Funny Sage

Today is my sister, Suzy's, birthday. She was the one that inspired me to be diligent about keeping a list of the funny things Sage says. This year I've already got 9 pages of crazy, silly, and hillarious things Sage has said on a document on the desktop of my computer.

In honor of Suzy, here are a few classic one-liners from Sage.

“Eliza did crunchy-crunchies on my potty treat.” Referring to how Eliza smashed Sage’s mini candy bar (intended for a potty treat). 6.4.07

“There’s the statue of liberty of Joseph Smith.” (About the statue of Joseph Smith in the atrium of the JSB at BYU.) 6.5.07

Sage’s prayer over lunch: “Thank you for Mommy, Daddy, Eliza and Sage. Thank you for the yummy food. Thank you that we can keep Eliza so safe from the bitey bitey ants. In the name..” 6.10.07

I gave Sage a piece of bread in the car and she said “you got crumbs on me, mommy, and that makes me so, so sad.” 6.11.07

“I hope they call me on a missionary!” 8.15.07

“Eso es no un treat.” (Sage trying to convince Mark that something didn’t count as dessert.) 9.10.07

“We are happy because we are girls. And we love to eat.” (Sage to Becca) 9.25.07

“When I’m having a sad day, then I’ll use mean voices.” 10.8.07

“If you don’t choose one [marker] for me mommy, you can go lie down on the couch and have a little time out.” 10.8.07

“Jacob needs to take an H-O-T nap.” 10.10.07

I said, “It’s nap time.” Sage promptly responded, “My tummy hurts, so I want to make a piñata now.” 10.17.07

I was making some food in the kitchen when Sage asked what I was doing. I told her, and she said, "Good thinking, mommy.” 10.20.07

I found Sage putting our old address labels on Mark’s Nintendo games. When she saw me looking she admonished, "Leave the stickers on those so they can be important.” 10.20.07

"If that diamond ring goes away, Papa’s gonna buy you a shopping cart. If that shopping cart goes away, Papa’s gonna buy you a telephone.” (Shopping cart...not to be confused with a horse and a cart.) 10.27.07

I'm "It"

I've been tagged. I’m not really a non-conformist, but I don’t have interesting answers to give to the questions I’ve been tagged with, so allow me a little literary license.

4 Jobs I've Had:
1. Manager for my dad’s apartments

2. Math tutor

3. Math research assistant

4. Facilitator for BYU’s Mexico Literacy program

4 Things I Do Instead of Going to Bed:
1. Blog and read other blogs

2. Download, organize, and look at pictures from my camera

3. Think of ways to keep Mark up

4. Read addicting books until the wee hours of the morning

4 Most common cravings for this week:

1. Chinese chicken salad

2. Nachos (a Woodbury special)

3. Apple crisp

4. Chocolate, of course. I wouldn't really call this a craving. It's more a standard. My favorite cookie for the week: Oatmeal chocolate chip--Mark makes them perfectly!
No, I’m not pregnant. Ask any of my family: I’ve always been a cravings person. And I’m always happy to go to any lengths to satisfy them!

4 Special Features of my Apartment:
1. Sea green carpet in my bedroom

2. Shared laundry room (with upstairs guys) in between our two bedrooms

3. The washer bubbles up from the drain two times per load

4. There's a door to the outside in our bedroom.

4+ Books I’ve Read Over 15 Times

1. Dora Loves Boots

2. Moo Moo, Brown Cow

3. Summer of the Monkeys

4. The Giver

5. A Murder for Her Majesty

6. The Lives of Christopher Chant/Charmed Life

4 Projects I Can’t Seem to Finish

1. Putting a doorknob on Eliza's bedroom door

2. Finishing my IOU embroidery for my sister-in-law from last Christmas

3. Organizing my front closet

4. Making my own cloth diapers

4 Silly Things I Did in 4^th Grade

1. Read every Babysitter’s Club and Sweet Valley Twins book I could find

2. Got my really big bangs permed

3. Thought white socks were dumb (and insisted on wearing colored socks to match my shirt each day)

4. Instituted a 1-2-3-up-down competition during recess (who could do the longest handstand) for my class

4 Things That Made me Cry

1. Natural childbirth

2. Leaving Indiana

3. Dealing with my 3-year-old today

4. Reading Les Miserables

Tag: (Now you're it:)
1. Danielle

2. Kelly S.

3. Kim

4. Suzy

Wanted: Chevy Malibu

Today Mark got in a tiny fender bender at a stop sign that gave the car in front of his a 1 ½ inch long scratch. The woman and her daughter in the other car had no complaints at the time of the accident, and the policeman came and wrote a report. An hour later the woman called Mark and complained that she and her daughter were both suffering from whiplash and migraines.

