you like to introduce your friend to us." Now, Laurel is the chick I was chatting with before the meeting, so I leaned forward to greet the visitor on her other side. She looked confused and jerked her thumb to the right and said, "J.D?"

"No. Of course we know J.D. Your other friend." the woman said.

This is when I felt the tips of my ears start to burn red in embarrassment. I thought, Are... you.... shitting..... me? I slowly looked up to everyone's neck craning around to get a load of the new gal. I slowly raised my hand, "Me?"

She nodded and said, "Yes, tell us about yourself."

"Um, my name is Linsey, and I just moved into the ward.........eight years ago."

There were a few snickers and then, my other friend volunteered that I had been in the Young Women's program for a long time, (not for two years) and they welcomed me and started the meeting.

Hmm. I thought it was really funny. It's true that I work a Sunday or two a month, but after eight years of patronage, I had no idea I could fly that low under the radar. I am just kicking myself now for not giving an alias, and a fake address.

Happy Birthday Daveskins!

As it always happens, Dave has his birthday, the day after Christmas. Seriously poor planning on his parents part. I'm just saying.

There was no porn-o cake this year. The Boyz are getting older, too many questions, too many requests for "a middle piece," and absolutely too exhausting for me to pose that long in my camo bikini.

He settled for a date at our new favorite Mexican place, and a Red Box night. You know you are getting old when you would rather watch a movie on your couch, than brave the holiday crowds at the theater. Of course I think it has more to do with being able to view your cinema choice without pants, than the "holiday crowd." He may be older than me, but not necessarily wiser.

We've started trading gray hair plucking for arm tickles. I happen to have a thing for older men, especially the salt and pepper look, but I think he is being a bit dramatic with his gray obsession. He is only 34.

I love his guts.
He is my B-to the F- to the F- to the F........yes, that's right. Three Ef's.
Happy Birthday, Babe.

Merry Christmas!

We had a lovely Christmas. The precious few days leading up to Christmas were spent in a vicious cycle of vomiting, crapping our guts out, rinsing and repeating. So when the actual day arrived and no one was still caught in the cycle, I gave thanks. It's funny how easy it is to count your blessings, during a time of crisis. Small things really, like having kids old enough to make it to the toilet for spewing and the like. And lest we not forget the healing powers of suppositories, orally disintegrating tablets, and Ginger Ale. Hallelujah, can I get an Amen.

Christmas Eve I ran over to Heber to pick up Gram for the holidays, which has been a tradition for us in the last 7 years. She had some last minute shopping to do, so we braved the crowds, and the puppy peddlers at the front of each of the grocery stores we went too. I have always thought that odd, that people choose to get rid of their excess puppies at the grocery store. I try to shop with a list, so that I don't get side tracked with extra novelty gifts, (the bane of my existence), but I can't really imagine going to Smith's and scanning my list; milk, bread, eggs,......Nope. I don't see an Australian Shepard Mix on here, but what the hell, throw him in, we'll figure it out. I like to think in my heart, that "whim" puppies end up having wonderful lives.

This is the fourth Christmas that Gramps has been gone, and we definitely all feel it. My family has always done fondue on Christmas Eve at my Grandparents house. This year Dave remembered his first fondue with us when we were dating. My mom told Gramps, that this was Dave's first time eating fondue, and my Grandpa could not stop saying how that was ridiculous because he remembered Dave coming the previous year. He would not give up, until I finally just said, "That was a different guy, GRAN-pa!" It was the teensiest bit awkward, but makes for a funny memory now.

Even though she is surrounded by all the kids, and Dave and I, it is impossible not to notice how lonesome my Gram is for her husband. It is strange to be in a reverse position with her now. Growing up she lived next door to us and was like a second mother. On sleep overs I was always comforted by the sounds of she and Gramps snoring away, or stirring in the night and turning over to see her tip toeing out of the room after checking on us. When she stays with us, I am now the one peeking in on her during the night, and noticing how tiny she looks, all alone, in our bed. I really missed my Gramps this Christmas, and I know she did too.

On Christmas eve, we gorged on fried steak, cheese and bread, and fudge. The kids filled up on the fruit, but I preferred the cream puffs dipped in the chocolate. The kids unwrapped their Christmas Eve p.j.s', and Daveskins, our resident seamstress, immediately went to work. It is dang tough, trying to outfit our freakishly gangly Boyz, but with Dave's nimble fingers working overtime they were darted and pinned and fit like a glove.

Afterward, we watched Dave's favorite holiday movie, The Christmas Story, and then sent the Hoodlums to bed. They were very excited, and despite Dawson daring to venture, that he had heard that Santa wasn't real, when I explained to him that one year, I decided that Santa wasn't real and ended up getting shafted with my presents; he retorted that I had probably been on the naughty list. Touche.

At least he believes there is a naughty list.

Of course the final preparations were made for Santa and his reindeer. At our house Santa is very particular about his snack. He prefers a cold Mountain Dew and a package of White Fudge Oreos.

Christmas Morning, waiting and waiting and waiting to be unleashed.

Gram waiting to be unleashed on her goodsIt always blows to get "outside" presents during the bitter cold winter months. Santa really needs to think that through a little better. Dawson was totally pumped with his Lego Indiana Jones 2 Wii game. We could have cut him off right there and he would have veged happy.

Dyl was happy with whatever he touched, including discarded wrappings and pieces of tape. His favorite present was a homemade gift from Dawson. A roping calf made from P.V.C pipe that Daws helped Dave and Kent make. I hate to encourage a rodeo career, but the kid was born bowlegged and somehow developed a very authentic cowboy drawl. It might be out of our hands.

Emma had a Pink Christmas. Her favorite present was a doll that cries, (why?) drinks out of a bottle, burps and snores. It is really creepy, but she loves it and is proving to be a good mother, although she kept bucking her baby off of Dyl's roping cow. I think that might be the reason only one of the babies eyes blinks now, making it extra creepy when she bawls. She named her baby, Dawsi.

That's how all our faces look now when the baby is around. The eye issue really makes it unsettling.

