1st Day of School

Even though we just got back from vacation Sunday evening, I set my alarm for early Monday morning.  I got up.  I took a shower.  I washed, dried, and curled my hair.  I put on my best blouse, my new Lucky jeans, and my favorite green flats.  I was so excited to meet Mrs. Matyi.  I ate my breakfast in a hurry, gathered my paper work, and waited for Chris by the car; and then I remembered something. The most important something.  THE KINDERGARTNER.  Oh . . . yes . . .uh, Matthew, it's YOUR first day of school isn't it, uh, ha-ha {embarrassed laugh}.

I coaxed his limp body out of bed.  I got him some shorts and a clean shirt.  (He did have new shoes.)  I wet his hair down and combed it--guess that cut will have to wait for the weekend. And gave him a nice nutritious breakfast of Fruit Loops, minus toast or juice.  (In my defense, we just got back into town the night before and there were neither bread nor eggs to be had. Luckily Rick and Misty left us some milk--thanks guys!--so cereal it was.  Our lovely plan of getting up early and taking the family to breakfast was a long shot on a normal day but factor in our living the past three weeks in the mountain time zone and we were lucky we woke up at all.) 

Since Matthew missed orientation due to our trip (which will have it's day in future posts--now that I'm back to blogging and all) Daddy and I took him to school early to meet his teacher, put his various crayons, markers, and glue sticks in their appropriate places, and get comfortable in his new room.  That took about 10 seconds.  And then he was a kindergartner.  Standing in line with other kindergartners.  Holding the hand of some other woman who was not me.  Walking with a pile of 5-year-olds all looking to big for their britches.  Back into the room and he was gone.  I was left holding Chris' hand, maybe a bit to tight for his comfort but being the sweet hubby he is, he didn't say anything.

We went home, Chris left for work, and I spent the next couple hours wandering aimlessly from one silly item to the next, unable to focus on anything important, passing full suitcases needing emptying umpteen times.  I was too anxious for the bus ride, nervous I would get distracted and forget the time.  Scared I wouldn't be at the back doors of the school when he came out.  But I didn't forget the time.   I wasn't late.  Jodi dropped me off right on time, I met my beautiful boy, and together we rode home on the bus.  Not that I'm a paranoid parent or anything, I just like to have a frame of reference, you know, so I know what he's talking about.  

And even if I wanted him to be just a little bit, Matthew wasn't nervous.  He didn't miss me.  He had a fantastic day.  He loves recess.  He's making new friends.  And is his usual social, happy, brilliant self.  As for me and my getting up early, fixing my hair, and getting dressed before the bus, I'm sure his teacher and bus driver will find out any morning now that it's all a facade.  I'm sure this charade of being a put-together, stylish, organized mother will collapse any moment into the reality that is mothering monkeys.  But maybe I'll try it one more time, maybe I can keep it up a little longer in hopes of really becoming organized (the stylish will have to wait). After all, tomorrow is another day. 

Ha ha, so much for being organized--never got to combing Will's hair!

Belated Shout-Out

A little while ago I was tagged by two different friends, at about the same time. As I'm sure you are aware, I haven't been the most prompt blogger of late so it took me a bit of time to get to them.  I happened to click on Tara's link first (in no particular order, I SWEAR) and answered her blog.  If you are not already one of the hoards of people who have read it you can do so here, 'cause it's fascinating stuff.  Really.  Fascinating.  It can waste up at least 2.3 minutes of your day.

Anyway, then I went to answer Malea's tag only to find out it was the same as Tara's.  At the time I was fast sliding down the slippery slope of sleep deprivation (take that high school English teacher--there's an alliteration for ya) and never got back to noting Malea in the credits of my first tag.  So--here's a shout out to Malea.  Check her out.  Mother of four monkeys, world traveler, and high school buddy extraordinaire.  In honor of her I will add one more thing to my list of Random/Surprising facts:

• My family (the one I grew up in) derives about half their dialogue from movie lines.  So here's one for you:  

Baa, Ram, Ewe.

Baa, Ram, Ewe.

To your breed, your fleece, your clan be true.

Sheep be True.

Baa, Ram, Ewe.

Ha ha ha.  It's so funny.  Any guesses?

Steven

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVE!