She then asked Mark to buy her a Chevy Malibu (with less than 100,000 miles), with the promise that she wouldn’t report us to our insurance company, and pin us with the inevitable $6000 in doctor’s bills that would come if/when she and her daughter went to the ER the next morning due to their severe pain. She told Mark that she’s a nurse, so she would know about the numbers.

I know we look young, but do we look like IDIOTS?

So, if anyone knows of a Chevy Malibu for sale, there’s a really desperate nurse in Salt Lake that might be interested. And, if you're interested, she might be able to sell you some beachfront property in Montana.

Ghost Cake

For Danielle's birthday today, I decided to surprise her with a cake reminiscent of old times--a ghost cake with flaming eyes (made out flaming sugar cubes in eggshells instead of candles). She had this once for a birthday a long time ago, and I remember being very jealous of her October birthday. [For some reason, my mom wasn’t as keen on making a Santa cake and lighting his eyes on fire for my birthday.]

I made a cake in a 9x13 pan, but decided to cut out a petite little ghost, since there would only be 5 adults at our little lunch party. Happily, the ghost looked...like a ghost, even after being carved out of a sheet of cake. I frosted the cake and soaked the sugar cubes in almond extract (36% alcohol, for their fiery debut), because who has lemon extract anyway?

Unfortunately, I failed to consider the issue of the eyes. Seeing as there is no way to get a half-sized eggshell, Georgie the Ghost Cake was forced to herald in Danielle’s 25^th birthday while sporting eggshell goggles. The other unfortunate was that the sugar cubes refused to take flame, and had to be replaced by candles. And the last unfortunate was that Sage blew out the candles before Danielle even drew a good breath. I guess some memories are not to be relived. And if anyone needs an extra sugar cube or two, I've got 249 extras.

Georgie's Goggles ______ Sage helps with the candles

Microphones

The microphones working their magic

(We've since had to hide the glittery one because Curious George has sucked off a great portion of the glitter already.)

160 pounds

Nope, I'm not confessing my weight. 160 pounds is the number of pounds of chicken I need to separate into individual bags before they freeze into 4 huge blocks in the freezer. [I didn't realize they weren't individually packaged when I offered to pick up chicken for my four sisters and my mom. Nice one. Even though they were $1.19/lb.]
And here I still writing a blog entry. Stalling. Procrastinating. Did you know there isn't a word in Spanish for procrastination? Maybe that's because no native Spanish speaker is dumb enough to buy 160 pounds of chicken singlehandedly.

The girl who cried wolf

Today I took Sage to the doctor. I told him she said her bottom hurts. Trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice, I mentioned that she also said her ears hurt.

Doctor: “Anything else?”

Me: “And she says her tummy hurts.”

Doctor: “When does she say her tummy hurts? After she eats? Before she uses the bathroom? Throughout the day?”

Me: “No,” I replied, “Just when I announce that it’s time for bed. In fact, that’s usually when her bottom and ears hurt, too.”

He dutifully checked her, and when he started typing what seemed like a small essay on his computer, I wondered if there was such a diagnosis as “childhood hypochondria.” That wouldn’t be entirely accurate. I don’t think Sage is hurting half as bad as her pre-bedtime woes proclaim…at least not physically. I think she’s just got a bad case of the boy (girl) who cried wolf to avoid—not boredom—but bedtime.

Sage's top 10 excuses:

1. I can’t get my blanket on by myself. (Right.) Or "I didn't get all snuggled up."

2. You forgot to give me a water cup. (Which is never utilized when it’s actually there. It serves only as an excuse to get up when it’s absent.)

