I've Been Robbed...

It's true. I've been robbed of my children's childhood. I thought that I had many years of torment left, but alas, at the tender ages of 3, 6, and 7 they are already as street savvy as their Mother.

I was a gullible youngster, and believed anything my Dad or brother, Jordan would tell me. It wasn't until I was 15, and nearly pulled the emergency break through the roof, while driving, that I realized my Father had possibly been lying, when he told me it was the special handle to make the car fly. Well, joke was on him, since it was his car.

I have also suffered many a 'What the hell are you talking about?' type looks from Dave, as I explain the intricacies of life, to the Hoodlums; such as, a hummingbirds instant death, should their wings stop beating. Then the awkward clearing of the throat, and the head nod towards the feeder, where three hummingbirds are sitting, wings motionless, and shaking their little heads, incredulous at my ignorance. (Thanks, Jord.)

Ever since my little guys were enwombed, I have felt a deep pathological need to mess with them. I love practical jokes, and I love to tease them, and more often then not, it is the Boyz, that are hiding under my bed, ready to grab my ankles, or toss a snake out, or in Dyl's case, maybe slice my Achilles tendon with a machete. ( We are still working with him, on what will, and what won't, land him in the Clink.)

Tonight, the Boyz were upstairs playing video games with their friends, while I was chopping some veggies for dinner. Dave came home from work, and sat at the bar to relax and critique my dangerous dicing. I started chopping more quickly, and with less eye contact on the carrots, in an effort to irritate him. Eventually, I made him uncomfortable enough, and he retreated to the bathroom.

That's when I got bored and decided to cut my fingers right off. At least, that's what I wanted Dave to think. ( He faints whenever he sees blood.) I rummaged through the drawer and found a pristine white dish towel. I know that I would never have a white dish towel, so whomever it belongs too, sorry. I wrapped my two left fingers tightly in the towel and dispensed some viscous red food coloring gel in various places, then watered it down to perfection. I've seen many a severed finger wrapped in a dish towel, and with just enough water and red gel, I was able to perfect, The Bloody Finger Accident.

I disposed of the evidence, cleansed my non-wounded fingers, smeared some "blood" around the carrots and on the knife, and worked up some tears and hysterics, which was probably my first mistake, since I only cry when they raise the flag at the Demolition Derby, or I see running horses. I slapped my cheeks for some flush and rushed into the bathroom where Dave was showering. I threw open the door and thrust my injury in his face, and cried that he needed to take me to the hospital, because of my missing fingers. He just leaned his head back into the water to rinse his shampoo, and said, "No you didn't."

I argued way past my dignity, and then, when he still didn't bite, I slammed the door, and practiced my four letter words. As I looked at my creation, I was mad that it was going to waste, and felt a tad impulsive, looking at a someone else's now white-ish dish towel, when I thought of the Boyz. I hustled up the stairs, re-slapped, re-moistened, and re-panicked myself right into the toy room. No one even looked away from the t.v. I ran to the side of the couch, and said, "Daws, you will have to be in charge for awhile. Dad is taking me to the hospital, because I cut off my fingers. "

He never even looked away from the game, and said, "No you didn't." Dyl looked over and gave me a little condescending wink, like, nice try mom, then went back to the game. Dawson's poor friend, looked over, saw my concoction, nudged Dawson, and said, "She really did, look."
Dawson never missed a beat, and said, "Nope. She really didn't."

It's not fair. I should have so much more time. I should have so many more opportunities. I have so many more traumatizing ideas.

At 31, I have stopped smelling everything that is presented to me, but I still freaking "examine the mole" or "look at a weird hair" in the crook of my Dad's arm, right before he snaps it shut, and smacks me in the head. I guess this younger generation learns faster, and although they didn't fall for my prank, the Boyz will most certainly feel the need for retaliation, and count on their gullible Mother for success.

Here Is Some Garbage, Go Roll Your Brother Around In It.

I don't know how yard work goes down in other families, but at our house it goes a little something like this.

Dave: We need to finish the weed paper/shrubs/landscaping today.
Me: *eye roll, deep sigh, grunt* What if we hired someone to do it, and could just hang out today?
Dave: Because we are poor.
Me: !@#&!, I hate being poor.

I was actually a great help today, and Dave even mentioned he got a good 8 hours more than he anticipated from me. There were some moments were he found me curled into the fetal position on the lawn, but he just located my Diet Coke, and nursed me back into motivation.

The wind blew all day long, and was incredibly miserable. Dyl and Em, kept coming up to where we were working and asking, if it was lunch time yet, if they could go inside, if we were ever going to be done; and I had to wonder, if I could possibly sound that irritating whilst whining to Dave. Clearly not. My voice just isn't as grating as theirs.

