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

"If You Can Dodge A Wrench, You Can Dodge A Ball."

My Thursday night fantasy: kids in bed by 7:30, Daveskins and I, couched, in our coordinating flannel sweats, a new Office, ringer on the phone turned off, and then, who knows? It is hard to control myself when we throw on the flannel get-ups.

I took the necessary precautions earlier in the day, to make sure our evening would be fool proof. Double checked the DVR, shaved my legs, OD'd the flannel on fabric softener, and restricted fluids for myself and the Hoodlums, to avoid any extra bathroom trips.

When the invite to play co-ed dodge ball, at the church came our way, I should have done a reality check on myself, noting my thinly veiled anger issues, the size of the town we live in, and the fact that it was held in the church. I could have then politely declined, and stuck to our original plan.

But I did not.

We showed up to the church, and found that the ward we would be playing, was all-male, and all in their early 20's. Great. Our team was a hodge podge of middle agers to older agers, and my friends, Shanna, and Mindi. The rules were explained, a prayer was said, and the mayhem began. I have played dodge ball before, but was probably heavily medicated at the time, or was just young and out to have fun, because I certainly don't remember the feelings of utter rage brewing in my belly when someone took aim at me.

I had a great time trying to hit other people with the balls, but got really indignant when I felt a ball fly by me, clearly with the intent of getting me out. About halfway through the fun, time seemed to stand still, as my face took the full brunt of a close range head shot. I felt my neck twist around my body in true Exorcist fashion, and when the lights came back on, I swear I was looking down at my own ass. When my head finally snapped back to the correct anatomical position, despite being in the church, I let loose with a thunderous assault on the thrower's, Mother's, morals.

Through the haze of profanity, I caught out of the corner of my eye, a flash of Daveskins, hurling his body over the enemy boundaries with arms cocked and loaded with balls, ready for a rapid fire assault on the S.O.B that hit me. Like Braveheart's last declaration of "Freeeedoooom!" I heard Dave yell, "Thaaaat's My WIIIFE!" And then he went down in a blaze of glory as 10 enemy dodge ballers pelted him mercilessly. I've never felt more protected in my life.

The anger never really subsided, and I tried to channel it into physical strength, but my swearing just got worse. Right around the time I started to threaten Mr. I-Hit-Ladies-In-The-Face-Cause-I'm-SO-Strong-And-Lame,(yes, I am refering to myself as a Lady.) and telling him I was going to run over his face in the parking lot, the game was over. We beat those suckers in the final best out of three, and better than the thrill of winning, I left with my dignity intact, and a full knowledge of Dave's love.

Next time, we will probably just choose the couch.

My Baby Elephant

I got to spend the day with Em at the zoo. We don't often have some good one on one time together, and it was so nice. We spent most of the time gawking at the baby elephant and riding the merry-go-round. She spent the day telling me how cute I looked and pointing out "adorable shirts" on people. She is a little fashionista, and loves anything pink.

Later we met up with our collective BFF's, Halle, Brinley, and Brittany. It was a great girls day.