The rest of our holiday was spent in quiet bliss. We hosted our traditional Christmas morning breakfast with all of Dave's family, and anyone else that happens by. Dave makes a wicked omelet and it is fun to have everyone over. I am not certain that we even got out of our pajamas the rest of the weekend. Periodically we would call upstairs to the toy room, where the Boyz were in a Wii haze, and offer them math, spelling and trivia questions. They were able to continue playing if their answers were correct. I am kind of a video game Nazi, and only allow it on the weekends, if the weather is bad, so part of my Christmas gift to them was a little relaxation on the Wii.

It was a great Christmas, and great vacation from everything, just to be home as a family.

I Don Wan No Po-Po At My Do-Do

This morning started out with a bang. I was still recovering from a work/flu hangover, this morning, so when Dave flipped on the lights to dig through the gigantic pile of laundry at the foot of the bed, I got all medieval on his ass.

After I ripped on him though, I gave him his 8th, "12 Days of Christmas" present. A McDonald's gift card for breakfast, and a non-pervy love poem. I say, "gave it to him", but it was more of a thrust in his face, while naming all the times that I pre-gather all my clothes, so that I don't have to turn the overhead light and ruin his morning......

I am one big ball of fun, when my sleep is tampered with.

The Boyz looked a titch nervous, as I approached them for their breakfast needs. I was extra tired last night so I went to bed with my mascara on, and woke up looking like a well-fed heroin addict. I managed breakfast though, and was able to tame Dawson's hair enough to pass for a school day. With my own hair a scraggly mess, I stepped into Dave's jamma bottoms and one of his hoodies to take Daws to the bus.

When I came home, Hannah had emerged from her room, looking far scarier than I could ever hope too. She has short hair though, making it easier to stick up at all angles, and she is my baby sister, so it is alright to make fun of her. She spent the night, in hopes of a ride to the airport today, but we'll see how it goes.

As the morning progressed, one of Dyl's friends came over, to play and wait for school with him. Hannah and I didn't make it past our first morning look, and were sprawled on the couch watching America's Funniest Home Videos, when the phone rang. The caller ID popped up on the t.v. as, Summit County, and I hollered, "Don't answer that, it's the library about overdue books." The answering machine clicked on, but the caller hung up. I thought that was weird, since it's usually a recorded message about my books being late, but went back to watching the stupid cat home videos. A few minutes later, the same number called, and I said, "Don't answer that, maybe they found crayon in a book, and want me to buy it."

Forty minutes later, there came a knock on my door. I scrambled to pull on a shirt and then had to sprint to catch up with Emma, who was already turning the handle on the door. Imagine my surprise, to find two cops, hands' on their holsters', on my front porch.

I have some serious cop-alogical problems, from my somewhat unsavory youth, that have managed to linger into my adulthood, no matter how law abiding I have become. To open the door, and see law enforcement, on my porch, immediately I am racking my brain, trying to recall any illegal acts I have recently committed, that would land me an arrest. When none come to mind, I at least give thanks that Hannah is here in case they take me, and we do have a little savings to put towards an attorney if the court will not appoint me one.

I was brought out of my vision, when one of the officers, inquired if we were all okay, and did we need any help.

*Blink*

*Blink*

Oh, yeah. Cops help people too. I always forget that part. I said, "Nope, we good."

That's when they asked to just come in and have a little look-see. I guess your credibility decreases when you answer the door, short of breath, a little sweaty, and with raccoon eyes. Satisfied with our safety, they informed me that they had received a 9-1-1 hang-up from our residence. When no one answered the phone, both times they tried to call back, they had to come check. Before I could think, I said, "Oh, yeah, sorry about that, I thought it was the library hounding us about overdue books." As soon as it was out of my mouth, it just hung in the air between us, and I got the nervous giggles. They just stared stonily at me while I harnessed all the power in my personal universe, to not completely go hysterical.

Before they left, they laid a smack-down on Dyl and his buddy, and collected my information. I suppressed the urge to offer, that I was already on file, and wished them a Merry Christmas instead. It's nice to know that in an emergency, they would be able to find us quickly, err.....at least after two attempts by phone, and surely within 45ish minutes....and only if they don't believe it is another hang up.

I hope that this is not an indication in Dyl's Hoodlum progression. Last week, the Principal's office. This week, the county sheriff. I am going to have to step up my parenting game.

Trouble Maker

Dawson burst into the house after school, with the canary look plastered to his face.

"Dylan has to go to the Principal's office tomorrow!"

Dyl came wandering in behind him, all shifty-eyed, with his head hung low. I asked him what happened, and in his unique little drawl, informed me that he had thrown a snowball at the bus.

Dawson was hopping up and down nearby, just dying to tell his version of the story, but I gave him the look and asked Dyl, why he had thrown a snowball at the bus.

"Aak-shu-wah-ly, (Actually. Is my very favorite Dyl word.) I was trying to throw it, O-VER, the bus and I missed."

That's when Daws chimed in with, " Then a second grade teacher saw him and said what's your name kid, and I said that's my brother, and she said well you tell your Mother that he is going to the Principal's office tomorrow, and I said, I will."

I asked Dyl if it was an accident, and he concurred. I asked him if he was remorseful. He said, "Kinda." I told him to tell the Principal that same story tomorrow and he should be fine.

Barfing Blows

I suffered some terrible retribution these past two days, most likely a direct result of my hating humanity. I haven't barfed in years and had forgotten how unpleasant it is. Dyl woke up crying a couple of days ago, and when we went racing upstairs, found him covered in spew. Partially digested Hawaiian Pizza, to be more precise. The kid has a real history with that particular pizza, which has kept him from it for the better part of the last 5 years. I thought nothing of the episode, until it happened on the hour, every hour for the rest of the night.

Dyl is an easy sick kid. He pukes in a bucket, or the toilet and lays on the couch. No drama, no mess, just big sunken eyes and 24 hours of Sprite and cartoons.

I thought it was an isolated incident related to the pizza, until Dawson called to us early Wednesday morning. I shot out of bed with Dave, and together we raced up the stairs. Before I could get to Daws, though I had to make a beeline for Em's bathroom. Long, disgusting, story short; Daws and I both came down with the bug.

