God moves in mysterious ways.


At church today, I was sitting in Relief Society, talking to a neighbor and waiting for the meeting to start. It was nice to catch up with a few of the ladies, and I was pumped for the music. I love me some Christmas tuneage.

After a few minutes, they started the meeting and the woman conducting scanned the room and called on some of the visitors to introduce themselves. Some women behind me, stood up and gave their names and mentioned that they had just moved into the ward, and where in Oakley they lived. I turned around and smiled all friendly-like at them.

I had barely turned around, when the woman conducting said, "Laurel, would you like to introduce your friend to us." Now, Laurel is the chick I was chatting with before the meeting, so I leaned forward to greet the visitor on her other side. She looked confused and jerked her thumb to the right and said, "J.D?"

"No. Of course we know J.D. Your other friend." the woman said.

This is when I felt the tips of my ears start to burn red in embarrassment. I thought, Are... you.... shitting..... me? I slowly looked up to everyone's neck craning around to get a load of the new gal. I slowly raised my hand, "Me?"

She nodded and said, "Yes, tell us about yourself."

"Um, my name is Linsey, and I just moved into the ward.........eight years ago."

There were a few snickers and then, my other friend volunteered that I had been in the Young Women's program for a long time, (not for two years) and they welcomed me and started the meeting.

Hmm. I thought it was really funny. It's true that I work a Sunday or two a month, but after eight years of patronage, I had no idea I could fly that low under the radar. I am just kicking myself now for not giving an alias, and a fake address.

Happy Birthday Daveskins!

As it always happens, Dave has his birthday, the day after Christmas. Seriously poor planning on his parents part. I'm just saying.

There was no porn-o cake this year. The Boyz are getting older, too many questions, too many requests for "a middle piece," and absolutely too exhausting for me to pose that long in my camo bikini.

He settled for a date at our new favorite Mexican place, and a Red Box night. You know you are getting old when you would rather watch a movie on your couch, than brave the holiday crowds at the theater. Of course I think it has more to do with being able to view your cinema choice without pants, than the "holiday crowd." He may be older than me, but not necessarily wiser.

We've started trading gray hair plucking for arm tickles. I happen to have a thing for older men, especially the salt and pepper look, but I think he is being a bit dramatic with his gray obsession. He is only 34.

I love his guts.
He is my B-to the F- to the F- to the F........yes, that's right. Three Ef's.
Happy Birthday, Babe.

Merry Christmas!

We had a lovely Christmas. The precious few days leading up to Christmas were spent in a vicious cycle of vomiting, crapping our guts out, rinsing and repeating. So when the actual day arrived and no one was still caught in the cycle, I gave thanks. It's funny how easy it is to count your blessings, during a time of crisis. Small things really, like having kids old enough to make it to the toilet for spewing and the like. And lest we not forget the healing powers of suppositories, orally disintegrating tablets, and Ginger Ale. Hallelujah, can I get an Amen.

Christmas Eve I ran over to Heber to pick up Gram for the holidays, which has been a tradition for us in the last 7 years. She had some last minute shopping to do, so we braved the crowds, and the puppy peddlers at the front of each of the grocery stores we went too. I have always thought that odd, that people choose to get rid of their excess puppies at the grocery store. I try to shop with a list, so that I don't get side tracked with extra novelty gifts, (the bane of my existence), but I can't really imagine going to Smith's and scanning my list; milk, bread, eggs,......Nope. I don't see an Australian Shepard Mix on here, but what the hell, throw him in, we'll figure it out. I like to think in my heart, that "whim" puppies end up having wonderful lives.

This is the fourth Christmas that Gramps has been gone, and we definitely all feel it. My family has always done fondue on Christmas Eve at my Grandparents house. This year Dave remembered his first fondue with us when we were dating. My mom told Gramps, that this was Dave's first time eating fondue, and my Grandpa could not stop saying how that was ridiculous because he remembered Dave coming the previous year. He would not give up, until I finally just said, "That was a different guy, GRAN-pa!" It was the teensiest bit awkward, but makes for a funny memory now.

Even though she is surrounded by all the kids, and Dave and I, it is impossible not to notice how lonesome my Gram is for her husband. It is strange to be in a reverse position with her now. Growing up she lived next door to us and was like a second mother. On sleep overs I was always comforted by the sounds of she and Gramps snoring away, or stirring in the night and turning over to see her tip toeing out of the room after checking on us. When she stays with us, I am now the one peeking in on her during the night, and noticing how tiny she looks, all alone, in our bed. I really missed my Gramps this Christmas, and I know she did too.

On Christmas eve, we gorged on fried steak, cheese and bread, and fudge. The kids filled up on the fruit, but I preferred the cream puffs dipped in the chocolate. The kids unwrapped their Christmas Eve p.j.s', and Daveskins, our resident seamstress, immediately went to work. It is dang tough, trying to outfit our freakishly gangly Boyz, but with Dave's nimble fingers working overtime they were darted and pinned and fit like a glove.