In all his grand wisdom and patience though, Dave spotted some garbage, and told them to go roll each other around in the field for awhile. It worked well, and we were able to finish a lot of our flower beds. We must have worked ourselves into a delirium, and made the decision to build a waterfall out of the leftover boulders from our house. There goes another Saturday.

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

Baseball season is here, and although Dyl is more than ready for coach-pitch, he is stuck playing another year of T-Ball, due to his age. I have noticed some differences in the Boys approach to playing sports. They are both natural athletes, and while Dawson is liberal with his high-fives, and encourages everyone on both teams with a smile and a "Great Job", if you turn your back to Dylan, he'll rip out your liver, and spit in the wound. Obviously from the Broadbent side.

Dyl is loving baseball, and got a new mitt this year. I am not completely certain, but it seems to have increased his compulsion to slide for every ball. I don't believe he has picked up a grounder, that he hasn't first tackled, which is okay, because a lot of the younger kids are still learning that you run, after hitting the ball.

The delay between, 'I hit the ball. Now what?' Has given Dyl ample time to dive on the ball, pick it up with his mitt, drop it, kick it, somersault over it, snap to his feet, toss it in the air, look over at me, pull a face, jazz hands, and finally a throw to first base. If anyone needs a better visual, ask Dave for an impersonation, he nailed it tonight in the living room.

It looks like he is socking this kid in the face, but it is actually just a throw to 1st.

The wind up is ferocious.


It's her own fault for crowding the plate.

Clearly he gets his flexibility from his Mother.

Happy Spectators!

Of course, we only get to play if the snow has melted by the afternoon. I hate this climate.

Take a picture of me.

Me too!

Weekend Update



Sorry about the turned pictures, something is wrong with my camera and I haven't had time to figure it out.
We have told the Hoodlums for along time now that they are too big to ride with us on the lawn mower. Milo is the only one that bawls long enough, that we finally give in.

I love my weekends off.  Love them.

Friday the 13th started off really well, and only got better. The Mutt, who has officially been designated an "outside dog", obviously not babied any less, (see first picture) has finally aged enough to get neutered! It was a big day for everyone! Emma summed it up really well by saying, "Yay! Milo won't be piggybacking me anymore!" His way of expressing his love has really been obnoxious as of late. The kids have to sprint to the trampoline anymore these days, and if he reaches them before they hit the ladder, well........

His appointment went really well. The little tank is already 65lbs. at 6 months old, and the Vet said he would be an 85 or 90lb dog easily. Great. Hopefully, the surgery will stop the "piggybacking" because if he actually gets that big, I think we would be venturing into felony territory, should any of the neighbor kids come over.

We decided to hit Strawberry "first thing" on Saturday morning for a little fishing. Dawson and his fish addiction are cramping my grocery budget, so we thought we would try and catch some trout for dinner.  "Early" has different definitions for everyone, but our family position  seems to be, have really good intentions, then get there when you do.

It was crazy cold, but the marathon hike with a 99% grade helped to keep us all warm.



Em got tired of not having any fish to measure, so throughout the morning we got dimensions on everything else.



Stupid camera, does anyone know why all of a sudden it won't let me rotate pictures?

Who doesn't love hiking through snow in May?

Saturday afternoon, Em and I decided to make some "cookies." While we were working in the kitchen, I heard a loud thunk on the sliding glass door. I walked over in time to see a bird rolling down the steps. I didn't think much of it until 5 minutes later, I heard another thunk. Same bird, rolling back down the steps. Hmm.

About the 5th time I noticed that the bird was crapping on the door/porch/stairs everytime he flew himself into the door. I opened it and screamed at him to fly away, which did NOT, do the trick. By the time Dave came home the porch was covered in bird shit and feathers, and I had my music turned up really loud to try and drown out the chinese bird torture.

Dave is extra sensitive to little noises, especially repetitive noises, (which is why I always put a dime underneath my drink in the holder, so it rattles and drives him crazy) Anyhoo, he tolerated the kamakaze bird for all of two seconds before he had chased it off with a broom. We had a few moments respite until I heard the familiar thud on the front of the house. The psychotic bird had just made its way around to the window on the front of the house and was trying to die thatta way.

This carried on through the evening on Saturday, and when I awoke to gunfire and Dave sneaking back into bed early Sunday morning, I gave thanks that we live in the country and that Dave feels comfortable shooting birds off our front stoop, in his underwear, on the sabbath, Amen.

No More Gravy Covered, Kindergarten Baby

Today was Dyl's last day of Kindergarten, and he was pumped. Dave met me at the school, and we settled into the auditorium to watch the Patriotic program that Dyl has been singing for weeks. It was cute, and Dyl sang great, with a very stern expression. But the best video footage came, when it wasn't his turn to sing, and he was relaxed and giggling with the girl next to him.