I am never sick. When I am, it is total drama. With both Dawson and I laying on the couch moaning, and writhing with abdominal discomfort, I started to think of all the things God could be punishing me for.

Being sick is not fun. Being a sick mother with 2 healthy kids and one puker is way worse. I would just barely get Dawson settled from his latest spew, and be hunkered over the john myself, with Emma sitting on the floor watching me and Dyl leaned up against the door, asking me if I would puh-lease get him some breakfast. "Um, just a second, son" I would manage to get out, while spitting the last chunks of taco salad from the night before.

I managed breakfast, and to get Dyl on the bus and Em down for a nap, before I totally lost all motor function and retired to my bed with Dawson. Daws is a bad one to be sick with. He is equally, if not more dramatic than myself and his whimpers are excruciating. While we were lying there, me offering all the remedies I could conjure, and him declining everything, he suggested we say a prayer. I offered one up, though I was only half convinced I hadn't brought this on myself, due to my lack of compassion at work, as of late. Daws, felt better though and while we wasted away there he kept saying that Heavenly Father would help us.

The final straw in the drama, came after a particularly hard bile barf of Dawson's. He collapsed on the bed, and with the back of his hand on his forehead, he exclaimed, "I just want my old life back." I couldn't help but laugh, and then he started laughing. He is so my kid.

It is now Thursday night. We are both feeling a little better, no vomiting, just flu hangover type stuff, and a very strong resolve to be more compassionate.

Numbers At A Glance

Two Boys.

Seven Lost Teeth.

First tooth lost naturally, without the help of a basketball, foot, or other trauma.

Way to go Dyl!

Sledding Is Good Medicine

Some days I hate my job.

Those days make me hate people.

Nothing better than having a successful code, and the life you just saved, starts bragging about being a Nazi enthusiast and Aryan Nation bull crap. Makes me proud to have blond hair, blue eyes, and awesome chest compression skills.

I also love to be taken advantage of by addicts. My favorite of the week, was the woman in full hysterics about her terrible abdominal pain. Despite all my internal bells and whistles blowing, I immediately drugged her and gave her the benefit of the doubt. She disappeared 10 minutes later after disconnecting herself from the monitor. When I found her gone, I got super T.O'd, thinking she was out smoking. If your pain is that bad, you shouldn't have the energy to go outside and smoke, nor if given IV narcotics, should you be unmonitored. She reappeared about 20 minutes later with her boyfriend pushing her in a wheel chair, fresh from a smoke break, and a quick jaunt to the cafeteria for the biggest breakfast burrito I have ever seen.

That is probably the best cure for abdominal pain that I know.

I'm not sure why the bull is getting to me today. It is no different than every other shift I have worked. Maybe it was the hairy two hour and 15 minute commute through wicked blinding snow. I love risking my life to help idiots.

Anyways.

When I got home tonight, the weather was warm.......like 30 degrees as opposed to the negative numbers we have been seeing, and although I was tired and hateful towards humanity, the kids talked me into going out into the back yard for a little sledding.

Talk about good medicine.

We scrambled to find snow clothes to fit everybody. The Boyz, passed around what fit and what didn't, and I found the snow pants Daveskins gave me for one of our first Christmas's together. I laughed and said, if they fit, I will join you for some ice cream this evening.

As you can see, they fit. I just couldn't feel anything from my thighs down.

We spent a couple of hours just playing and laughing with each other. I was very calming to be playing safely in my own back yard with my sweet little Hoodlums. It made me feel a little bad for all the wack jobs that don't have anything better to do, or the people to do it with; that make the hospital their home.

I guess I just need to reboot and be grateful that I have such awesome friends and family, and try to be a little less of a be-otch, and maybe act like I am grateful for all that I have.

It's hard sometimes not to feel more like Clark Griswold, "kiss my ass, kiss his ass, kiss your own ass, Happy Hanukkah." And less like Tiny Tim.

But they help bring back the Tiny Tim resolve.

And I am cured.

Friday, December 11, 2009

It was Dyl

I knew it.

Dyl threw up all night and then all morning. Being the awesome Mutha that I am, I rubbed his back and gave him Sprite and then when he looked the most pathetic, asked him if he ate all the advent calender candy.

Yes. He did.

No surprise to me.

When I inquired as to why he would eat some out of his own calender, he said, he didn't realize it was his, until to late. He's still coming into his craf-ti-ness.

So thanks to those who supported me during the false accusations, and a big fat "suck it" to those who didn't believe. Namely, Dave, my own Mother, and Katie.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

You know what sucks? One time, you eat an entire plate of Valentine's cookies left on your doorstep, lie about eating them, and then hide the evidence, which your husband inevitably finds. Then for the rest of your life, anytime sweets go missing, the obvious choice is you. It doesn't matter that you might not have had dinner that particular evening, or that you were emotionally fragile at the very time, someone decided to ditch a plate of frosted cookies on your stoop. Nope. The only thing SOME PEOPLE remember, is that you ate every last one, even though sugar cookies are their favorite. What-ev.

Tonight, we enjoyed a lovely, albeit unoriginal ward Christmas Party. Any Mo would know what I am talking about, and although it is the same every year, one can never have too many traditions. After a dinner of ham, funeral potatoes, salad and roll, we released the Hoodlums to stand in line for a chat with Santa. Dawson wants nunchucks and Wii games, Dyl froze, and Em wants princess stuff and spark-ly shirts. Easy Peasy.

The real problem came when we made it home and the Hoodlums wanted to eat the chocolate out of their advent calenders. We didn't remember the calenders until yesterday, so they got to eat 3 pieces, and Dave promised them we could catch up tonight. However, as they scurried up to the table, we started to hear murmurings about "somebody ate a bunch of my chocolates."

Upon further inspection, someone had indeed eaten several pieces out of all three advent calenders. The Boys swore it wasn't them, and that is when David turned on me. He kind of shook his head, like, really? I swore it wasn't me, but David countered that I was the only one home all day, and that the kids were not strong enough to break the seals, and yadda, yadda. I could have killed him, but looking at the kids hurt faces and him looking at me like I was a pathetic pile, I just started laughing. It seemed ridiculous, since that chocolate is so disgusting and cheap, but I felt totally cornered, and my laughing only increased their suspicion.