3. My ____ (fill in favorite body part) hurts. (I’ve heard tummy, bottom, ears, teeth, head, toes.) [The frequency of these kind of complaints more than doubled after we actually took her to Urgent Care one night to treat a urinary tract infection…thanks to genius Nurse Krista’s correct diagnosis. Sage saw the “pain” excuse as a “Get out of Jail free” card and obviously is still running with it.]

4. You forgot to hug and kiss me.

5. What are the names of the things that you have to do? [Before coming to bed]

6. Can I be happy? [She likes to repeat this one, and if you refuse to answer ‘yes’ she weeps and wails and gnashes her teeth…at least that's what it sounds like from the other side of the door.]

7. Can I turn on the nightlight? Or the naptime version: Why can we not turn on the nightlight?

8. You forgot to sing me a new song.

9. Will you put my hair ribbon back in? (The one she purposely removed ten seconds before rushing out.)

And the most common among potty trained kids:

10. I have to go to the bathroom

Sage’s excuses are only the first line of defense in her attempt to get out of bed. The second round involves some amazing physical feats that I didn’t really think were possible for a 3-year-old. Sage has proven, multiple times, that she can produce a bowel movement on the spot. During one naptime, she got out of bed four total times—first to urinate, then poop, then poop again, and she finally produced her third bowel movement in thirty minutes. I won’t go into details, but I can say that sometimes subsequent BMs are unrelated to their predecessors. That little stinker stores up her feces to use as leverage for getting out of bed! And it's not like I can say no. My mom warned me that toddlers can be pretty manipulative during the potty training process. I had no idea.

At the very least, Sage should exercise some creativity in getting out of bed. This might get her a laugh instead of rolled eyes, if not buy her a few extra minutes. My dad used to write silly excuse notes for us when we were late to elementary school. The result was that our teachers enjoyed us coming in late, because it meant they got an early morning laugh at something like this:

Dear Mrs. Heileson,
Please excuse Janel for being late this morning. Our toilet was acting up, and sucked poor little Janel right down in it today. Fortunately, we were able to drag her out. I’m sure she would be happy to recite the Pledge of Allegiance for you during recess today, as she likely missed it during the plumbing fiasco.
Sincerely,
Keith Wilson

Back to the doctor’s office today. After checking every possibility and inspecting every possible infection site, the doctor diagnosed an ear infection in Sage’s left ear. I guess this time the truth set Sage free, but I'm not so sure I'm ready to give up her nickname as "the girl who cried infection"...I mean, bowel movement...no, wolf. We'll see when the next naptime rolls around.

Shopping and microphones

Mark’s shopping style: go somewhere with good prices or good sales and buy at least $300 worth of merchandise. Take it home, try it on, and return at least 85% of it.

My shopping style: avoid shopping at all costs—especially a trip with Mark or Krista (both of whom will want to stay much longer). Buy next to nothing. Come home and go back to wearing my daily favorite outfit: tennis shoes, polo shirt (one of eight I have from Old Navy) and jeans.

I’m a pretty conservative shopper and spender. I rarely buy anything surprising. Is this for lack of imagination, or an attempt to minimize inevitable public tantrums by hauling through stores in record time? Maybe both. Mark, on the other hand, always comes back with something exciting. Often it’s a size XL shirt for himself from the little boys’ section for $2.99 or a box of mini crackers that was on sale. (Granted, if the sale is 10 for $10, we usually end up with 10 of them. But I’m grateful that he’s so willing to shop, and even with the kids!)

Today I varied from my usual conservative habits, and made some unusual purchases at Target. On a bit of a whim, I bought--not one--but two microphones. One was the big pink plastic microphone that echoes. The other was intended to be part of an “American Idol” Halloween costume. It’s basically a big Styrofoam blob covered in tons of glitter with a cheap plastic tube attached. I think I had microphones on the brain because at a Primary music training meeting last week, someone suggested a great way to get children to sing well. The chorister walks around the room during a song with a microphone (unplugged) which she holds up in front of various children. Apparently even an unplugged mike in one's face gets kids singing as if they were being paid for it.

Now that I am the proud owner of TWO microphones, here are my plans.

