T-Ball

Dave coached the boys t-ball team again this summer. It was about the same as last summer. The kids were only interested for the first two innings and then they were all whining about how hot it was, or who got to bat last, or what. Very entertaining from the side line, although I doubt Dave would call it that. He is very good with the kids, and has kids spot him in the store or around town and say, "Hi, Coach." He is a great dad!

Whatta Man, Whatta Man, Whatta Mighty Good Man

I worked two loonnnnggg shifts this weekend. When I got home tonight, this was in the fridge.

'For My Hot Mexican Lover'

Dave is a one of a kind dude. He gets me. He loves me. He does so many thoughtful things for me. I love him so much more now, than I could have ever imagined was possible, 10 years ago when we got hitched. Actually, now that I think about it, My Hot Mexican Lover.........Maybe I just came home earlier than he was expecting me. I better double check with him, before I sing too many of his praises.

Hihowareya! Hihowareya!

This is the face I had to look at whilst trying to convince Dave he wanted to go to the Pow Wow.

Then I got this one, when I whipped out my secret weapon.
Three little words for you, Nava........HO........Tacos.

Unfortunately, Dave is not as excitable about tacos as I am, but with a little bartering, I was able to lure him to the Pow Wow. The Boys were very excited about going. We have had some extensive conversations about Native Americans, and how they are not extinct, and live just like we do. I thought, what better way, to show how regular they are, then to take them to the Pow Wow, and let the Boyz see the them just chillin' in their regular ole' Eagle feathers, war paint, head dresses and loin cloths............ Plus, I had an argument to win.

Dawson and I, have been bickering over the ethnic background of one of his classmates for the last several months. He insisted that she was Indian, because she knew a lot about Indians, and basically, because she told him that she was an Indian. Knowing everything about everything, as I usually do, I told him that she was Hispanic. I have seen and talked with this cute girl at the school parties, and besides her name being very similar to "Maria Martinez", and having darker skin, I just knew she was Hispanic.

The Pow Wow was great. I bawled during the Grand Entry, which felt a little lame, especially with Dave rolling his eyes at me, but I am totally moved by seeing people who have so much history, pay so much respect to their ancestors. We watched several dances and then made our way down to the taco stands. Our dinner was great. I got a titch nervous watching the chitlins put down so much chili, but only half as nervous as Dave got, watching me scarf the beans. We walked around the booths and the Boyz got some ideas for next year's birthdays, and Christmases. I hope they aren't too disappointed when they don't open up arrowhead spears, roach clips, or hand-carved hunting daggers.

As we were leaving, I remembered that the only pictures I had taken were of the tacos. Oh, the shame. Anyway, I persuaded Daveskins and Daws, to run back and snap a token picture of an actual Native American. I loaded up Emma and Dyl, and drove the truck up to the entrance where Dave and Dawson were waiting. They were just beaming and couldn't wait to get in the truck. When Dave got in, I asked him what he was grinning about. He said he was just laughing about Dawson running into a friend when they went back to get pictures. Dawson jumped in the truck and got right in my face to let me know that he saw his little "Hispanic" friend all dudded up and dancing around the circle with the rest of her Native American family. The little punk made me apologize to him about 50 times on the way home.

Apparently, Tourettes Is Hereditary.

Dawson: Mom, you know how you go to work with disease?

Me: What do you mean, and you should not say that to anyone else.

Dawson: I have three diseases, and I want you to tell me what they are.

Me: Okey doke. (Desperately hoping this is not another case where I just shake my head, and tell him, that's what it's SUPPOSED to look like.)

Dawson: My first disease is when I have to say stuff three times. My second disease is when I clap really loud 5 times, and the worst disease is when I have those naughty words in my head and I have to spit them out, even if you say you don't want to hear them.

Oh, that's great. I went to Salt Lake with a with my normal quirky kid, and figured I might have a post about Costco, but NOOOOOOO. On the way home, he decides he has "diseases", and diagnoses himself with OCD and Tourettes. Holla!

Fo Yo Info

I'm back on the Sauce.
Crystal Light can die in a fiery crash.

Top 3 Things You Don't Want Your Kids To Holler At You While Playing Softball

#1-"MOM, DYLAN IS PEEING BEHIND THE TREE INSTEAD OF THE BATHROOM!"