Dave felt the need to further humiliate me, by placing the following sign on the calenders, as a way to deter future chocolate burglars, all the while continuing to passively accuse me. "For hell's sakes, Linsey, they are only 7, 5, and 2. Merry Christmas to them."

For the record, I did not eat the damn candy. As long as we are placing blame, I am going to go ahead and put my money on Dyl. He is crafty, and cunning, and as we were tucking him in tonight, he said, "I might have sneaked an extra one this morning....I can't really remember." Uh huh.

Dave doesn't put any stock in that though, because he says Dylan is smart enough to not eat extra out of his own calender. I am pretty sure Dyl is smart enough to eat a few pieces from his own, in order to deflect suspicion, after all he is my kid.

Dawson and Dylan discover an unattended bucket of ice cream.

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch..

The Hoodlums could not have been more excited to see us go for the weekend. They absolutely love their Shannah Hannah, and she loves them. They know that all rules go out the window when my sister comes to stay. I always think it's funny when she starts texting me the day before we are due home about "being exhausted," and "I don't know how you do it." Basically, although I know she rolls her eyes about some of my rules, the kids don't drink Dr.Pepper non-stop and do lines of Pixie Stix for a reason, when I am home.

I am glad they get to do it with Hannah, they need a break sometimes too. They were so excited to have her here, that they made a list, so as not to forget anything.

1-Go swimming.

2- Have movie night- Dinosaur.

3-Buy tattoos every day.

4-Eat a pile of candy every day.

5-Play Wii- so much.

6-Make cookies.

7-Eat pizza.

8-Go to the Diner.

9-Eat brownies.

10-Make popcorn.

Thanks to Hannah, they were able to check everything off their list. They had a great time with her, and by about Wednesday, they might come off their sugar high. Thanks Sis!

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Eleven Freaking Years, or Eleven Years of Freaking, Same Diff.

You know that fleeting moment, where you are sitting in front of the computer, watching William Shatner dance around, just knowing that any second the Marriott Hotel is totally going to accept your ridiculous offer of $35 a night. And while you enjoy their luxurious linens and room service, at a fraction of the price, you are laughing at all the idiots who paid full price for their rooms.

I just love that shiver of anticipation over the sweet, sweet deal that I know is going down, and as I bounce in my chair, thinking "Holy Shizzle, I am going to get an incredible room, for a ridiculous price,' I only get more excited as the little Priceline marquee keeps exclaiming that I am only minutes away from my hot reservation.

Then, up pops, Congratulations! The Provo Travelodge Motel has accepted your offer! That's when living on the edge, turns into, Oh shit. We are spending our 11th anniversary weekend at the Travelodge Motel.

Prior to booking our reservation, I called Daveskins to see if he just wanted me to book a nice room, or if he thought I should Priceline it, since it was our anniversary, and all. He could probably hear me bouncing in my seat, and said, "Whatever you want."

Good.

'Whatever I want', gets me into trouble sometimes, but I love just about any kind of a thrill, even if it means throwing my weekend accommodations to the wind. It's a good thing I married such an even tempered man, because when I sheepishly called Dave back to let him know we would be staying at a nasty motel for anniversary, he only said, "Oooohhh. It sounds nice."

I should have just shut my laptop right then and there, but curiosity got the better of me, and I started reading the traveler reviews for the place. The very first review was titled "Hooker Upstairs". It went on to complain about not getting any sleep because of a prostitute, (who they met over the continental breakfast the next morning) having about 5 or 6 different clients, and the walls were paper thin. The next several reviews mentioned stuff about hair, and carpet and smells. I called Dave in a panic, although truth be told, they had me at continental breakfast.

I am sure it was irritating to receive a call every 5 minutes from me, updating Dave on the latest review of our scurvy hotel, but he was pleasant and I didn't even hear him roll his eyes, when I told him I had devised a plan to get us out of it.

My plan didn't work and I just sounded like an idiot when I called to cancel the reservation because of my "Grandmother having a stroke", and then, when I couldn't get my money back from Priceline, calling the motel back and telling them it looked like she was going to pull through, and we would love to stay at their fine establishment if my booking had not already been taken. Whew!

I thought I had really pulled a fast one, until I heard a small voice behind me say, "What's a stroke, and why did Grandma have one?" Ah, Dawson. I quickly discarded the notion of telling him the truth; Well, Son, your Liar Mother got herself into a pickle and was trying not to bring home lice, or hepatitis from my Anniversary weekend. Instead, I went the half truth route, by explaining how sometimes when Gram just stares straight ahead, and doesn't acknowledge that he is talking to her, that is a stroke. It's most likely that she doesn't hear him, but who am I to say that it isn't actually a mini-stroke. They're really hard to prove.

We usually go to Salt Lake the first weekend in December for an Anniversary-slash-Christmas shopping trip, but had to go the Provo route since I dropped the tranny in my Tahoe last week and that is where it was getting fixed. The whole way down the canyon, I had a sick feeling in my stomach about our motel. Dave just made jokes, and tried to get me to relax, but I had all sorts of scenarios conjured up in my mind. We made a pack, that if I smelled one thing awry, or if anything flew into the air when I did a sheet fluff, that we would head straight for a reputable hotel.

All that worry was for nothing. When we nudged open the door to room 106, I took a big whiff, and nothing but fresh, clean smell. Yay! I am not talking about the 'we just used a bucket of bleach to clean up the crime scene' type smell, just clean goodness. Same went for the linen check. It was an older motel, but served our purposes just fine, AND I am sure we payed much less than our neighbors. Another successful Priceline bargain.

We had an awesome weekend, and laughed until we were sick. Dave needed some new pants, and since we were close to the mall, we wandered around until he found some he liked. He went into the dressing room to try them on, and after what seemed like forever, I caught his eye over the doors, and he motioned for me to come. When he opened the door for me to see, I nearly peed my pants. There stood my incredibly hot husband in the most ridiculous pair of skinny jeans I have ever seen. I teared up, laughing at the denim sucked tight around his low riding hips and thighs, the perfectly tapered legs, and his enormous size 13s poking out the cuffs. He just stood there, looking in the mirror, and at his spectacle of a wife, and forlornly inquired if we might be, in fact, too old to follow the trends. A resounding YES! Lucky for us, Tuffskins never go out of style.