1. Get Sage to call them microphones and not speakers.
2. Speak into the pink plastic microphone when I actually want Sage to pay attention. (She listened attentively to ALL of my Family Home Evening lesson on prayer, because I spoke into the pink plastic microphone, and allowed anyone willing to make a comment to speak in the microphone. Is this sacrilegious? Hopefully not because it was SO effective!)
3. My first post-Primary program music time is already under construction in my brain. The prop: glittery microphone. The game: Primary Idol. [Like American Idol, only without the disgusting outfits and mean judges.] It’s gonna be great.

In conclusion, my $3.50 was well spent today at Target. Maybe next time I'll be brave and buy a shirt for myself out of the little girls' section. Well, probably not.

Bravery

Things I have a hard time being brave about

1. dogs (any size, any distance)…okay, most animals. (This one deserves it’s own blog entry in the near future.)
2. italian dressing, and other vinaigrettes (For all those cloth diaper families out there: My mom used vinegar to minimize the foul stench that inevitably accompanies a diaper pail. Thus, to me and my sisters, vinegar=dirty diapers. That’s a hard association to overcome.)
3. needles (non-craft variety) I had a hard time watching people inject oranges with needles in Physiology.
4. putting my head anywhere near the base of a toilet (Pregnancy is a great excuse to pass the buck on the cleaning of the toilet. Unfortunately, our toilet is in dire need, so it might be time to get pregnant again.)
5. fish (touching our live goldfish when I clean the bowl, fish with head still on, eating some kinds of strong-flavored fish)
6. heights
7. basketball and some sports (I loved sports growing up. In high school, I broke my arm and dislocated my shoulder—missing two YW basketball seasons—and after that, I didn’t have the guts to go back because I didn’t think I was good enough.)
8. asking my neighbor for one of our garbage cans back (the one she borrowed 2 months ago.)
9. using the verb to lay/to lie in front of my dad, Kim, and Lupe –for fear of using it incorrectly, which is pretty much inevitable.
10. testing food for potential staleness or moldiness [I’d rather just throw it out, contrary to my upbringing.]
11. using a rectal thermometer to take my kids’ temperatures

Things I don’t have a hard time with:

1. vomit (This comes after a week of the stomach flu having circulated around our, Mark’s, and my families. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t love puke. But I can be pretty level headed about dealing with it.)
2. belting out songs in front of the primary kids each Sunday. (And this is not because I have a good voice.) Two years of being the chorister will do that to you, I guess.
3. trying a new kind of dessert. Or an old kind. Like I said, I'm pretty courageous about this.
4. [Danielle insisted I add this one. In her words:] Another significant thing Janel is brave about: opening tasty looking things in Mom's food storage room. She is the only one in our whole family brave enough to attempt this (although the rest of us are happy to join in once it has been opened).

That’s a very short list. In a last ditch attempt to preserve my self-esteem, I will call this second list a work in progress. To be continued…if--I mean when--I think of more things.

Sage's thoughts on Disney

Princess Underwear:
When we were potty training Sage, I bought a nice, inspiring pack of Disney princess underwear. One day I asked Sage if she wanted to wear the “Belle undies” (from Beauty and the Beast), and she shook her head and said, “I want Beast undies.” Can you imagine if Disney marketed a package of “Disney Villains” underwear? “Which undies would you like today, Sage? The ones with Ursula, Hades, Maleficent, Stromboli, or Jafar?”

Sequels:
Anyone that’s been disappointed by the pathetic sequel to The Land Before Time (and The Land Before Time 3, 4, 5,...,13), or the second and third Aladdin and Cinderella movies learns quickly that movies that are released directly to DVD/VHS are bound to be a cheap thrill--minus the thrill. Mark and I loved The Emperor’s New Groove, and were very pleasantly surprised with Kronk's New Groove when Becca bought it for us. (When I was up late nursing newborn Eliza, Becca and Mark would entertain me by performing the “Earth, Wind & Fire” dance from the movie.) One day when we were low on children’s movies (probably at the point in time when we had so many fines from turning in Dora movies late to the library that Mark forbade me from checking out any more), Mark let Sage watch Kronk’s New Groove. She liked it as much as her parents, because for about the next three weeks, Sage repeatedly requested a showing of Cramp’s New Groove.