The whole thing was just cute, until the lights dimmed and they started playing some sappy music about childhood, and slide show of our kids. My eyes immediately welled up with tears and I was in complete panic, thinking that this is only Kindergarten graduation, but before I know it, he will be gone, an adult; and have I played enough with him, given him enough snuggles, let him know just how much I love him? Freaky.

He has changed so much in just a few short months, and I don't necessarily want to go back in time, I just want it to stand still, so I have more moments with each of the Hoodlums.


After the program, we went back to his class and gathered all of his last projects. He gave Mrs. Ure a big hug and we were on our way. Dave suggested the drug store for lunch, and Dyl saw a bunch of his friends there. We also saw the friend that does "the sweet trick" aka the snot rocket. Every so often during lunch, Dyl would look over at that friend and then back at me and start giggling.

It was my turn to giggle, when after lunch, we were driving to Heber to see my Gram, and Dyl asked me this, "Mom, if something expires in a day, and you eat it, does it expire in your stomach?" I explained that everything expires in your stomach, but the feeling he was experiencing was just post-drugstore belly pain. The food is delicious going in, but I have never eaten there, that 20 minutes post-meal I didn't wish for a quick death.

Dyl has really been cracking me up lately. He is the kind of kid, that you are never quite sure what he is going to ask, so his questions are better asked, and answered in private. When we were in Vegas, our family was in the elevator, when it stopped, and a 65ish looking couple got on. The man was decked out head to toe in Ed Hardy clothes with a bedazzled hat, and about 20lbs of big bling-y necklaces draped around his throat. Dyl clears his throat and starts to say something, until I poked him in the back to silence him.

My bad. What I thought would be a sly reminder to shutt-y, turned into a "Geez, why'd ya poke me Mom?" That's when the woman leaned over and said with a smirk, "What did you want to say, Honey?" Thankfully, he just had some observation about the elevator, but the rest of the ride was a bit awkward.

This afternoon, while I was loading the groceries into the car, Dyl announced to the crowded parking lot, "Hey Mom, how do you get a dark baby?" After a quick scan of our surroundings to make sure the "dark baby" in question wasn't lurking nearby, I told Dyl to get in the car and I would explain it to him. I took my time loading the goods and thinking of the explanation that I would provide. In our defense, there are not very many "colors" represented in our area, light or dark, it's pretty vanilla.

I must have given him enough time to think, because by the time I finished loading the groceries, returned the cart, aligned the stack of carts, looked at the posted want ads, chatted up a stranger, realigned the carts, and shuffled back to the car; he said, "Oh, I know. Ya gotta have a dark Mom." True dat, Son. Problem solved.

I would have explained the intricate workings of genetics and baby making, but he figured it out himself, and in the end, really all he wanted to know, was if it was possible to make camouflage babies, so that when he was a Dad, he could have a hunting buddy.

Gran pa Ranny

My Dad was in town for a few days. He is such a fun-gi and really knows how to party. It is like Christmas for the Hoodlums. He breaks all of my rules and hops the kids up on all sorts of sugar. We love him! Dawson was especially glad that Gran-pa Ranny could come to one of his ballgames.

Sorry, the pictures are in no particular order.

Emma loves my Dad, and can work him almost as well as I could, before I became not cute.

My Dad knows each of the Hoodlums weak spots, so at the end of his trip, his parting gifts were individual to each kid. Dawson got a NY Steak, Dyl got a couple of cantaloupes, and Em received a 3 day supply of gum. Oh, yeah, and just to drive me nuts, a box of "fruit" snacks for each one.

My Dad always comes up with the best, most fun, most safe ideas.

It always takes about a week of mourning before any of us can function after he leaves. He is a great Dad and an awesome Gran-pa.

Childrens Moo-seum

Ah, tis the season for field trips. Dawson desperately wanted me to come along on his field trip to the Children's Museum. It was a lottery type dealio, and basically the first few Mothers to get their money to the school on time, got to go. I never win anything........ Except, Chaperon duty, holla.

I even got to ride the bus this time, which is a little nerve wracking for me, what with the lack of seat belts, and visions of tiny bodies being hurled through the air, should the ornery bus driver be distracted or irritated for a fraction of a second. Dawson and his buddies, eased my anxiety by playing and laughing and telling me jokes. One little phrase I hoped never to hear again, "Wanna see a trick?" floated back from the row in front of me, and I steeled my stomach, and answered, "Sure." Thankfully, the little guy just turned his eyelids inside out and I was able to honestly tell him how cool that was, and advise him to be careful that no one ever slapped him on the back, while they were in that position.

We really had a great time, and I loved spending time with Dawson, and his little buddies. He is a great kid and I love that he still thinks I am cool enough to bring along. I love his little guts.