We were able to catch a few movies, nothing great, and we both fell asleep during the 9:40 showing of The Invention of Lying. I think that was a first for both of us, and yet another indication of our aging. We ate at all our favorite haunts, Ruby River, Tucanos, basically anything with red meat involved, and mostly finished all our Christmas shopping. It was an awesome weekend.

The very best part of the weekend came on Friday morning. I have been making Dave a surprise little slide show of our last 13 years together. I put it to music and cried every time I worked on it. Friday, we did a session at the Provo Temple and when we came out, we climbed in the back seat of Dave's truck to watch the DVD. We laughed, and cried, and reminisced about all the things we have been through together. It was incredible. I love him more than I ever thought possible.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Final Score: Cougars-Still Suck, Utes-Always Classy

Daveskins and I hit the football game last night and had a blast. We left the Hoodlums with Fred and Carol, and got to spend the day with each other. There is such a great feeling, about being able to leave the kids, and not worry about them. It almost made me forget about Dave's hideous get-up. What can I say, he is pretty damn funny, and so fun to hang out with, I can overlook his taste in Football teams every once in awhile.

Before we made our way up the bleachers, I had to make a pit stop at the toilets first. I nonchalantly nudged open the door and started to make my way to a row of stalls, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the weirdest thing ever. I had to back up, and I am sure people were staring at me, with my mouth wide open, and muttering, "what the crap?" But the bathroom set up, was unlike one I had ever seen. First, a row of twenty or so stalls, then a row of twenty or so sinks, then......... a row of like, 100 recliners, each with a lactating mother and infant attached.

Breast is best, fo shizzle. Not denying that, and I am in total support of breastfeeding; even public breastfeeding, it was just the sheer number of Lactators that stopped me in my tracks. It would be a lie, if I didn't say I wasn't immediately flashed back to a time in my youth that my friend B.J. took me on a tour of his family's dairy farm. Welcome to Provo. Totally weirded out.

We sat in a great mix of fans. To Dave's left were a couple of middle aged, male Ute fans, who were three sheets to the wind before the game even started, and what little they knew about football, made up for in bull crap. Behind us, even older BYU fans, who did know a thing or two about the game, but kept spitting out little inspirational sayings, like, "they just need to remember the try, in triumph." and other irritating tidbits. To my right, two teenybopper girls, who texted and giggled the whole time, and claimed to be Ute fans.. so embarrassing. Lastly, but most entertaining, were the five rowdy Ute fans right below us that cheered and taunted the vast sea of blue surrounding us.

I felt a little bad for Dave last night, as he texted my Dad, to complain about my loyalty to the U. He was completely unprepared, for my Dad's return text that put him in his place. I can't even imagine what part of my Dad, Dave might have even thought would support BYU. Dave just sat there in shock, and I kept trying to help him make sense of it, I kept saying things like, "Hon, you know my Dad is a Hoodlum. He is a Democrat. You know how liberal he is." It was sad, but hilarious as Dave turned his surprise at my Daddio's betrayal into a text attack on the U. Dave lashed out at my Dad with a text about how the U fans were all drunken idiots. I laughed my butt off when the next message was a picture message of my Dad, decked out in his U of U Hoodie, and my Mom, in some sort of tube top, (not looking pleased) with both of them holding long necked "brewskies." BTW Mom- Dave erased the text as promised

As the Cougar fans stormed the field at the end of the game, Daveskins and I, made our way back to the truck with little harassment. I got a few comments, about my Ute wear, but nothing disrespectful. We finished off the night at the Pizza Factory, and got to see Hannah, and celebrate/grieve with some awesome grub. She takes great care of us. The restaurant was dead when we got there, but as we were leaving the waiting area was packed with mass Cougar fans. I lead the way out, and just as we got to the door, I spotted another Ute fan. We exchanged no words, just a solemn high five, and comfort in the knowledge that at least we aren't BYU fans.

Dave snapping a picture after my quarterback got sacked.

Touchdown! Whoopee.

The kids had a great time with Grandpa Fred and Grandma Carol. They don't get to spend a whole lot of time with them, and they were so excited. They had a blast swimming in the hot tub, riding the four wheeler and just being with them. It was a great weekend.

Deck The Halls

Tree trimming with the Hoodlums.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Thanksgiving

I was sitting at the computer doing a little charting today when I noticed a tiny pair of eyes staring at me through the partition in the nurses station. I pretended not to notice, and when the time was right, I slammed my hand on the desk and yelled, "Boo!" It scared the crap out of the cute little 7 year old boy that was in the unit visiting a family member, and when he could breath again, we both laughed for a long time.

I asked him what he was up to, and he plopped himself onto a chair in front of me. He was Vietnamese, and although his family members didn't speak any English, he did just fine. When I asked him his name, he said, "L-a-n-c-e." Like an idiot, I said, "Elancia?" I thought it was some Asian name that I didn't know. He looked at me like I was crazy and again spelled his name, "L-a-n-c-e." I kept guessing, different versions of "Elansie" until the other nurse looked at me and said, "Are you stupid? He is spelling his name, it's Lance." Um, yes. I am stoopid, or at least I certainly felt that way.

Lance kind of attached himself to me for the afternoon, and I had the opportunity to talk to him a little bit. He was the same age as Daws and also enjoying the first grade. As we were talking, I asked him where his mom was. He said, "She's dead." I told him that I was sorry, and asked him if the man sitting outside my patient's room was his father. He shook his head and then told me that his dad was in prison. I asked him about his mother, and he told me that she had died a few months ago and then asked the man something in Vietnamese. The man then explained to me that she died in a car accident. In talking with Lance, he told me about his little brother who was six, and a little sister who was 2. It was all I could do not to cry, especially when he got emotional telling me that after his mom died, some other mom and dad took his baby sister to live in California.