Today is my brother Steve's birthday.  He's my older brother by two years and the first to come along in the family.  The rest of us really lucked out, especially me being the next one down. He's the kind of older brother every kid deserves.  He's the older brother who walked to school with me and who was waiting at my door when kindergarten was over.  He taught me how to work my bike lock and for the better part of a year met me on the playground after lunch to put my very weird retainer back in.  He pulled me up into tree houses to avoid rabid dogs (at least I was sure they were) and boosted me up onto our elementary school roof so I wouldn't be left behind when he and a friend found a new Saturday play place.  Then when the bikes that had carried us to our new play place were confiscated by a grumpy Saturday-working teacher who heard our heavy tread on the roof, he bravely confronted Mr. Grimshaw and apologized for all of us to get them back (while I hid behind him).  He's a supreme pillow fighter, hide-and-seeker, and checkers player.  He perfected the up-the-fence-onto-the-roof-down-the-tree move for our neighborhood kick-the-can games.  Steve is fearless.  He climbed to the very top of trees during gusty windstorms, never hesitated to tickle sleeping parents uncovered feet, outwitted burly assailants on the streets of Prague, and snuck up the back staircase of Neuschwanstein castle.  A hero for any girl.  I followed him through elementary, middle school, high school.  Always two years behind, always met with accolades when I announced whose sister I was.  College saw us together for a year as his mission to Hungary put him two years back.  A year I shared his car, his friends, his chemistry class, and his company.  

Now Steve's married and advises me on things like how to make good spaghetti and razing three monkeys.  Advice I still long for, treasure, and love.  Happy birthday Steve.

Just so we're all clear, although Steve is mostly perfect he does have a few vices.  He hates to loose, he thinks cheating is part of the game, and if you don't pay attention at the breakfast table--he'll steal your bacon.

love you Steve 

Angie, Steve, Tabitha, Simon, Thomas, Atticus

Anticipation and Reward

Fellowshipping

My dear friend Tara is concerned that I'm becoming inactive in my blogging.  She is taking it upon herself to gently remind me of the blessings I am missing out on (keeping-up long distance relationships, making new friends, informing grandparents of important happenings, etc.), sweetly discuss with me options for better budgeting my time to make room for blogging, and in her first effort to coax me back into the fold has "tagged" me on her blog.  Oh, it all looks so innocent.  I will go along for now.  So here is Tara's Tag of Threes:

3 Joys:

1. The three monkeys I live with; uh, make that four.
2. A warm summer evening, sprinklers, and watermelon.
3. The attention the lost sheep gets when returning to the fold.

3 Fears:

1. The dark.
2. Heights/steep cliff edges--this didn't really develop until the monkeys showed up.  Now just looking towards the edge when they're with me makes my stomach drop.
3. Perhaps the lost sheep really hasn't been missed and gets no attention at all.

3 Obsessions/Collections:

1. Putting "the seat" down--it's a 1.7 second job, seriously.  Come on, Monkeys.
2. Currently the preview for Australia.  I watch it on my computer more often than I care to admit.  
3. Sheep.

3 Random/Surprising Facts:

1. I paraded through University Mall once dressed like a cotton ball.
2. I have an Akubra cowboy hat just like The Man From Snowy River.
3. I uesd to wear that hat to heard sheep.  

There you go.  I tag my sweet sister-in-law Lindsey, my newly reacquainted friend Leslie, and Wooly.

Okay, Here Are Some Pictures

I'm sorry.  It's not that I've had so much more to do than usual.  There is the basement of course but it's not as if I'm the one down there on my hands and knees hammering nails.  It's just been one of those times when everything has kind of gotten away from me a bit.  I feel unorganized, forgetful, distracted, and most of all, tired.  You know those times when you just haven't found the sleep you need, or at least the sleep you can reasonably function on, you wake up groggy, can't get going, feel like you're playing catch-up all day . . .  I've just been in a slump.

{I must interject here--my sweet young women that I teach at church and truly enjoy were bemoaning the possibility of potentially waking up by 6:30 this Wednesday.  "Oh, we can't do it.  Six thirty, are you kidding.  Oh, I'll be so tired.  I just can't get up that early, I have to work at 2 that afternoon."  Wah wah wah.  I love these girls, I truly do, but I just had to tell them, I couldn't listen to it any longer.  Mind you, they where also required to be in bed by 10:00 Tuesday night, they were still getting a full 8 1/2 hours.  So I stepped up and spoke my mind (nicely of course) but I told them.  Seriously girls, you can't do it.  You're just too tired.  I'm sympathetic.  I really am.  I understand you have work, and school--except you don't have school, it's SUMMER--and you're family and friends.  I know you have a lot going on but come on.  You're too tired.  You're telling me this.  I am too tired.  And not just from a weekend of parties, not just because I had to get up by 8 to make it to church.  I haven't had a decent nights sleep in something like 6 YEARS!  Years, girls, years.  Not to mention staying up late to prepare lessons for you so come on, buck up, you can do it, because when you go home, nobody needs you, nobody is counting on you, you can go right to bed and not be disturbed. So please, please don't complain to me about sleep.}