Lost in Translation:
I have wasted a lot of money on toys that seem like sure successes, but fail to entertain. Most notably, the activity cube that collects dust in our living room. On the other hand, you never know when the eighty-eight cent purchase from musicdownloads.walmart.com will entertain for hours. Example: “Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo.” I am pretty sure Sage listened to that one song for two entire hours a day during the first month after I bought it. She sang with it, she danced to it, she talked about it. She’s dressing up like a fairy godmother for Halloween this year. It was a good eighty-eight cents. One time we were singing a capella and I drifted off before the whole song was sung (apparently a cardinal sin). Sage quickly rebuked me, saying, “You forgot ‘does the job’ mommy” [“the thingamabob that does the job is…”]. Later I overheard Sage singing “Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo” to herself in the bedroom. When she got to the line “Leave the sewing to the women” she sang, “Leave the sewing to the ribbit, You go get some trimming!” And then she paused to make an aside, no doubt with actions. “They will trim, trim, trim their nails.”

Grammar lesson:
Sage always wants me to watch movies with her. I have watched way too much Dora to be able to sit still for more than a minute or two during la exploradora’s hunt for the missing Easter Egg. But thankfully, Walt Disney must have had children of his own, and took pity on parents, setting a precedent in requiring that all his movies be geared for adults and children in their storyline, humor, and general appeal. Translation: parents won’t want to poke out their eyes after hearing a Disney movie again and again. Earlier this week, Sage wanted to watch Sleeping Beauty, who she used to call "Sleeping Goodee." I watched with her for a while, and then left the room for something. Apparently, while I was gone, critically important things happened [all of which I could quote verbatim, unbeknownst to Sage], and Sage was anxious to inform me about the new twist in the plot. “Maleficent put Sleeping Beauty in bed with a blankie, and she dead her… no, she got dead.”
Good thing she had her blankie.

Quotable Quotes:
After watching Monster’s Inc. two times, Sage told me that her favorite line was “This office is closed.” I wasn’t sure it was a true quote, but she insisted. Sage repeated the line in a scratchy-sounding voice, which led me to guess the source of the quote was Roz (think, “heh, heh, heh”). The quote surfaces when Roz refuses to listen to Mike’s excuses about not having turned in his paperwork, and she brings the window shut on his fingers with that timeless phrase, "This office is closed." Who would have guessed? Maybe only other girls that want to wear Beast undies.

My thesis on Murphy's Law

Since I am working on my master’s degree in motherhood, I am always on the lookout for a great thesis for the day or my life. Today’s thesis might be something like this. This morning=Murphy’s Law in the flesh. In fact, if a little bell rang out every time Murphy’s Law kicked into gear this morning, it might have sounded like the Ukrainian Bell Carol around here.

The morning began with Sage in my face at the side of my bed whispering to me that her bed was soaking wet. Darn it. I knew we should have waited to put her diaper on until after the pumpkin carving last night. Naturally, as Murphy’s law would dictate, I finished the last of, count them, FIVE batches of last week’s vacation laundry last night.

By the time I was done changing Sage’s sheets, I began to wonder why my head was pounding. Oh yes. A late night of blogging and ridiculous internet surfing ended a mere 6 hours ago. Maybe Sage would want to snuggle back into her nice fresh sheets, and I would gladly follow her lead.

Instead, for some reason, and for the first time in her life, Sage decided that she wanted to be fully dressed within 30 seconds of waking up. She didn’t even make it to the dresser to look for the day’s outfit. She yanked open the dryer and began rummaging. She procured some flowered jeans, and a clashing striped shirt. Although I rolled my eyes, I knew better than to open my mouth, since I was disinclined to hear the day's first tantrum before breakfast.

It is unlike Sage to get through a task without at least 17 distractions, so I was surprised to be sent off to find shoes and socks as soon as her pants were buttoned up. My shock came as much from being allowed free reign on finding a nice matching pair of shoes as from the passion with which she wanted to be ready for the day. Just when I thought I might be able to pop in a nice educational movie (or really any movie that she’d accept) and head back for the pillow, Sage commanded me to fix her hair. My brush was still missing from the vacation, and I realized that Eliza had commandeered my squirt bottle (again) for her own 1-year-old purposes. Thank you Murphy.