There really is nothing like a shift at the hospital to make you grateful for all that you have. I have it good, and I need to remember that.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Guilt

When the alarm went off at 5:50 this a.m. Dave reached over and whacked me out of oblivion. I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, where I fell asleep on the pot. I woke up when I felt my legs go numb, and decided to go back to bed. Dave always gets irritated if the alarm goes off, and I don't actually go to my work-out group, so when he growled at me as I got comfy again, I told him that my hip was acting up and that I just didn't feel good. The lies sounded empty to me too, but the truth was, I've been having this weird recurring dream about Bobby Brown. I know it's random, and he is gross and totally 80's. I know. In the dream he is about a foot and a half shorter than me, and still carries feelings for Whitney, but, can I just say......... damn! The boy got skillz.

In my defense, Dave and I are not together in the dream, and everybody knows that Bobby and Whitney were terrible together. However, that does not quell the tiny amount of guilt that burns in the bottom of my stomach, this morning, as I toss together some cinnamon toast for the Hoodlums breakfast. It's only 7:30 and I have already cheated on Dave, and skipped my excersise. Yikes.

The toast only adds to my morning guilt, as Dyl begs me to puh-lease buy him some regular milk today. We are a variety milk family. The kids refuse to drink anything less than 2%, and Dave cannot even conceive of budging up or down from his 1%, and let's just face it, my Mexican calorie budget leaves no room for anything but skim, so I end up buying 3 different gallons. Dyl reminds me that we have been out of milk for days, except we have plenty of skim, and he is just super glad that I have milk for breakfast. Little smart alec.

It's shopping day with Gram, and I tell her we should be down around nine or a little after. We bust out of our house at 9:10 and still have a half hour commute. The tiny amount of guilt grows in my gut, as I anticipate the painful shopping trip ahead of us. Last week, Gram got a hold of 4 extra Wal-Green ads and made me pick up her coupons in quadrip-licate. It was quite a scene with her pushing a cart and her walker, Dyl pushing a cart, and myself pushing a cart, pulling a cart, and frequently abandoning my carts, in a mad dash to stop Dyl from running Gram over with his. When I asked Gram what she wanted me to do with the fourth set of coupons, since it's only one per customer, she got super irritated with me, and said, "We're shopping for ....your.......SIS-ter." *wink*wink*. Obviously.......... What was I thinking.

When we get to Gram's, she doesn't even yell at me for not being on time, so my guilt grows a little more. It just gets bigger as she goes into the back room, and I frantically go through the stack of coupons to weed out the expired, the cat food(no cat), and the pictures of things that aren't actually coupons. I managed to get the pile down to around 40ish legitimate coupons by the time she came back out, and we were on our way.

Gram has been very concerned about my family having a good Thanksgiving, since I will be working, and Dave decided to just stay home with the kids and the t.v. this year. She doesn't quite get, that I always request to work Thanksgiving, and Dave will not feel neglected if he gets to just watch some football. In order to ease her conscious, she bought us a pumpkin pie and gave me instructions on how to make whipping cream from scratch. I am one step ahead of her though, and always keep an aerosolized version at the ready, which doesn't add to my guilt in the least.

With Dyl at school, and Emma down for a nap, the afternoon stretched in front of me, glorious, with what seemed like endless possibilities. Since I didn't actually work out this morning I didn't feel that I deserved a nap, so I made myself useful and cleaned several hours of reality smut and Lifetime movies off our DVR. I guess having a nap, and lying motionless on your bed for a couple of hours, with only the twitch of your fingers on the remote, might be pretty close to the same thing. I didn't feel all that guilty until I could hear the Hoodlums coming home from school and I had to wade through the waist deep, clean laundry pile, on the floor of my bedroom, to get to them. Whatever, pile it on.

The Boys were all a burst with information from their day. They were talking all over the place and on top of each other, and I could hardly comprehend what they were saying. Dyl was in a tizzy trying to explain to me, " then they turned all the lights out, and we had to crawl on the floor, and their was a red flag...that means someone is trying to get the kids and kill them, and then we hid under the desks and had to be really quiet and hold our breath, until we couldn't see the red flag anymore, and"

Dawson was equally as frantic, "there were two cars that tried to get me 'n Dyl in them on the way home and we just said no, even though its frickin' cold outside and oh, sorry, I forgot not to say frickin', but I remembered about stranger danger, and then we had to watch for the red flag and then we had our lights out, but I didn't wear my coat out to recess and do we have anymore cinnamon rolls?"

Eventually, I worked out that they had a new drill at school called "lock down" and while the Boys seemed to take it in stride, I was a little T.O.'d, that they have to worry about stuff like that. They were also offered two rides home, both from neighbors, and although it was "frickin' cold", they chose to walk, rather than risk abduction. Freak, if I had been through the lock down drill, I wouldn't ride with anyone either. Plus, we live less than a block from the bus stop, hardly the jaunt home from school I used to make. You know uphill both ways, snow, the works.

Obviously with my busy afternoon, I really didn't get much planned for dinner. Dylan had earned a pizza certificate for reading at school, which gave me an easy out. My guilt really just kind of snowballed from there on out. The house is a sty, Dawson had gone swimming with a friend and wasn't home until late, so no Family Home Evening, not that I had anything planned anyway.

Truth be told, these things would not weigh on my conscience for even a second, if it was clean to begin with. And to be frank, I never thought that my current drama would bother me, but my pride has come full circle. My humiliation, public. Recently, I had the opportunity to play in a church volleyball league, and out of respect for my husband, who deemed our team, Satan's Sweethearts, I won't go into all the gory details, but I will say that I was a little shit, and my sportsmanship was anything but Christian.

Long story short, we played for the Region Championship last week and I sucked it up something fierce. I couldn't make a play to save my life, and I am sure dropping a half F-Bomb, "fffuuuuuuzzzz" every crappy pass I made, didn't help. We took second place, which only stung half as bad as my personal shame.

That might be a tad dramatic. I don't really have a lot of remorse for my actions, but it sure did suck, to suck. Thankfully, I have Dave as my moral conscience, and on the way over he texted me a picture of a For Sale sign, with "my soul" listed in the phone number area. I know I have a problem with my desire to win at all costs, and it becomes more apparent at different times in my life. I have had to learn to let the Hoodlums win at Candy Land every so often, and more recently, I found myself siding with the sweet little soccer player from New Mexico that delivered an awesome smack down on the BYU coed.