Oh, I'm sorry, enough ranting.  I was nice.  They laughed.  I hope they understood I was not joking.  Anyway, so I'm tired.  Who isn't.  But unfortunately blogging has been preempted by the thought of a pillow.  I will try and get a quick post out now, but even though it's barely 9, I'm already to tired to make it at all interesting, clever, or witty, not that my posts are much of that anyway.  So here is a very sparsely worded, entirely unentertaining, down to business post.  The Basement Pictures:

(Although it is almost completely finished now, I took these before the carpet went in.  I can't bring myself to post more recent ones until everything is finished--have to keep a bit of surprise you know.)

Finished Storage Room

that little niche in the back only goes back a few feet.  It was just extra space I didn't want to waste--thought it would be perfect to hang winter coats or store big containers of water or something.

Bathroom:

those little tiles amongst the white are cobalt blue--I love 'em and I've got some green polka-dot towels to go in there.

Reading Nook:

That place where the freezer is will soon be occupied by three cute bean bags.  Opposite that wall are two book shelves.  And that handsome man in the back is our lovely contractor.  The two cutouts in the wall to the left of him look into the nook under the stairs that was made into a fun little play place. 

Play Area:

There is the little play space under the stairs, a closet against the back wall, the closet doors are sitting in the space where the slide will go, and a stage is built in the right corner.  The pictures hanging on the walls are big stickers I'm trying to figure out where to put.

Couch/TV Area:

self explanatory--couch and TV will go here

Craft Area:

This is the kids craft area--currently holding all the stuff we hauled out from the back storage room to do a little electrical work.  There are some cubbies and a short counter with a sink.  The window looks into my craft area--'cause I'm so crafty.  This way I can go in, shut the door to keep sticky hands out, but still keep an eye on kiddies.

So there you go, the basement.  I love it.  And as soon as I get it all done (soon I promise)  I'll post the final pics.

Salutations

Dear Basement Carpet,

Welcome to our home!  I know you had a bit of a rough introduction but the boys have been waiting so long and I was so excited for the four of you to meet.  I hope you didn't mind the immediate dashing back and forth across your cushy top.  And I'm sorry that in the first two minutes of our relationship Matthew kicked a scab on his ankle while running and has already scarred your lovely self with spatters of blood.  But I worked quickly, didn't I, to sponge it off, and dab you dry--good as new, don't you think?  Please forgive us.

But, my dear basement carpet that I already love, I hope you understand--I hope you understand that in choosing to be basement carpet, in choosing to be our basement carpet, you have not chosen a particularly easy life, but I can promise you it will be rewarding.  And we will love you.  But our love might be in ways you are not expecting.  We will not be showing our affection for you with holiday cocktail parties, or nights of gentlemen around pool tables and ladies chatting at a bar, or evening wine and cheese soirees; but, you will become an expert wrestler, gymnastics spotter, and tear absorber.  You will be witness to hundreds of precious children's comments, thousands of baby giggles, and umpteen exasperated parental moments. You will host countless parties, both planned and spontaneous.  You will be the foundation for every train set-up, Hot Wheels track, and imaginary jungle.  And you will be hailed by bare knees, tender palms, and in-coming noggins as the savior of all bumps and abrasions.  You will see us at our best and at our worst.  And I hope, when our time has come to part, that you will look back on your scars with fondness, and not think back to this very day wishing that you had rolled yourself right back into that white van as soon as you got a look in here and chosen job #2 in a nice quite retirement home.  I hope you will look at your own bumps and bruises, and remember the crazy boys who gave them to you, and know that you have been loved. 

Welcome to our family!

Omnipotent

Overheard in the garage as we are about to leave on a bike ride . . .

Me:  Matthew, hurry and run go to the bathroom.

Little Boy:  Mom, I don't have to pee.

Me:  Are you sure?

Little Boy:  Uh huh.