When Sage’s hair was fixed, without missing a beat, Eliza’s morning wakeup cry rang out on the monitor. It also rang out clearly without the monitor, since our house is indisputably not large enough to need a monitor (at least when I’m not under the influence of extreme sleep deprivation…usually related to some addicting blog called Midnight Musings).

My first big break came as my dear husband beat me to Eliza’s door (not hard to do considering I could barely walk straight), swooped Eliza up, sent me back to bed, changed Eliza’s diaper, fed the kids, and woke me an hour later when he had to leave (undoubtedly later than he had originally intended).

With this new, fresh start, I could walk and see much more clearly—well enough to notice that my face was still sporting a half dozen monster zits. If only Halloween were today. I could be Rudolph.

Next Murphy excitement was when Eliza picked up a marker, rammed it down her throat, and induced vomiting. Now I wasn’t around to see what she had for breakfast, but I was around to see that she undoubtedly ate a small feast.

A break from Murphy’s Law came in the arrival of Danielle and Jacob. Danielle, the most amazing pregnant woman I know, jumped right in and started cleaning up Eliza’s donation to the morning excitement. What a trooper, and what a stomach of steel. I feel like I was a pretty strong pregnant woman, but I still refused to clean the toilet. I mean totally refused.

Danielle was great. Between the two of us, we cleaned up Eliza, the floor, and kept three interested kids from investigating the mess. The casualty was the overlooked marker that induced this special moment. It was overlooked by me, but not by Curious George in human form--Jacob. He popped it right in his mouth. Sorry, Danielle.

Once separated from the marker, Curious George wandered off to find new fun. I was putting new clothes on Eliza when I heard Danielle scream, “No, Jacob, no!” which was followed by, “The fish!” I heard the splash, and knew instantly that Murphy was at work again. I put Eliza down, and ran to my bedroom, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. Wait, no, that’s what I wanted to do. Really I rushed into the kitchen to see what I knew had happened.

Now, I know I’ve got a good thesis statement, because I’m sure you can guess whether the overturned fish tank had been recently cleaned or not. This means that the kitchen table, highchair and floor were not only covered with two wriggling fish, but also with lots of floaties.

This picture was taken a couple of weeks ago when Curious George overturned the pitcher of strawberry lemonade. Can you see the lemonade on the table? That's what it looked like today, except today the water was greyish and the chunks didn't look or smell as nice as strawberries.

The second thesis statement (is that allowed?) for this entry is that I am surrounded by angel friends: Danielle, Mark, and many others. Danielle wins the halo award today, because with calm composure, she grabbed my dish gloves and rescued the slippery goldfish from a dry grave.

[May I take a moment to mention that a week ago my brother-in-law, Bryce, saw Jacob reaching his hand into the fish tank. Bryce was curious as to what Jacob would do if he actually caught the fish, so he sat back and watched. There were no halos awarded that day.]

When the dirty fish water was cleaned up, I checked the clock. 9:45am. We had to get out of the house, before it burned down. So we took a stroller ride up to Grandpa’s office. Eliza only pinched Sage 15 times before we switched her with Jacob; Jacob only pulled Sage’s hair five times; Sage only elbowed Jacob back at least five times. There was that little incident where Jacob pulled Grandpa’s TV off the shelf onto Sage. And on the way home, I didn't know whether to laugh or cringe when Sage told me, "Mommy, I don't love Jacob anymore." But all in all, Murphy’s Law seems to be weakening as the day wears on. Knock on wood.

Musical Instruments

One thing frequently holds true about those who are less familiar with instruments. They usually call any instrument from the string family a guitar or a violin, and any instrument from the woodwind family a flute.

Two noteworthy exceptions:

1. Sage calls most woodwinds oboes and most stringed instruments cellos. [This, I think, is a tribute to Becca (oboe) and Heather (cello), who she’s observed practicing many times.]

2. When I held up my flute in Primary and asked if anyone knew what it was, a sweet little 5 year-old confidently said, “That’s a trombone!”

I'm pleased to present this blog's first video clip! Suzy came over after work to run through a number Mark was accompanying her on. Sage insisted that she needed to play along on her "oboe."

