Mmmm, Cheesecake...

We spent all of today trying to put some finishing touches on the house and when we got home at 7:00, I still had a bunch of things to do, and I was covered in construction dust. Hannah's birthday is tomorrow, so I was planning to bake her a cheesecake, but I still needed to throw something together for dinner, and finish up the wash. Thankfully, my SIL and her family were out of town for the weekend, so I broke into her house to do all my laundry. Technically, I didn't "break in" because I know the code. Just as a side note, if you don't want me in your house when you are not there, don't tell me the code, and certainly don't make it easy for me to guess what it might be, because I will make myself at home.

After dinner, my beloved Daveskins offered to go change the laundry. I gathered up the rest of the dirty clothes and made all the kids strip down and get in the shower. I then striped down and left the pile for him to take to the "laundromat." The laundry issues around our house have bordered on neurotic for the last month. That being said, I refused to put any clean clothes on until I had showered, and began constructing my cheesecake, buck naked. (There is no euphemism there, it is what it is.)

Dave called me about 15 minutes later and said, "There aren't even enough clothes to start a load." That is when I walked into our laundry room and saw all the dirty clothes we had just taken off, laying there in a pile. I asked him, "Why the bleepity bleep do you think I got naked to make the cheesecake?" Several seconds of silence went by and I could tell he was deciding how sarcastic to make his answer, and then he just started laughing. He said he would just strip down and put his dirty clothes in the washer, and come home.....

Instantly I had a vision of our very small town being all the buzz over Dave cruising around naked, and perhaps at the very same time driving past my house and seeing me naked in our kitchen, with the egg beaters in one hand and spatters of cheesecake covering my torso. I don't really give a crap what the neighbors think, but part of me thought Dave might be arrested for that kind of stunt.

Just as I was bending over to put the cheesecake in the oven, I heard Dave laugh, and his camera phone click. He had put on some clean clothes, from the dryer, for the trip home, and was standing there smirking.

Naked baking was a new experience for me, and although I was faced with a few uncomfortable challenges like, do I lick cheesecake batter off my own stomach? The cheesecake turned out great, and everyone enjoyed it. I also finished 6 big loads of laundry, for free, in my SIL's awesome, state-of-the-art laundromat, and neither Dave nor I was arrested for exhibitionism. It was a successful evening.

Where oh where has my little mind gone?

Today was rough. This morning started out as normal as any other, except I chose to sleep, rather than bounce around for an hour on the stupid bosu balls, sweating and stinking and chatting with the girls. Dawson kept coming into my room saying he didn't want to be late for school, so I would give him a task, like make your bed, and then told him to come wake me up. We went through teeth, prayers, and the dirty clothes pile, before I could hoist myself out of bed, and he eventually made it on the bus. The poor kid is so dang responsible, and I am just not sure where he gets it.

I got the rest of the kids ready to do our weekly shopping trip with my Gram, and made a stop at the new house, on our way. Dave asked me to pick up a pump, to leave at my Grandma's house for his dad to pick up. Well, I went in the house and looked at the freshly installed hand rail and then headed out to Heber. I got most of the way there when Dave called to remind me about the pump, which I totally forgot and also to remind me that I had to be available to sign for the appliances which were being delivered between 10 and 1. Well, eff.

On the way over to Heber, Dyl and Emma, were watching Annie for the 50 millionth time, and Dylan said to me, "I wish I had a locket." I asked him why and he replied, "So that my real parents will have something to claim me with." I decided not to tell him that his real parents died in a fire, especially since I can still remember fantasizing about my "real" parents. As a side note, neither my son or myself are adopted. I asked him what his ideal parents would be like, and all the attributes he could wish for in the perfect parent. He thought about it for several minutes and finally replied, "They'd be made of sugar." I was a little relieved. I understand a sugar statue, but I would feel really inadequate if he rambled on a list including, but not limited to, great homemaker, chef, super clean freak, or some sort of soft, non-vulgar saintly woman.

We managed to do G-Mizzle's shopping, (which is entirely another blog post) and make it back just in time to watch some seriously burly men haul our new appliances into the house. Hooray! I was really worried when the guys measured our garage door entrance and realized that the fridge was not going to fit. They decided to go around and take it through the front entrance, which meant trudging through 2 feet of snow with a heavy fridge on a dolly. I watched with dread as they started through the snow, stumbling and sweating up a storm. The two men's combined weight had to be close to 700 pounds and with the profuse sweating, I started to look around the house for a barrier in case I needed to initiate CPR. They finally made it in the door, and I said, "Well, that was easy. Hehe." I thought they were going to kill me.

After naps, we took off to Park City for a quick shopping trip and managed to accrue $150 worth of stuff from Wal-Mart and Staples. I was pleased with how quick I had shopped and that we were going to make it home before Dave. On our way out, we drove through Mickey Dee's for an ice cream cone, and as I was licking mine, I told the boys that it made me feel like summer. Dylan immediately said that his ice cream cone made him feel like a Wookie. I just left it alone.