#2-"MOM, EMMA KEEPS LICKING THIS BIG ROCK!"

#3-"MOM, DYLAN IS DONE PEEING AND WON'T PULL HIS PANTS UP!"

Seriously, there are only a few things that remind me of my youthful carefree kid days, and playing softball on summer nights is one of them. Unless of course, the Hoodlums tag along.

Dave went to a wedding tonight, so Emma and the Boyz came along to my softball game. Being the super paranoid Mutha that I am, I gave them strict parameters of where they could play. I stationed them right behind Home Base where I could see them and know what they were doing. I soon realized, they were way to close. The first time I got up to bat, the Boyz went nuts heckling me. "Hey Batta, Batta!" and some stuff about my legs that I believe is reserved for pitchers, but they thought it applied to me as well.

I had to relax the parameters a bit so that I wasn't tempted to holler threats about the ripping of limbs and the like. I allowed them to wander in the fields next to first base so that I could still see their heads running around. Emma opted to stay in the bleachers with some enormous rock that she had found, and licked it straight through the game. Maybe I need to increase something in her diet. The Boyz quickly united with their friends and I would like to say, 'who knows what went down', but I have Dawson to holler updates to me throughout the game, as noted above.

Dave was home by the time we played our second game, but by then my attention span was shot. My first ups,I struck out, swinging hard enough to pull something in my shoulder, dropped the F-bomb, and then watched a nine-months pregnant chick hit a home run, and make it around the bases in the same time it takes me to get to first. There is just something about those farm girls.

At last the umpire ended our misery and called the game on the 10 run rule. I went home, snuggled Dave and told him how sucktacular I was. He knows just how to cheer me up, we ended the night with some Double Stuff Oreos, Crystal Light and an episode of Reno 911!

Mama Is Off the Sauce

It is official. I am off the sauce. Much like the my patients who "quit smoking, " although their last cigarette was 2 hours ago, I have stopped doing Coke, with my last hit being almost 12 hours behind me. I went out with a bang, and had a 44 ouncer made to my usual specifications, 68% ice, followed by a 4" to 1" ratio of Diet to Cherry Coke layered and swirled, to mix the flavors just so. It was delicious, and it burned so good. I am not sure how something that feels so right could be so wrong, but it is for me.

My new found sobriety is not based on health concerns, which will not shock anyone that knows me, (I haven't given up frosting, for hell's sakes.) It stems from an ugly incident at work that has caused me much shame.

A couple of day's ago, I commuted to work with my g.f. Amberly. She was running late, as she does everyday and in our hurry to be on time I bypassed my morning Chevron stop. I worked straight through lunch, and 11 and a half hours later, I was slumped over my stool, staring at the clock and mumbling every naughty swear I could think of. Unfortunately for him, I was approached by a Resident with a simple request.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. This is how it went down.

*Tijay(haha, rhymes with his real name.) "The lady in 8 just needs a juice."

Me: *%$#^, &*& *(^$%$$%^$%###!!! And, &^^%&*@!#@! Then &*^%$#!!

*Tijay: Uhhh......just juice

Me: What about THIS girl's needs, *Tijay? Why doesn't anyone ever think about what THIS girl needs? Maybe THIS girl needs a juice, maybe she needs a juice real bad, one with carbonation, caffiene, and Carmel #5.

*Tijay:Uhhh....

Me: *sniff*sniff*sniff* "You don't know me." Then, there were actual tears.

The lady in room 8 didn't get her juice, and I finished out the last 15 minutes of my shift watching the clock through my tears and avoiding eye contact with anyone. I think it qualifies as "rock bottom" when you start referring to yourself in third person. Poor Elmo was banished from my house indefinitely for the same offense, so I figure it is time to take control of the situation.

My plan is to replace the same amount of Diet Coke with water. I hate water. I was lamenting my distaste of the nasty stuff to my co-worker, when she suggested that I add Crystal Light. Blech! That is like when you spritz perfume over a fart. It still smells like fart, with a hint of something you used to like. No bueno. I am not drinking fart water. She also suggested juice, but I can't afford to drink my calories. I need to save them for nachos. It might be ugly for a couple of days, especially for a girl who was weaned from the teet to the 2 liter,(not blaming, just saying) but I know I can do it.