I'm a Little Nervous

Emma is super into how gorgeous she is. She reminds me non-stop of how pretty she is, and then tells me how pretty she thinks I am, then talks about how beautiful it is to be gorgeous and wonderful. She comments on most women and girls we see, and talks about their beauty and what cute shirts they have on, and on, and on, and on...........

For along time now, every time she reports on hers or anyone's beauty status, I prompt her with, "but what's more important than being pretty?" And she will say, "being smart and being nice to people." There is no way she believes it yet, but with the amount of times in a day, that phrase is repeated, hopefully it will sink in. I try to give her examples as well, and praise the crap out of her when she says her ABC's or does something nice. We'll see.

*As a side note, I had a really wonderful Mother's Day. The Hoodlums all wrote me some really great cards, I got a 4 page letter and a homemade journal from Daws, Dyl gave me lots of coupons for various things, Emma got me some M & Ms, then ate them before she saw me, and Dave got me an enormous mirror for my closet. I know that sounds like Emma is getting this drama from me, but in my defense, our counters are all built extra tall because we are all, extra tall. So if I want to see what my shoes look like, I have to stand on our tub, or take Dave's word for it.................

Anyway, he hung up pictures of me with each kid, including Milo, and one of our family, and had everyone write what made me beautiful to them. It was really touching, and made me laugh to see what the kids thought, made me really laugh to read what "Milo" had written,  and made me bawl to see what Dave thought. It was a really sweet gift.

Anyway, back to Em. We were getting dressed the other morning in my closet and Emma had commandeered the spot in front of the mirror, of course. She was admiring herself and then said to me, "Mom, do you know how to do this?" She turned her profile to the mirror, and said, "Hello Boys!" (really loud) and then to herself, "Flip your hair, walk away." Which she did, then placed both hands on her hips and strutted off saying "Sassy, sassy, sassy, sassy."

Wowzers. I was completely blown away. She said she learned it from my niece, Mckaye, which I don't really see, but just in case we had an in depth conversation about possible future arthritis from that much hip action, and the dangers of preschool flirting.

I'm a little nervous for sure, the only thing I have to comfort me right now, is that by the time any of the boys her age catch up to her in height, she might also be legal to date.

This Is The Place

I had a successful stint last year as Kindy-garten Room Mutha for Daws, so when I volunteered again this year, for Dyl's class, I had no qualms about my qualifications, or whether I could contain my irreverence. Apparently I should have been more worried. They never asked me, despite always being desperate for volunteers, so I guess it is a good thing I am not easily offended.

I did get to go on the last field trip of the year, and Dyl was pumped. A few days before the trip, Dyl brought home a note saying that there might not be enough room on the buses, for all the chaperones and to be prepared, if needed, to drive your own vehicle behind the bus. Me, still being a little sensitive from the Room Mutha shunning, asked Dyl if all the parents received a notice, or if Mrs. Ure only gave it to him. He said, that everyone got one, but that probably only the smart kids parents would get to ride the bus. That took me by surprise, and I asked him whether or not that meant I would be able to go. He was very exasperated and said, "Duh, the smart kids are in the afternoon." I was relieved, since he goes in the afternoon, but could not help but remind him that the smart kids don't say Duh, to get their point across. Duh.

In the end, as my friend Lynsi, and I, Crisco'd up to wedge ourselves into the already packed bus, we got booted as well, and only 1 or 2 parents were able to actually ride the bus. I believe it was a tender mercy of the Lord, as I can only imagine what riding a bus that cramped, all the way to Salt Lake might have been like. Plus, I was able to ride with Lyns, listen to good music, go the speed limit, have air conditioning, and stop for a cool, condensating Diet Coke on the way down.

By the looks of the few "chosen" chaperones as they exited the bus, it was the right move. Dyl and his buddies had a great time, and were fairly well behaved. As we were leaning on the fence watching the baby goats, one of Dyl's friends, who shall remain nameless, leaned over the fence and asked me if I would like to see a cool trick. I agreed, and he happily placed his index finger against his right nostril and with all his might, blew a long string of snot, (approximately 10 inches long) which he then made dance, by swaying his head. Right before the vomit reached my esophagus, he sniffed the snot stream right back into his tiny nostril. Now, I am no stranger to gruesome sights, and don't get bothered by bodily secretions, but this "trick" made me ill.

Dylan was speechless. He slowly turned his head to gauge my reaction, and I am certain his eyes have never been bigger. I stammered something about it being a sweet trick, but not to show me ever, ever, ever, EVER, again..............Ever. That's when Dyl and this boy dissolved into hysterics. Ah, little boys. In the recent weeks, since the snot incident, whenever Dyl references this kid, he says, "You know, the one with the sweet trick. "

The day was a success, and despite being from a farming community, the students all seemed to be enamoured with the baby animals. Lynsi and I were enamoured with the opportunity to load up all the sugary, sack-lunched students on the bus and ride home in peace and quiet