Afterward, we watched Dave's favorite holiday movie, The Christmas Story, and then sent the Hoodlums to bed. They were very excited, and despite Dawson daring to venture, that he had heard that Santa wasn't real, when I explained to him that one year, I decided that Santa wasn't real and ended up getting shafted with my presents; he retorted that I had probably been on the naughty list. Touche.

At least he believes there is a naughty list.

Of course the final preparations were made for Santa and his reindeer. At our house Santa is very particular about his snack. He prefers a cold Mountain Dew and a package of White Fudge Oreos.

Christmas Morning, waiting and waiting and waiting to be unleashed.

Gram waiting to be unleashed on her goodsIt always blows to get "outside" presents during the bitter cold winter months. Santa really needs to think that through a little better. Dawson was totally pumped with his Lego Indiana Jones 2 Wii game. We could have cut him off right there and he would have veged happy.

Dyl was happy with whatever he touched, including discarded wrappings and pieces of tape. His favorite present was a homemade gift from Dawson. A roping calf made from P.V.C pipe that Daws helped Dave and Kent make. I hate to encourage a rodeo career, but the kid was born bowlegged and somehow developed a very authentic cowboy drawl. It might be out of our hands.

Emma had a Pink Christmas. Her favorite present was a doll that cries, (why?) drinks out of a bottle, burps and snores. It is really creepy, but she loves it and is proving to be a good mother, although she kept bucking her baby off of Dyl's roping cow. I think that might be the reason only one of the babies eyes blinks now, making it extra creepy when she bawls. She named her baby, Dawsi.

That's how all our faces look now when the baby is around. The eye issue really makes it unsettling.

The rest of our holiday was spent in quiet bliss. We hosted our traditional Christmas morning breakfast with all of Dave's family, and anyone else that happens by. Dave makes a wicked omelet and it is fun to have everyone over. I am not certain that we even got out of our pajamas the rest of the weekend. Periodically we would call upstairs to the toy room, where the Boyz were in a Wii haze, and offer them math, spelling and trivia questions. They were able to continue playing if their answers were correct. I am kind of a video game Nazi, and only allow it on the weekends, if the weather is bad, so part of my Christmas gift to them was a little relaxation on the Wii.

It was a great Christmas, and great vacation from everything, just to be home as a family.

I Don Wan No Po-Po At My Do-Do

This morning started out with a bang. I was still recovering from a work/flu hangover, this morning, so when Dave flipped on the lights to dig through the gigantic pile of laundry at the foot of the bed, I got all medieval on his ass.

After I ripped on him though, I gave him his 8th, "12 Days of Christmas" present. A McDonald's gift card for breakfast, and a non-pervy love poem. I say, "gave it to him", but it was more of a thrust in his face, while naming all the times that I pre-gather all my clothes, so that I don't have to turn the overhead light and ruin his morning......

I am one big ball of fun, when my sleep is tampered with.

The Boyz looked a titch nervous, as I approached them for their breakfast needs. I was extra tired last night so I went to bed with my mascara on, and woke up looking like a well-fed heroin addict. I managed breakfast though, and was able to tame Dawson's hair enough to pass for a school day. With my own hair a scraggly mess, I stepped into Dave's jamma bottoms and one of his hoodies to take Daws to the bus.

When I came home, Hannah had emerged from her room, looking far scarier than I could ever hope too. She has short hair though, making it easier to stick up at all angles, and she is my baby sister, so it is alright to make fun of her. She spent the night, in hopes of a ride to the airport today, but we'll see how it goes.

As the morning progressed, one of Dyl's friends came over, to play and wait for school with him. Hannah and I didn't make it past our first morning look, and were sprawled on the couch watching America's Funniest Home Videos, when the phone rang. The caller ID popped up on the t.v. as, Summit County, and I hollered, "Don't answer that, it's the library about overdue books." The answering machine clicked on, but the caller hung up. I thought that was weird, since it's usually a recorded message about my books being late, but went back to watching the stupid cat home videos. A few minutes later, the same number called, and I said, "Don't answer that, maybe they found crayon in a book, and want me to buy it."

Forty minutes later, there came a knock on my door. I scrambled to pull on a shirt and then had to sprint to catch up with Emma, who was already turning the handle on the door. Imagine my surprise, to find two cops, hands' on their holsters', on my front porch.

I have some serious cop-alogical problems, from my somewhat unsavory youth, that have managed to linger into my adulthood, no matter how law abiding I have become. To open the door, and see law enforcement, on my porch, immediately I am racking my brain, trying to recall any illegal acts I have recently committed, that would land me an arrest. When none come to mind, I at least give thanks that Hannah is here in case they take me, and we do have a little savings to put towards an attorney if the court will not appoint me one.