We had a great day yesterday. Dave and I, have both needed new shoes for a long time now, but have been putting it off, due to lack of time and desire. We took the kids with us, since it would be too painful to waste a date night, shoe shopping. We obviously didn't remember how painful it was to go shoe shopping with all the kids either.

Dawson tried to be helpful by bringing any size 13 shoe he could find for Dave to try on. Dylan just plopped down on the bench and repeatedly asked, 'how much longer?' Emma ran wildly through each store trying on any shoe she could reach, and losing both of hers in the process.

It is funny to watch the desperation equation play out. During the morning, Dave and I actually only tried on shoes that we liked the looks of. By early afternoon, we were getting less picky, and by 4:00, Dave was just trying on anything in his size. I had given up my search a couple of hours earlier, and had assumed the horse stance, circling the kids and trying to keep them from touching each other. I know when Dave has reached his shopping limit, because he says stuff like, "They fit pretty good," but limps up and down the aisle trying to convince himself. At one point, he was asking my opinion, and I said, "They don't look terrible........ not super terrible......"and then I just lost it. They were the most hideous shoes I had ever seen. I couldn't stop laughing, I would rather have Dave be the target of every bully, including myself, then stay in that store one second longer.

Dave eventually managed to find a couple of pairs of shoes that would work, and then we were off to visit his grandparents. On the way to Lehi, we passed the prison, which always sparks a few questions. The topic of the day was prison food. The Boyz wanted to know what prisoners eat. I told them a thimble of water, and then whatever food you hate, the prison chefs make that for every meal. Dawson said that was dumb because he would just say he hated bread or something that he really liked. So for the rest of the trip we took turns saying the foods we would "hate" in prison.

When we hit Lehi Main Street, we started in on the threats. "Now remember, Grandma and Grandpa are really old and we can't scare them by arguing, yelling, ect...." By the time we had reached their street, it was more like, " Seriously, your bikes will be gone, if there is any trouble." Then, just before the door opened, I hissed at them, "No joke, we WILL go to a nice, sit down restaurant for dinner if there is ANY trouble." They knew enough to cut off their protests when the door opened, and we had a nice visit.

Even though the kids were pretty good, while we visited the Grandparents, we decided to take them to Tempanyaki. They agreed when we told them, that they would start the table on fire, and toss sharp knives in the air. A play land really pales in comparison, when you have knives and fire. It was a good dinner, but when the chef kept bouncing shrimp off Dylie's face, it made my night. Dylan was a little apprehensive at first, but then he got into it, and really tried to catch one in his mouth. After 6 attempts the guy ran out of shrimp, but a few had ricocheted off Dylan's face and onto his plate, and he happily scarfed them down.

The kids were ready for bed when we got home, and we tucked them in and settled down to watch a movie. Every once in a while, I have those moments where I think, Damn, I am getting old. We rented Valkyrie, and I could have sworn instead of Dave and I watching the movie, it was my grandparents. Every few minutes, one of us would ask, "What did they just say?" Then the other one would admit they had no idea, and we would rewind and try it again. I about wet my pants when the airplanes started buzzing around, so then it was a constant struggle to turn up the volume when they were talking, and then hurry and turn it down for gunfire and airplanes.

It's a sad day, when you realize you might be too old for surround sound, but a happy day when you don't have to buy shoes for awhile.

Dawson has been cracking me up lately. The past couple of days, we have had some interesting conversations.

While getting ready for work the other day, Dawson came into the bathroom where I was flipped over scrunching my hair and we had the following conversation:

Dawson: Mom, you know what weenie skin looks like?

Me: Um, I believe so......

Dawson: Uh huh, then watch this.

(He scrunches up the skin on his stomach and starts laughing hysterically.)

Dawson: See, I can make weenie skin, or, old people skin on my belly.

I guess if college doesn't work out, he could have a career in impersonations.


Later that day, Dave was telling me a story about, a real jerk that he met. I forgot about Dawson's eagle ears, and referred to the guy in the story as a "douche bag." Instantly I regretted it.

Dawson: What's a douche bag?

Me: It is a terrible word that your Mother should not have said. (Dave is totally glaring at me.)

Dawson: Why, what's bad about douche bag?

Me: It's not really anything we even have to talk about. ( I was trying to cut the conversation short, due to the incessant repetition of the word douche, now being said by Dylan, and of course Emma had to get in on the action. Hooray for building vocabulary!)