Regardless, I felt some guilt today, and that is healthy and good, as long as it doesn't consume me. Tomorrow is another day, and since I am a mother, my guilt will probably never go away. That is fine as long as I can still find solace in nachos, and sometimes have the opportunity to bake a funeral casserole; or contribute to some worthwhile charity, in an effort to even out the scales.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

You Can Call Me Martha

I know Dave likes to receive phone calls like this from me:

Dave-"Hello?"

Me-"I JUST STARTED A FIRE AND ALL THE SMOKE IS BILLOWING INTO THE HOUSE!"

Dave-"What are you talking about?"

Me-"There is SMOKE, filling our HOUSE!" *cough* cough*

Dave-"Open the damper."

Me-"Your Mom opens the damper. Where the hell is it?"

The rest of the conversation is just a blur of instructions, apologies, and an explanation.

As I was reading the paper this morning, I noticed a recipe for Pumpkin Cinnamon Rolls. Being a lover of all things pumpkin, I decided that my morning would be spent in an quest for successful yeast attempt.

I love to cook, but have never been able to make yeast work. I have always attributed my failures with dough, to a lack of a knack for details, and in fact had sworn off the stuff, after my last attempt 5 years ago ended badly.

That fateful day, I walked into my kitchen after a quick trip to the store, to find my unattended bread maker had danced its way off my counter, and into a thousand pieces on the floor. That's when I decided God invented Rhodes frozen dough, in an effort to make his remedial housewives feel good. Done and done.

I started the fire this morning, in an effort to have a warm place for the rolls to raise. And despite having all the doors and windows open, to air out the house, the area in front of the fireplace stayed toasty warm. The rolls, raised, along with my dough self-esteem, and by this afternoon, I had some lovely, homemade cinnamon rolls that you could almost smell through the campfire aroma, lingering in my hizzle.

Martha Stewart, look out.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Dyl-isms

Dylan is really cracking me up lately. He does what he wants, when he wants, and not really concerned with privilege removals of any sort. On Saturday morning, I called home from work to see what the Fam was up too, and Dylan answered the phone.

Dylan- "Please leave a message."

Me- "Dylan?"

Dylan- "Please leave a message."

Me- "You little shit."

Dylan--.......mass giggling, and then I hear him whisper to Dawson, "I just said, Leave a message." and more hysterics from both boys.

When I asked him later, what his plan was after someone left a message was, he said, "I just hang up on them."

Dave and the kids ended up in Salt Lake, Saturday afternoon, and pulled into the ambulance bay at the hospital, to say hi to me. I was able to get off a little early and joined the gang for a little shopping. Since I had my own car, Dyl, volunteered to keep me company on the way home. He loves to sing these color songs that he has learned in Kindergarten, and after he had rattled off a rainbow medley, he said, "I have a funny song." I told him I would love to hear it, and the old familiar tune of, "There's a place in France......" came out in perfect melody. He missed a verse though, and I told him how, "the boys don't care, cause they don't wear underwear." I then told him that when I was younger, I would be in big trouble if my parents heard that song, and the same would go for him.

On Sunday, Dave took the Hoodlums down to Gram's for dinner and when I got home from work, he told me how the kids had sang her a bunch of songs that they knew. He said that when the repertoire of church songs came to an end, Dyl volunteered that he knew a song, and let loose on Gram about the ladies in France and their underpants. It's a good thing she doesn't hear very well.

When the Boyz got home from school today, we all sat up to the counter for a snack and homework. Dylan had to use the bathroom, and as Daws and I were catching up, we hear Dylan grunting as loud as he can, and saying "Push! Push! Push!" like he is in labor. Dawson and I started to crack up, and when I leaned my head around the corner to see what was going on, Dyl had the door wide open. He looked up and just gave me a matter-of-fact nod, and said, "Wuz up?"

Dyl is currently in one of his eating frenzies. He usually goes months with us begging him to eat, only picking at his food, and maybe eating a few bites. Then he will have this two week interval where he eats all day long. Last year when this started, I was afraid he was maybe diabetic, or had tape worm, or something freaky, so I took him to the pediatrician and when they measured him and compared it to his well child check from 4 weeks earlier, he was a full inch and three quarters taller. We decided that growing almost 2 inches in one month was the reason he was eating so much. Anyway, I haven't bought him new pajamas in a year because they still fit him, they are just getting shorter. Poor little bean pole. I wish he would just sleep in his undies like the rest of the us, but he loves his jammies, or whats left of them.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Don't Hate Me 'Cause My Weekends Are So Exciting

I ventured into the big city this morning to do a few errands, and found an address which took me waaayyy into West Valley. I had to wind around the train tracks, and double back several times to an area filled with industrial buildings and deserted lots. I was a little unnerved as I read a bit of the graffiti, and had a fresh image of a patient that I had recently taken care of who was severely beaten by a West Valley Gang called, The Baby Regulators. I swear that is their real name. I laughed until the PoPo that was investigating, showed me a laminated copy of known "Baby Regulators." The sheet was similar to the old Guess Who game, except instead of friendly neighborhood people lined up, it was row after row of enormous Polys' with their warrants and nicknames under each picture.

After convincing myself that I was deep in "da hood", I dialed 9-1-1 on my cell just in case, and kept my eyes straight ahead, so as not to discover any lifeless hooker legs sticking out of the tall grass. Dyl, and Ems were along for the adventure, but lost deep in the movie they were watching. Dylan only broke his concentration a couple of times, to ask me why we kept turning around. Eventually, I found the tiny trailer I was looking for. I didn't travel all the way out to the Valley for crack, or Aqua Net and black eyeliner, none of the things they are famous for. I just needed to pick up some stone caps for our landscaping, and that's when I met Donny.