Me:  Listen, you can't even hold still to find your helmet.  Now run inside and go pee.

Little Boy:  I don't have to pee.

Me:  Yes you do.  Go pee.

{little boy runs inside}

Little Boy:  {yelled from inside the bathroom} Mom!  You where right!  I did have to pee!  You always know everything.

Me:  Yes.  That is why you should listen to me.

Little Boy:  How do you do that, Mom?!  You just know everything just like Jesus!

{The possibilities of his belief in this, my newly discovered omniscience, dance happily through my head and yet, I cannot bring myself to answer definitively in the affirmative}

Me:  Well, maybe not quite as much.  {I did wish the little boy to believe me all-knowing, but I did not wish to be struck down on the spot}. 

This Kid's Got Ideas

The other day Matthew was talking to me about growing older and asking how long until he turns 7, how long until he turns 12, and how long until he turns 19, etc.  I asked him if he knew what he can do when he turns 19.  He said no.  I explained, "You can go on a mission.  Daddy went on a mission, and Papa, and Uncle Steve, and Uncle Matt, and Uncle Phil."  "You know what I'm going to do when I turn 19 Mom?"  What honey?  "I'm going to go on vacation to Florida.  And go snorkeling, and ride the waves, and play in the sand.  And practice my surfing."

Yes.  We will revisit this later.

He also told me he has decided not to become a Policeman.  His reason:  "I would feel so sad when I have to put you in jail, Mom."  Thank you Little Moo.  He obviously has high goals for what I might become after he grows up and quits caring for me.

I am a #1

In answer to the last post's question--I'm a number one.  For several reasons I'm sure but here are the top two:

1. I hate confrontation.  I avoid it.  I pretend I don't know it's happening.  I run the other way.  Etc.  I will thank anyone, for telling me anything, and thank them happily, and then apologize for anything happily, if it avoids any kind of, um,  other people getting upset with me about stuff.
2. The other truth is, for better or worse, I am a fairly trusting mother.  I really do (probably without realizing it most times) trust that if I leave my kids on the playground while running another to the bathroom, or take my eye off two of them to help another down from a tree, that all the other mothers/fathers/nice people will notice if the boy I am not watching is about to tumble out off the climbing wall, or fall out of the grocery cart, or fall into deep water, and that said nice people will help the child I happen to be neglecting at the time.  Isn't that how we all get along with more than one kid?  I hope.  Please say it is.  At least I know I have stepped in more than once for other kids without thinking the worse of that mother knowing I have been or will be in the same situation at some time.

So, THANK YOU, to all you people who help me do my parenting.  Who notice my child in danger when I am tying another's shoe (or chatting with my friend--but that never really happens) and easily save them when I cannot.  But please don't mind if I joke about it later--like I had everything under control.

p.s.  Is it horrible that I actually had looked over the fence to check the depth of the water and was slightly more lax knowing that, if they did fall over, at least it was shallow enough that they could walk to the shore?

And one more thing, Marissa's comment would have made for one heck of a good story:

What about #4 - let your kid fall in and when the annoying white honkey runs over to the railing screaming "I TOLD YOU SO" you cold cock his honkey a-double-s right over the railing after your kid.  Then you say, "KICK DOWN WHITE BOY!  HOW YA LIKE ME NOW!"

3 Degrees of Truth

Situation:

You are at the zoo.  It's time for lunch.  You find a nice spot on a little veranda overlooking the bird pond and lay out some peanut butter sandwiches for the kiddos.  You eat lunch and as the children successively finish their sandwiches squares and apple slices they begin to meander around, pulling themselves up on the railing to better see the swans and ducks swimming in the pond.  As you are getting the baby cleaned up a man a a few tables over catches your attention ton let you know your kids are rather high on the railing and leaning over.  (He doesn't want them to fall, of course.)  This man was polite, and I'm sure he was legitimately concerned, so how do you reply?   

1. Thank him for watching out for your kids and hustle them down from the railing and back to the table  (very cordial--helps everyone else feel good)
2. Thank him for watching out for your kids and let him know you are keeping an eye on them and they'll be fine  (nice but leaves the man still a bit nervous)
3.  Tell him you are a very responsible parent and would never let your child hang over a railing before first looking over yourself to check the depth of the water.  And you are almost positive that, should he fall over, if he stands on his very tippy toes he should be able to keep his head above water.  Or grab on to one of those pilings in any case.

Any thoughts?