I was brought out of my vision, when one of the officers, inquired if we were all okay, and did we need any help.

*Blink*

*Blink*

Oh, yeah. Cops help people too. I always forget that part. I said, "Nope, we good."

That's when they asked to just come in and have a little look-see. I guess your credibility decreases when you answer the door, short of breath, a little sweaty, and with raccoon eyes. Satisfied with our safety, they informed me that they had received a 9-1-1 hang-up from our residence. When no one answered the phone, both times they tried to call back, they had to come check. Before I could think, I said, "Oh, yeah, sorry about that, I thought it was the library hounding us about overdue books." As soon as it was out of my mouth, it just hung in the air between us, and I got the nervous giggles. They just stared stonily at me while I harnessed all the power in my personal universe, to not completely go hysterical.

Before they left, they laid a smack-down on Dyl and his buddy, and collected my information. I suppressed the urge to offer, that I was already on file, and wished them a Merry Christmas instead. It's nice to know that in an emergency, they would be able to find us quickly, err.....at least after two attempts by phone, and surely within 45ish minutes....and only if they don't believe it is another hang up.

I hope that this is not an indication in Dyl's Hoodlum progression. Last week, the Principal's office. This week, the county sheriff. I am going to have to step up my parenting game.

Trouble Maker

Dawson burst into the house after school, with the canary look plastered to his face.

"Dylan has to go to the Principal's office tomorrow!"

Dyl came wandering in behind him, all shifty-eyed, with his head hung low. I asked him what happened, and in his unique little drawl, informed me that he had thrown a snowball at the bus.

Dawson was hopping up and down nearby, just dying to tell his version of the story, but I gave him the look and asked Dyl, why he had thrown a snowball at the bus.

"Aak-shu-wah-ly, (Actually. Is my very favorite Dyl word.) I was trying to throw it, O-VER, the bus and I missed."

That's when Daws chimed in with, " Then a second grade teacher saw him and said what's your name kid, and I said that's my brother, and she said well you tell your Mother that he is going to the Principal's office tomorrow, and I said, I will."

I asked Dyl if it was an accident, and he concurred. I asked him if he was remorseful. He said, "Kinda." I told him to tell the Principal that same story tomorrow and he should be fine.

Barfing Blows

I suffered some terrible retribution these past two days, most likely a direct result of my hating humanity. I haven't barfed in years and had forgotten how unpleasant it is. Dyl woke up crying a couple of days ago, and when we went racing upstairs, found him covered in spew. Partially digested Hawaiian Pizza, to be more precise. The kid has a real history with that particular pizza, which has kept him from it for the better part of the last 5 years. I thought nothing of the episode, until it happened on the hour, every hour for the rest of the night.

Dyl is an easy sick kid. He pukes in a bucket, or the toilet and lays on the couch. No drama, no mess, just big sunken eyes and 24 hours of Sprite and cartoons.

I thought it was an isolated incident related to the pizza, until Dawson called to us early Wednesday morning. I shot out of bed with Dave, and together we raced up the stairs. Before I could get to Daws, though I had to make a beeline for Em's bathroom. Long, disgusting, story short; Daws and I both came down with the bug.

I am never sick. When I am, it is total drama. With both Dawson and I laying on the couch moaning, and writhing with abdominal discomfort, I started to think of all the things God could be punishing me for.

Being sick is not fun. Being a sick mother with 2 healthy kids and one puker is way worse. I would just barely get Dawson settled from his latest spew, and be hunkered over the john myself, with Emma sitting on the floor watching me and Dyl leaned up against the door, asking me if I would puh-lease get him some breakfast. "Um, just a second, son" I would manage to get out, while spitting the last chunks of taco salad from the night before.

I managed breakfast, and to get Dyl on the bus and Em down for a nap, before I totally lost all motor function and retired to my bed with Dawson. Daws is a bad one to be sick with. He is equally, if not more dramatic than myself and his whimpers are excruciating. While we were lying there, me offering all the remedies I could conjure, and him declining everything, he suggested we say a prayer. I offered one up, though I was only half convinced I hadn't brought this on myself, due to my lack of compassion at work, as of late. Daws, felt better though and while we wasted away there he kept saying that Heavenly Father would help us.

The final straw in the drama, came after a particularly hard bile barf of Dawson's. He collapsed on the bed, and with the back of his hand on his forehead, he exclaimed, "I just want my old life back." I couldn't help but laugh, and then he started laughing. He is so my kid.

It is now Thursday night. We are both feeling a little better, no vomiting, just flu hangover type stuff, and a very strong resolve to be more compassionate.

Numbers At A Glance

Two Boys.

Seven Lost Teeth.

First tooth lost naturally, without the help of a basketball, foot, or other trauma.

Way to go Dyl!