If a Monster Truck groupie and a farmer had a baby, it would be Donny. Donny was as nice as he could be,if a little odd, and as he looked up our order, we had a riveting conversation about bucking hay. As he told me his experiences, I made the mistake of saying that he was lucky he had a conveyor for haying. At the risk of sounding elderly, I told him that we always did it old school, with a pair of gloves, some twine and a flat bed trailer. He got all fired up saying, he still had to STACK it, IN the BARN, AND he had ASTHMA, and YADDA yadda. Regardless of who had it worse, (I'm saying me) the dueling banjos that were softly playing in my subconscious when I met Donny, were now at full blast, and I figured it was time to get back in the truck, and make my way over the freeway.

Safely on the east side, we continued on with our errands, including Costco, where Emma ate her weight in exotic cheese samples, and Dylan added approximately a thousand dollars worth of toys to his Christmas wish list. I thought about demanding to see the manager, and asking, why the hizzle, at a store that sells 45 rolls of toilet paper in a single package, can't offer a fountain Diet Coke bigger than 16 freaking ounces? I ended up just buying three, and deciding it was a battle for another day.

Daveskins called me as we were making for the mountains, and suggested we have a date night. I was all for it, and by the time we pulled into our driveway, I had my heart set on the Brew Pub, and a seven-fifteen showing of Couples Retreat. I am not sure why we never learn, but 4:00 on a Friday afternoon, is a terrible time to find a babysitter. Even the "last resort" sitters are all taken by then, and that was certainly the problem I ran into.

In my depression, I relented on some Wii time for the Hoodlums, and as they scampered up the stairs, I fell back into the couch, misty-eyed and deep in self-pity. When Dave arrived home, I broke the bad news to him, which was lightened considerably by Dylan walking through the room with a three foot piece of tape and scrap of paper stuck to his nose. He is such a funny kid. He had a completely straight face and just kind of gave us a "what's up" nod. I complimented him on his trunk, and he just gave me another nod.

With nothing in mind for dinner, and the Brew Pub, not so much a "kid place," Dave suggested The Silver Summit Cafe. I've never been there before, but it sounded familiar, and it all became very clear when Dave said, "You know, it's in the gas station by Home Depot." I can't say my depression didn't get a little deeper, as I envisioned all of us huddled around a wiener warmer at the gas station, ready-ing our buns for some delicious hot dog dinner. Dave was persistent though, and kept sing-songing stuff like, "It's really good food." and "They have fry sauce on each table." I finally told him to cool it, that he had me at 'lets go to dinner.'

The kids were starving, and let us know it about every five minutes, on the way to dinner. It probably had more to do with it being pitch dark at 6:00 than actual hunger, since I know Dylan and Emma had been snacking on candy all day from a secret stash that I cannot find. We were all talking and singing along with the music, when Dave slammed on the brakes, as a big horned deer came into the headlights. As soon as he pressed on the brakes, Emma came flying through the back, still buckled into her car seat, and hit the center console with her chest. It scared the shizz out of all of us, especially Em. No one was hurt, but Dave and I were completely sick about it. One of the boys must have mistakenly unlatched her seat belt in the dark while they were rooting around for their own. Luckily, the deer was fine too. Although he disappeared under the front of the truck, he must have pulled out some magnificent tuck and roll maneuver, and walked away calmly through the pasture.

We cautiously continued through Browns Canyon, and as Dave was pointing out some other road kill we were passing, we felt another bump bump under the tires. I am not a card carrying member of PETA, nor do I own a pet, or even have an overwhelming love of animals; but I did feel a little unsettled at all the lives that were lost, or nearly lost, during our pursuit of dinner. Gratefully, nothing takes the sting of death away, better than fry sauce, and just as Dave had promised me, there were bottles of it everywhere.

I had to laugh at him, as his eyes rolled back in his head when the kids ordered fruit, instead of fries, at the cafe. He is just a great enough dad, to let them order their fruit, knowing full well, that they will just eat his fries as they want too. The kids were hungry and they polished off their dinners and half of ours. The food was good, and as the only diners in the whole place, we were able to relax and talk and laugh, without worrying about disturbing anyone else.

One of my favorite things about my husband is his sense of humor. Dave makes me laugh hard, every day. After being together for 13 years, I have deciphered his different laughs, and the one I like the least, is the laugh I get when he is pretty much calling me on my bull crap. As we lounged over dinner, I mentioned that I bought some boxed mixes of different Christmas cookies, that I could bake and take around to our neighbors during the holidays......

Sure enough, out came the laugh. It is a little forceful at first, like I take him by surprise, and then it lasts and lasts, and sometimes, if he thinks I am totally ridiculous, he shakes his head too. It's hard on me, because I'm always saying, "What?...........What?.............What?" and finally I start laughing too, which sucks, because it is like admitting defeat. Of course I am not going to take crap to our neighbors, even at Christmas, cause that's just not my bag. But what if I wanted to turn over a new leaf?

Once he got control again, he did offer, that if I didn't want the neighbors to die of shock when I "brought them some cookies" maybe I should start out light, with a wave now and then, or not obviously avoid people in the store, ect... Whatever.

Hoodlums along, or not; great restaurant, or just a place a place that calls for 'gas station casual' a.k.a sweats; Dave is the key to my contentment. He loves me, he "gets" me, he laughs at me, and with me, and I hope I do the same for him, 'cause I love him a lot. The night turned out just right, and we made the whole drive home without killing any more animals.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Turkey Shoot

Dave was pumped to take Daws to the Turkey Shoot up at the Rec Center today. It was a free-throw shooting contest, and Daws took 2nd place! He won an enormous pumpkin pie, but was a little bummed about not winning the first prize turkey. I explained to him, how much better a delicious pie was, than a big, frozen turkey, and after having a piece, he concurred. Dave said, that Dawson was good sport about the whole thing and rooted for his friends when it was their turn. That is way more important to us right now, and that makes us very proud. He is a super stud.

Dawson and his friend, C.J.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Happy Birthday Daws-Man!

Dawson is such an awesome kid. We love him so much and are so proud of him. He had some fun birthday parties with his friends, and then with our family. It was a great weekend.

Pool Party- what better way to wear out 11 boys?

Amateur belching contest. Gotta love boys!

Shanna Hanna came to help with crowd control.

Pumped about Bakugan.

I can't believe I have a seven year old.

He is one great kid.

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