First Try

Tonight we were having a special "Temple Marriage" night for our Young Women at church so to make it a real celebration, my buddies Tara and Elana came over this morning and we made Wedding Cake!  And I must say, for first timers I think we did rather well.  I did learn that when cleaning frosting smears off a cake platter, select pieces from your son's lego set can come in handy.

It was a moist yellow cake with a chocolate truffle filling and an almond/vanilla bean frosting. We finished it off with little beads around the bottom of the ribbon and Tara brought her glass temple cake topper for the finishing touch.  

Now as usually happens when three moms get together of a morning to frost cake, there were quite a few children around.  Thankfully we had lots of hands to retrieve them from banging on the neighbors glass door, dangling from monkey bars, falling in toilets, and other kid chaos.  Other wise the clever children busied themselves snitching swipes of frosting 

and making melodious music.  A bunch of toddlers on the piano--such sweet sounds.

Despite the jarring aural environment, the cake turned out well, the girls loved it, and if you want a piece--come on over.  We've got loads of extra! Thanks to Grammy for recipes and Pops for moral support!

Because of the hurry to get cake done, get our selves cleaned up, and kids ready to stay with Pops and Dad's, neither Tara or I ate any real dinner.  And let me tell you, lots of cake with 50 pounds of sugar frosting on an empty stomach makes for a crazy drive home.  Tara and I car pooled and also took one of our 12-year-old young women.  The relief of having the activity over combined with a bit of a sugar rush bought out a rather silly side of myself, err, I mean Tara.  I warned her we better be quiet or else ol' Hamilton in the back seat was sure to find out we were really LOSERS.  Tara absolutely confirmed we are losers by saying, "We're not losers.  We're RAD."  To which I replied, "Kick down, white boy!"

My Own Personal Super Hero

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAPA!

Today is my Dad's birthday.  That man right there with the wide brimmed hat, the Pendleton wool shirt, the heavy duty leather gloves, he's my Dad.  Look close and you can see the leather case strapped to his belt carrying his pocket knife and pliers.  A knife on one hip and a baby on the other.  My own Renaissance man.  He takes a day job in the city but prefers the work of a cowboy:  riding the range with his family, the sound of aspen leaves and jostling cattle, the feel of leather and muscle beneath you, the smell of sweet sage and horse sweat.  (The joke is, as a farm boy he never knew manure smelled bad until his city cousins told him.)

My Dad was my hero from the start.  As young kids my brother and I had the most fun clopping along in his shoes and snuggling together under his heavy coat.  Anyone whose coat was big enough to hide two whole children underneath must be a super hero indeed.  Always available for a horsey ride, a goodnight song, or a game of hide-and-seek.  He never minded hiding with you when your excited giggles gave away the secret spot.  And a Daddy who could run that fast with a child on his back and throw you in the air high enough to touch the clouds had to have super powers.

Coming home late at night he would peak into my room and if I was awake, he would sit on the floor, scratch my back, and we would sing together.  The Little Green Valley, The Whaling Song, Sweet Hour of Prayer and a few other old cowboy tunes and hymns.

Growing bigger and taller meant less horsey rides and flights into the air but brought other lessons just as sweet.  He taught me how to braid thin strands of horse hair into the cracker for a bull whip, how to blow through my cupped hands to make a hooting owl sound, and how to carve my name in a tree next to his, and his father's, and his grandfather's.  He taught me which mountain berries I could eat and which would give the unlucky consumer a nasty case of the trots.  He taught me how to find the big dipper, the "W" stars, and eagle's nests.  He taught me how to run an intra-abdominal camera, how to stitch up a puncture hole, and how to use an Endo-bag:  specimen retrieval system to take out an infected gallbladder.  (I'm telling you--a Renaissance man.)

Now I'm grown (sort of at least) and have little boys of my own.  But you, Dad, are still my super hero. You have never lost your cape and mask and turned into an ordinary person.  I have yet to see you make a bad decision or treat someone unfairly.  I am better for having you as a father.  A Super Dad. And now my boys clomp around in your shoes,

 play horsey with you, 

and I sing Joseph to sleep with The Little Green Valley.

But I will let the rest of you in on a little secret.  Even super hero's have an Achilles heel.  And my Dad--he's border line obsessive compulsive about his teeth.  And a toothbrush toting John Wayne is a bit comical.  This cowboy's kryptonite:  plaque.