We got home with a few minutes to spare, and went to unload all the bags, when I noticed there weren't any freaking bags! I buckled all the kids in the damn car and left the bags in the cart, in Wal-Mart parking lot. These are the times when it super-sucks to live in the country. A stupid trip to Wally World takes over an hour round-trip. I hurried into the house and called Wal-Mart. The uninterested woman on the phone said nothing had been turned in, so I loaded everyone back up and headed back to the store. Thank goodness for Orphan Annie and her antics, to cover up all the profanity that streamed from my mouth for 35 minutes straight. When we got there, someone had turned in my stuff, so I picked it up and gratefully headed back home.

I don't know if anyone else has ever been surprised by a children's book, but tonight, as we were all cuddled up on the couch with our library books, I felt a little violated. Our library routine consists of me frantically grabbing the allowed number of books, quickly checking the picture to text ratio, and then getting the hell out of there before any of the kids can break something, yell, swear or start any fires. A couple of times I have been burned. Tonight we were reading a book about Abraham Lincoln. I was exhausted so I wasn't really paying attention until I heard myself say, "Negroes." What?? The sentence talked about how sick Honest Abe was when he saw how the Negroes were treated. I bet he wasn't nearly as sick as I felt when Dylie said, "What the hell is a Negro?"
In our house, my kids can hear a million words a day, but the only word that will stick in their spongy little brains is one I don't want them to say. I explained to him, that term was used a long time ago for African Americans, or black people, but that we don't say it now. Sure enough, I turn the page and it shows some slaves all chained up, and Dyl says, "Why'd they tie all the Negroes up?" Well, shizz.

I think it's time to call it a night.

The Stages of Sick

We are in the final stages of a nasty cold, that I know is going around. I was pondering today about whether or not I might have to call in sick on Wednesday, and decided I should probably go to work. My children, for the most part, have made it easy to predict the length and severity of an illness by each going through similar stages.

The first stage, I like to call the, "You had better be getting sick," stage. That is where they are moody, pester-y, and downright obnoxious, with a hint of droopy eyes. This tells me that, although my normally sweet little boy or girl, is misbehaving, it is only because the germs are starting to hyper-divide in their little bodies. I will admit, I have been tricked a time or two, when the next morning they wake up normal, and I have to attribute the naughtiness to excess sugar, or their Broadbent genes. This is a painful stage, but with the amount of illnesses my children seem to pick up, I know that relief is around the corner with the second stage.

The second stage, also referred to as the, "Hell Yeah! A Fever!!!" stage. Now I hate to see my kids sick or with aches and pains, but it is a part of life and there ain't nothing wrong with enjoying a lethargic, snugly kid. My boys still give me lots of loves, but they rarely hold still long enough to truly snuggle. Plus this stage will hopefully give me the "warm and fuzzies" long enough to get through the last stage..

The final stage, and often the final straw, is the "I'm Feeling Good Enough to be Hyper, Yet Bawl For an Hour When My Tylenol Wears Off," stage. There is a lot of information in that last title, so I probably don't need to explain that anymore than, that is the stage we are in today. Yay!

Dylan was the last of us to get the cold, and I think it is safe to say we are now in the clear. My babies are all getting back to their normal, happy, rambunctious selves and I am thankful that our illnesses are minor and only come in three stages.

My Boys

When Dawson gets off the bus everyday, Dyl, Emma, and I are all anxiously awaiting his arrival. He just bounces in the door, bursting with all the stories of his big day at Kindergarten. Dylan listens in awe and then asks me if he will get to do the same things next year at Kindergarten. Most stories that Dawson tell excite Dyl, but lately they all revolve around girls, and thankfully right now, that just grosses Dylan out. Dawson came home yesterday and said, "Will I be in trouble if I kissed a girl in school today?" I told him no, because I don't want him to not tell me things, already, and then he spilled about how all the girls were chasing him at recess, and he didn't want to make all his girlfriends sad on the bus ride, so he continually blew kisses to them. I figured the poor kid had been punished enough, since his bus ride is approximately 45 minutes, and that is a long time to keep several girlfriends out of tears, and all equally air kissed. Dylan just looked like he had been punched in the guts and he said, "What is wrong with you? I am not doing that when I go to Kindergarten."

This morning as Dawson was getting ready for school, he asked me to do his hair extra special for the Valentines party. I told him he shouldn't even be thinking about kissing any girls, and that maybe he should just give them high fives, or knuckles. Dylan suggested just rolling balls of fire at them, which I agreed would be effective. Dawson just smiled all doe-y eyed and floated off to school, leaving Dylan and I shaking our heads.

When I picked Dylan up from preschool, Ms. Myndi came up to the car and I heard her say, "Alright, I am going to ask your mom if she lets you say that at home." Dylan came right back with, "She does, she lets me say it all the time." She then opened the door and said that another kid told Dylan that he was going to kick him in the leg, to which Dylan retorted, "Well, I will kick your ass."

Of course I don't allow Dylan to say that at home. I can't even imagine where he might have heard that phrase. When Dave came home, I told him the story and he said. "Did you immediately think of that part in A Christmas Story, where the little kid drops the F-Bomb, and blames it on the other kid although, he had heard it a million times from his father?" No. I didn't think of that at all.