Dawson: But which word can't I say? Like...... could I say, douche...... door?

Me: No, you can't say either.

I had to look away, I knew if I met Dave's eyes, we would have both started laughing. The kid cannot leave things alone. He has to question everything, and then question your answer, and then keep questioning until he is satisfied, or it's time for bed, or there is some natural disaster. Yikes!

Dawson is extremely competitive, and has to win at what ever he is doing. Unfortunately, so am I, but I always give him the whole, 'it doesn't matter if you win or lose spiel', right before I beat him . We were playing Wii golf the other day, best out of three, (since he won the first game), and he said, "You really screwed up your eyebrows on your Mii. They don't look anything like that. You should have picked the eyebrows that look like fish jumping out of the water. You know which ones I 'm talking about?" Then, he takes his fingers and pretends to shoot them in an arc, to show me. He is a details man.

I'm a Lover not a Hater!

Well, after a couple of extremely stressful days at work, I decided to get my butt out of bed for my morning work-out. I needed some fun girl talk to lift my spirits, and couldn't wait to get back to my little group. I haven't been for about 10 days because of Powell and work, so I was surprised when I came back this morning and my usually fun group of girls had been replaced with a bunch of neurotic sugar haters.

My girl Heather, tried to have my back, and help me steer the conversation away from how many grams of sugar are in an effin' banana. Seriously?! Is that what we've turned into? It only worked for a couple of minutes though, and then they were back to dissecting various foods. I had to spend the rest of the work-out, actually working-out, and giving Heather instructions on waiting to cut me down from my noose until at least 5 minutes before seven.

I came home and fell right into bed for a 15 minute cat nap before the kiddies woke up and needed breakfast. I gave them their usual frozen berry mix and cereal, which has got to be like, at least like 15 grams of sugar...gasp! Then as they scurried off to get dressed I polished off 2 pieces of Dylan's birthday cake and a glass of milk. That is not my usual breakfast so I can't decide if I am emotionally boycotting the loss of my fun work-out partners, or we just talked about sugar so damn much, now I subconsciously crave it. What-Ev.

I struck up a deal with the Boyz, that if they would give me 30 uninterrupted minutes in the steamer, they could invite a friend over, after we did Gram's shopping. They obliged, and I sat there baking out my frustrations, and trying not to vomit the mass amount of shortening and lard I had consumed for breakfast.

Gram's shopping was relatively painless today, we hit all three stores, but the lists were short, the coupons had not already expired, and the Boyz were on their best behavior. One of my favorite things about going shopping with Gram, is trying to get back into my own car afterwards. She doesn't go in the store with me anymore, but she loves to go for a ride with us. For some reason, about the same time I reach for my door handle, she always hits the automatic locks. I smile, and mouth the words, 'unlock the door,' to her. She smiles and unlocks the door, and locks it again before I can open my door. This goes on for a few minutes and then I make my way around the car to her side, so that I can try to point out which button is the unlock button. About the time I think she has it, the window by my ear will roll down. I used to try to stick my arm through, and push the button myself, but I almost lost my arm about 4 inches beneath the pit, last time. We go through this several times, before I finally just have Dawson get out of his car seat and unlock the back door for me.

The ride home was pleasant and interesting. The Boyz and I had an in-depth discussion about why George, (of the Jungle) wears a dress, and why he doesn't wear underpants. I haven't actually seen this movie, or know if George does, or doesn't go commando, but Dylan seems to think he is a free spirit, so maybe I should look into it.

My kids can make me crazy some days, but I swear they seem to know when I need a little extra TLC. Today they were so good, I just love their little guts.

Dylie turns 5!

My Sweet Lil' Dyl turned 5 today! He requested crepes for breakfast, which happens to be one of my specialties, even if Dawson constantly reminds me that Grandma Carol's are waaaaayyyy better. I think that Dyl doesn't really even care for the actual crepe, but prefers the fruit and whipped cream. It is funny to watch their little mouths when I get the whipped cream can out of the fridge. They instantly start chirping, "Can we have a squirt in our mouths? Please, can we? Huh?" Then they line up like little birds with their heads tilted back and their mouths wide open, begging for a little dollop.