But the best thing about him, this super hero makes everyone else feel like one too.  Happy Birthday Dad.  I love you!  I'll meet you in a few months up in our own little green valley.

What's It Good For If You Can't Pee In It

In response to some of your comments, YES. I think peeing in the ocean is a perfectly acceptable thing to do.  I mean really, if you can't pee in it, well, I said it just above.  My problem is not with the ethical issues surrounding peeing in the ocean (do you move a standard number of feet away from the closest person, do you wait for a wave to come in, or go out, do you pretend to be just getting your hair wet, do you walk, do you stand still, does it attract or repel fish, etc.) but rather getting my children to quietly DO it.  Because nobody wants to leave a nice spot like this,

spend an hour at the de-sanding showers getting rid of this,

and scuttle through rows of beach chairs holding scantily clad, impossibly tan women just so you can  use a modern, but very damp toilet.  It is a needless waist of time and exposure to pool feet fungus.

All it really takes is a quick trip into the ocean on one of these. 

In fact this would have been a prefect time.  Covered in salt water, an obliging wave veiling the face of the offender.  It could have been so easy.

Or this.  This is even better.  A rush of water up to your waist.  The pretense of playing in the waves.  Again, so easy.

And yet, Matthew and Will both failed at their attempts (or rather my attempts to get them to). In Will's case the failure was mainly caused by fear.  These waves were bigger than any he had encountered before and he was skeptical from the start.

He was not at all excited about getting in the water and completely content to stay on dry sand and annihilate his brothers' sand castles.  

I tried explaining to him how much easier it would be to just wander out a few steps.  How much time is would save.  How inconspicuous it would be.  I was so wrong.  My dragging Will into the waves insisting he pee was not easy, did not save time, and was CERTAINLY not inconspicuous.  Instead of quietly peeing Will took up screaming at the top of his lungs, "NO, in the toilet.  In the toilet.  NO, IN THE TOILET!"  Okay, in the toilet.  And to the bathroom we went.

Matthew's issue was not so much a lack of bravery as a lack of understanding.  My instruction to run pee in the ocean did not bring tears, whimpering, or wailing.  It sent a boy running full speed to the EDGE of the ocean, and there, backside toward a crowded beach, dropping his trunks.  Of course, I caught him quickly and said unnecessarily loud, "Honey, come on now, we don't pee on the beach.  Let's go up to the bathroom," my pleasant voice hiding the annoyance behind my eyes.  After waiting a few minutes on our beach chair I returned to the ocean with him, carrying him in quite a ways and out of earshot of other bathers.  But, in all the excitement Matthew just couldn't get himself to pee.  As much as he had to standing on the dry beach 5 seconds before, once in the ocean with the freedom of a water cloak up to his middle, his giggly face and wiggly toes just couldn't relax.  

So I gave in.  We spent the time at the sand shower, traipsed through sun-bathing beauties, and braved the wet bathroom.  But, we have many more summer days at the lake and will, for sure, practice up for next year.

p.s.  I suppose I should confess, I don't have cute short brown hair nor am I a tall, beautiful red head.  Those lovely ladies are my darling mother-in-law and sister-in-law.  They were gracious enough to come on our trip with us and where great help and lots of fun!  

A spot with a view

This was my view for most of my days last week.  And, I loved it.  Give my babies some water, some sand, some rocks, some buckets, (and some floaties), and they are happy.   For HOURS! It's the most low maintenance activity around.  Of course we did have that issue with peeing in the ocean but more on that tomorrow . . . 

Now we are home and back to the grind of home improvement which why this post is already ending.  But I will be better about posting.  Come back soon to hear about my boys stripping on the beach, lots of vacationing Europeans (you know they have very loose standards when it comes to beach wear), Will's connection with the big bad wolf, and of course, more tile woes. Because what would a tile project in my house be if it didn't bring with it some drama.

TTFN   

And welcome back to my blagapalooza friends and sorry I couldn't be with you.  I'm already enjoying reading all about it!   