This afternoon, Dawson came up to me and said, "I know the Holy Ghost is in our house." I was a little creeped out and asked him how he knew that. He said, "When I was taking care of my clothes upstairs the laundry basket got caught on my neck and just as I was about to cry, the Holy Ghost pushed it off my head." Dylan was excited, he thought it would be a good idea to try and trap the Holy Ghost the next time he tries to help us. My boys are a good combination. Dawson is such a spiritual little guy. He is always suggesting we pray for help to find keys, or whatever I might have misplaced. I am glad to have him around to help me remember the help I have, if I just ask. Dylan is also pretty in tune to the spirit, and he keeps things colorful for me.

Dawson and Dyl, were both 3+ when the were potty trained, which was fine with me. I am a firm believer in the convenience of diapers. One day, each of the boys just decided it was time to be toilet trained and we've never looked back. There were no tears, no public accidents, no private accidents, no trying to make them pee on Cheerios in the toilet, it was wonderful.

I was shocked when a few months ago, at about 20 months I went looking for Emma and there she was sitting on the toilet, going to the bathroom. She started saying "potty," when she needed to go, and has done quite well.

We are now having a novelty toilet issue. It doesn't matter if she just went to the bathroom, if we are at Smith's, or a restaurant, or she sees the port-o-potty at our new house, all of a sudden she has to go potty. As thrilled as I am about her almost being potty trained, I am not a big fan of public restrooms, or being taken advantage of by a 2 year old. I end up taking her every time, but she only produces results about 10% of the time. I am not sure which is worse, not taking her and risking an accident, or taking 15 minutes during each errand, while she sits on the toilet smiling and exploring her new surroundings, while I try to keep her fast little hands out of the used tampon bin.

I am constantly surprised at how smart she is, and how fast she picks things up. Although I have seen the inside of every public restroom of every store I have been in for the last 5 months, she still melts my heart while she's sitting there kicking her feet and saying, "Love you the most, Mom."

It's a Hard Knock Life...

I don't consider myself a big crier, or someone who gets stressed out very easily. I can probably count on both hands the number of times I have recognized being "stressed out" in my life. The last 2 houses that we have built would probably account for five to seven of those times, which is part of the reason we decided never to build again, yet here we are.

On our last house, Dave and I did an incredible amount of the work, although we are not very compatible in our construction styles. He is a perfectionist. For example, all the screws are pointing the same direction and you could put a level to them and they would be even. I, on the other hand, tend to believe in the "good enough, for who it's for" route. At one point in our last house, Dave was yelling out measurements for the stair treads, like 17 3/4 or whatever. I would find the 17, and then add a little and cut the board, good enough. After the second board was way off, I think we hollered loud enough at each other, that it got the neighbors a little worried. Eventually, the issue boiled down to me not being very good with fractions, so I stopped crying and swearing, and Dave ended up giving me the measurements in 16ths, like 17 and 15/16ths. That way I could count the tiny little lines, and it all worked out.

This house has been a little different. I have not been as hands on with this house, mostly because we have kids now and we learned from the last time. However, this house is driving me insane, and I noticed today that I am officially stressed out. The signs were vague, but by the time it was noon and I had already cried 4 times, I figured it out. I am not a crier. I only cry over a few things like, when I am super pissed off, if I see running horses, and when I am really tired. I didn't even cry when Dave proposed to me. I think it went something like this. Dave:" Will you marry me?" Me:"Ooh, I think I am going to cry." Dave:"No you're not." Me:"Oh yeah, I'm not."

Anyway, first thing this morning, the dryer officially died. Now, I own three dryers, and I am still going to have to go to the frickin' laundromat. When we moved into this dreaded rental, they only had an electric hook-up, so we bought a used electric dryer. It has been a nightmare, and after it wouldn't work this morning, even after I turned the breaker off and on, and tilted it to one side and all the other tricks we have had to do to get it to run. I kicked the crap out of it, and sat down and cried. I might be stressed out.

My next move was a beeline to the Chevron, for an enormous Diet Coke. I guarantee, if I drank any alcohol at all, I would be an alcoholic. I am constantly drowning my sorrows in perfectly proportioned Cherry Coke to Diet Coke fountain goodness. After loading up Emma and Dyl, I pulled out onto Main Street and watched in my rear view mirror as my delicious Diet Coke fell off the top of my car and ran all the way down my windows. I pulled back into the parking lot and cried. I might be stressed out.

Driving over to Park City for some retail therapy, I was half listening to Annie, the movie my kids are currently obsessed with, and when Daddy Warbucks, decided to adopt Annie, I lost it again. I was sobbing like a baby. Usually when they watch that show, I just fantasize about getting my hands on some little cleaning orphans who could make my house shine like the top of the Chrysler Building. But not today, I think I am stressed out.

Thank goodness for my SIL, DeAnn. We went to lunch at Don Pedro's which pretty much cures anything, and although I still have 3 weeks left before my house is done, I have a lot to be grateful for, and I realized I need to just pull myself together.