After breakfast, we headed south to Happy Valley to play with Hannah, and of course, like most prepared mothers, to pick up a birthday gift. We rescued Hannah from Beauty School, and while she distracted Dyl in one aisle of Toys R Us, Dawson, Emma, and I, stayed in the next aisle shopping. It worked like a charm. We got Dylan some sweet Hot Wheels Tracks with dinosaurs, and some Fly Wheels, and he was totally surprised when we let him open them tonight. After shopping Dylan chose Mexican for lunch, but I think he was just trying to do that for me. We ended up at Chili's and had a great time, especially when they brought him a special ice cream for his birthday.

We had to hurry home to make their t-ball games, and so I could primp before we went.(They have a smokin' hot coach.) Unfortunately, we got rained out, and they were a little bummed, until they realized it was just more time to play with Dyl's new toys. We went home and enjoyed a delicious traditional Daybell cake, white with raspberry filling and butter cream frosting, heavy on the frosting. We played the night out with Hot Wheels and dinosaurs and when I tucked Dyl in bed tonight, he said he had a great birthday. We are sure glad to have him.

Dylan, and his hottie T-Ball coach.

Iron Man Cake, even though I won't let him see the movie yet.

This is there best "bummed about being rained out" face.

Gran-pa Ranny

The only thing in the world that could draw my kids away from Lake Powell early, is my Dad. He is like Christmas, and birthdays, and Disneyland, and magical powers all rolled into one. My Daddio is the quintessentially fun guy. When he used to come visit, I had a hard time giving up my rules and letting the kids just be with him. Things have changed now, and I can trust that if they are repelling off the roof, I know my Dad probably has them at least securely tied off. I used to try to keep the kids from jumping off the couch and dive bombing his back, but I just didn't realize he loved it so much. When my Dizzle comes for a weekend, he and the kids go all out, like Meth-heads. It is hard to keep an eye on them, and I pretty much just follow the trail of dust to where they all have eventually passed out. I love being able to sleep in for a few mornings, and I have even been able to tune out the fact that I can hear them eating straight sugar by the spoonful for breakfast, and practicing all the potty words they don't get to say with me.

I love my Dad so much and appreciate his kindness and wisdom. I know he loves me more than I could ever know, and I feel that from him, without a doubt. I love that he has a ridiculously strong testimony, and yet, is a normal, non-holier than thou, diet coke drinking, open-minded and tolerant guy. I love him, and I love that my kids love and worship him. I wish my family lived closer so they could see him more often, and yet I don't know if either party could keep up the frenzied pace they maintain through the weekend.

We took him to the airport yesterday and there were tears all around.It was a fabulous weekend. This morning when Dave was taking the kids to the babysitter, Dawson said he sure was tired. When Dave asked him if he slept good during the night, Dawson said, "I kept waking up and knowing Gran-pa Ranny wasn't here and crying myself back to sleep."

I was happy that we lost the remote to the fart machine, until the boys discovered it was on the same frequency as the garage door, and the car alarms. All you have to do is set off the panic button on the cars, to make the fart machine work. Hooray! Now instead of just being annoyed with the fart machine noise, I get to hear the car alarms too. What good fortune!

I am not sure that is safe, but I know that it is fun!

Pooped at last!

Cliffs? Check. No Obvious Hazards? Check. Insurance? Double Check.

One of our favorite things about Lake Powell, is the cliff jumping. When Dave and I first started going to Lake Powell, long before we were married, we used to jump off some crazy things that I would never do now. I don't know if it is aging, or having impressionable spawn, maybe it is being a trauma nurse, or having the anti-cliff jumping poster that illustrates the last jump of some poor teenage kid, hanging in the houseboat. Maybe it is a combination of those things, who knows. Anyway we are pretty tame now. The kids are satisfied with a ten foot jump or so, Dave still has plenty of room for a flip or two, and I can still do a hurkey, while pulling my swimsuit up my butt crack, and smiling for the camera before I hit the water. Hence, that is why there are no pictures of me cliff jumping on the family blog.

Dawson is completely fearless about jumping off anything. We have to be very careful about watching him.

This sounded about how it looks in the picture, but Dyl swears it didn't hurt.

Two days a week, I sit in my gown and gloves and nursey paraphernalia, laughing and waiting for the next idiot to roll through the ER doors, that thought something dangerous, was "Todally awesome, ttooddallly." And then for a couple of weeks a summer, I sit egging that person on! Nice form Honey!





Happy Boys!