Penitent

I'm sorry.  I'm still here.  Please still visit.  Please come and read again.  Please accept me back, prodigal blogger that I am.  I don't mean to have neglected you.  But the in-laws are here.   They are finishing our basement.  And somehow, it seemed very wrong of me to leave them, broken backs lifting, bloody knuckles hammering, to go knoodling with my interpeeps.  (Although I had no problem leaving them to go to the salon.  Ahhhh, 2 hours of scalp massaging bliss. Priorities you know.)  While they have been doing all the actual work, I have still been kept very busy with frequent trips into the bowels of the house to give important counsel like, put those light switches here.  No, put them there.  I would like two can lights here.  Never mind, make that three sconces.  The smaller vanity sounds fine.  Actually how about the bigger one--no, the smaller one.  Cubbies would be great.  But maybe a closet. Can I have a stage?  A climbing wall?  Swings?  A monkey gym?  Can we just make this a gorilla habitat down here? Etc.  I'm sure Grammy and Pops are overjoyed every time they hear my stealthy tread coming down the stairs to deliver more confusing and preposterous plans.   And I'm fairly positive my leaving with a positive nod and "I'll be back later to check on your work" doesn't help.  (there's a movie quote for you!)  In all honesty, they have been working very hard and I have tried my best to not be an exasperating costumer.  Thankfully, we are all, Chris, boys, Grandparents, and I, taking a break later this week and traveling south while the dry-wallers come and do their job.  So if I go on hiatus again, it's legitimate family time.

One of Chris' friends has been asking for pics of the ongoing basement.  The only ones I have just show only partial framing and it is intensely boring to look because you can't tell what's what.  Here is one decent picture. 

 It shows what will be a craft area for the kids (where the slide is sitting--yes, that's a slide.  He He.  More about that in later posts) with a craft/work area for me behind it and a storage room behind that.  My area will have a nice window looking out onto the kids area so I can go in my room, shut the door to keep busy boys out, but still be able to see what they are doing and holler commands like, "Matthew, don't swing Will by the head," and "Joseph, let's not drink that glue," etc.

Sorry I only have one, thanks for your patience Brad!  Currently the framing, electrical, and plumbing are all done and the dry-wallers arrive tomorrow morning.  Once that is done the photos will make more sense and I will post some more.  If I can get down there in the morning before the workers I will also try to get some pics.  And if you, dear reader, will forgive my blogging fast and come again, I'll favor you with a little remodeling photo update. 

Drum Roll Please--bdddddddddddddd

What is it?  After this week and a half or more of absence what do I have for you.  Finally . . . I have pictures of our completed home projects!  So, without further ado, I present to you:

4 very small and not very extreme HOME MAKEOVERS!

these are the little things we have done since living here

(a disclaimer:  I am having severe formatting issues with my blog publisher--so please don't mind the fact that I am showing only four projects, but the numbers list 10 or so)

1. The powder room:  Please don't think worse of me.  I'm usually not one for wall paper--BUT--I'm a sucker for toile.  I love it.  So this small powder room off the kitchen has red toile wall paper and white bead board.  I think the toile gives you something nice to look at and you can imagine stories about the people in it while you're sittin' around in there. Even if you're having a bad day it reminds you--at least you're not washin' your clothes in the river like that French peasant.  Though she does look so happy doing it . . 
2. The kitchen back-splash:  This was our first tiling project.  I learned lots of things.  For instance:  if you are tiling around electrical outlets, and therefore need to turn off the electricity in that part of the house, try your very best to finish before dark.  Otherwise you will be running around trying to find an extension cord to run electricity from a different part of the house to a small lamp that will cast a light so lean you will be squinting at your work from every direction and contorting your body every which way to avoid casting a shadow.  It turned out decent in the end.
3. Here's a close up of the slate we used.  I fell in love with all the different colors and the few sparkly pieces.  Everyone can use a little sparkly!
4. The boys bathroom:  More than once in my life when taking on new projects for the first time, I read all the directions, am meticulous about following them, attend to every detail, and religiously watch and wait over it, willing it to turn out right.  And it does. Unfortunately, more often than not, the SECOND time I try to do the same thing, I am far to confident in my previous abilities, throw caution to the wind, don't pay attention, and the entire thing is botched, tremendous amounts of time are waisted, and people fall ill (i.e. Chris and my second batch of hollandaise sauce).  This tile floor was hollandaise sauce #2 all over again.  After hours, days, weeks, and months of grouting, grouting, and grouting, and drilling, drilling, drilling the grout out, and grouting, grouting, grouting some more we finally finished.  We added some bead board (I love bead board) and threw up some paint.  Here's what we got.
5. A close up of the tile.  I love the watery wash of blue.  
6. (Another noteworthy lesson:  if you should pull your toilet up and put it in the tub to tile around the plumbing hole, and then haul the toilet out of the shower so a visiting guest can bathe, don't set the toilet nicely on the tiled floor next to, but NOT on top of, it's original plumbing hole post.  This sends a false message to neighbor children that the toilet works, and they might unknowingly use it.  For #2.  And you will be left with a smelly mess.)
7. The master bathroom:  This was all Chris' idea but I did get to help pick out the tile. Here's the before shot.
8. Not bad.  Painted walls.  Linoleum floor.  Here's the after.
9. Travertine floors, wall, and tub front.  Onyx shelf.  And let me tell you--12 inch square tiles are SO MUCH easier to grout the 1 inch square tiles.
10. The best part--the little brick shaped onyx tiles that cover the shelf are packed so tight they don't really need any grouting.  I love that.
11. And their yummy buttery color lifts my spirits each morning.  Anything buttery lifts my spirits in the morning--or any other time of the day.

