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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Love Letters

Since the Boys have learned to read and write, I have been the recipient of several lovely notes. I came home from work on Sunday to find these little notes taped to my bedroom door.

I am not sure what has come over them, but they are doing nice little things for us too. They have made our bed several times without us knowing, and laid out my socks every day this week. They have been getting Ems p.j.'s ready and trying very hard to surprise us. They are really great little boys.