So there you have it.  Our little home improvements.  Now for our BIG home improvement. The reason I have been gone the past bit is because of the new project coming our way.  I love to be organized but am not the best at staying organized.  This past week I have been de-cluttering, organizing, and throwing away hoards of stuff in preparation for my in-laws to arrive (they should be here within the hour).  They are going to stay with us for the next month or so and this gave me great incentive to do a bit of long needed "spring cleaning."  As for the reason they are coming . . . to take on a project much to big and much to difficult for Chris and I . . . the basement.  Yes, they are coming to finish the basement and I tell you, this mother of three young boys is EXCITED!

Don't worry

Don't worry.  More is coming.  I have been doing a little spring cleaning.  More later (but sooner than later).  Much sooner.

Words from the Boys

Will:

While watching some Irish dancers Will looked enthralled so I asked him, 

"Will, do you want to dance like that?"

"Yeah.  I want to wear one of those fancy dwesses."

Matthew:

Yesterday morning at 5:00 A.M., the alarm on Chris' blackberry went off playing every body's favorite happy song "The Entertainer."  Unfortunately there are other things besides Chris' blackberry that use that song as a mascot and Matthew, who happened to be in bed with us, sat bolt upright proclaiming

"The Ice Cream Man!"

I'm sorry buddy.  It's 5 a.m., pitch black, and a blisteringly cold March morning with 2 feet of residual snow still outside.  It's not the ice cream man.  I swear.

But just in case, here's two bucks.  Hop on out there in your skivvies and bring me back a dreamsicle! 

Ready for the lamb

March's LION has been in full swing here.  A little photographic history of the past week for your viewing pleasure.

What I've Been Doing With My Free Time

OR

Why My Back Aches Like I'm 89

(and my Arms, and my Legs)

(and why my hands are cracked and bleeding)

(not that I'm complaining about any of it)

(it was really a boat load of fun)

(several boat loads)

This is how it started.  ICE STORM.  Didn't get any good pictures of it but the next morning I started to shovel the inch or so of snow off the driveway only to find another solid inch below it of ice.  Nice.  Oh well, it will surely warm up soon and melt that ice away.

Don't count on it.  Before the ice could melt the snow came.  With a furry.  Lots of snow and lots of wind made fore huge drifts.  Here's me trying to get a picture of the enormous drifts on the deck.  Unfortunately I couldn't open the back door and my night time flash glared against it. We'll just pretend it's a really cool artsy picture.  

This is why I couldn't open the back door.

We made a valiant effort to dig ourselves out the next morning and with a little help from Ben we did it.  Although we were up bright and early shoveling, since school was cancelled, the city plows all allotted to spend the morning at Starbucks enjoying cozy hot beverages and swapping stories about how to best block in freshly cleared driveways with mounds of frozen snow and ice.  Needless to say, for anyone who ventured out, clearing the driveway was the least of the problems.  Our car did take a short trip (thankfully with another driver) and came home with wheels looking like this.

She did a good job though, valiantly plowing her own trail through the snow and safely transporting her passengers to and from work.  When the wind died down the next day and the sun peeked out the kids couldn't wait to play.

Just so you're not wondering, we do not keep our mailboxes on the ground.  Matthew found snow angels much easier when you just have to lean back a few inches.

And a nice little lick of snow is a cinch when it's already at lip level.

Matthew conquered the biggest mountain and planted his flag on behalf of stir-crazy-5-year-olds everywhere. 

And Joseph pattered around trying not to slip in his snow suit.

A fun snow day but luckily this only happens once a year or so.  And lucky I have good friends.  And food storage.