Awwww

Today on our way to Mark's work, Eliza fell asleep in the car. When I got her out to carry her in, she was still asleep. I cradled her in my arms as I walked toward the building (with two delicious chocolate cakes in tow). I must have touched one of her (many) ticklish spots as I lumbered through the long parking lot, because in her sleep, Eliza suddenly tensed her stomach muscles and giggled. Awwww. Of course I couldn't resist another nudge in the sensitive zone. It worked like a charm. What a sweetie.

Williams Editorial

Mark asked me to make a chocolate cake for a little celebration they are having for a woman at his work tomorrow. When I asked if he wanted frosting on the already rich cake [it's not called Triple Chocolate Cake for nothing], he assured me that he did [which, technically would make it Quadruple Chocolate Cake], and then proceeded to give me a very careful description of the perfect chocolate frosting for this cake.

Five minutes into his instructions, I realized that I had better produce some seriously delicious frosting, because chocolate frosting is clearly not a thing Mark takes lightly. Just to clue in any of those non-frosting-snobs out there, there are a host of possibilities for frosting a cake, including any number of frostings, glazes and ganaches, not to mention various methods such as whipped, cooked or dug out of a Pillsbury can (which I also enjoy--especially with the chunks of chips...which Mark hates).

Far be it from me to imply that Mark is the only opinionated one in the house. In fact, something I've discovered while pondering the chocolate frosting dilemma is that all of us here in the Happy Williams Home can own up to a few obstinate beliefs--but they are never about politics or sports teams! We each have a few strong opinions about a few random things. Perhaps I should rename my blog as "Williams Editorial." Have a little peek at some of our idiosyncrasies.

ME:
--Instant mashed potatoes are NOT edible as a food source, unless in time of severe famine.
--We should be on time to church or injure ourselves trying

MARK:
--No calling on the phone before 9am, after 9pm, or on Monday night. [Don't worry...he doesn't mind if anyone calls us during these windows. He was brought up to avoid calling others at these times at all costs.]
--An important philosophy is that of "caloric waste"--Don't waste calories on something that is not exceedingly delicious.

SAGE:
--The green sippie cup and green plate are inherently superior and preferable to any other dish. An exception might be made if the green dishes are dirty, and Mom refuses to wash them.
--If there are any eggs that need to be counted and cracked for a recipe, Sage gets first dibs.

ELIZA:
--All cell phones within sight or grasp can be confiscated and instantly become property of the second Williams girl.
--Anytime the bathroom door is left open, a scrap of toilet paper must be secured and deposited in the toilet.

There you have it. You've been warned. If there are any who enjoy eating instant mashed potatoes and inferior chocolate cake on green plates, beware next time you come to visit our house. You might just want to double check your pockets to make sure your cell phone is secure.

October joys

Four things that made me happy this week:

1. This pumpkin pillow that I made in Notre Dame
Thanks to a very crafty friend, Kelly M, who started me on the path to [attempted, in my case] domesticity!

2. Grape tomatoes
I had to make two pasta salads this week, because I thought these fresh garden tomatoes looked so great, especially cut in half. Thanks to Trine's super pasta salad recipe.

3. My kids' enthrallment with dressing up in Halloween costumes.

I'm happy to report that Sage now allows me to put a shirt on under the wings of her "Fairy Godmother" outfit. But it's Eliza that has been so funny about strutting her stuff in her pig costume. This is the same costume she wore a year ago. I think she's probably about the same weight, just much taller, and much more interested in keeping a pig snout on her head than when she was 4 months old!

I put the costume on Eliza, sure that she'd rip it right off. She didn't at first, so I took her in front of the mirror. She eyed her reflection with confusion, then interest, then obvious pleasure when she recognized her new snout. After that, she wouldn't take it off, in spite of it's resemblance to all her other pink PJ's (just with a few new extremities: snout, ears, eyes and curly tail!)

To top it off, Eliza located a pair of cute pink flower flip flops (from Addisyn and Amy!). She shoved them in my hand, then plopped down in my lap and stuck out her foot like she was Cinderella. I don't know if she matched the color of her costume and the flip flops, or if she just thought that some flower flip flops would really make the costume, but they were a necessity in her mind. I didn't have the heart to put her in bed for another hour because she was happily trotting around the house in her costume, pointing to her second set of ears and chanting "pit." In the picture below, she's looking at the pig on a page of farm animals.

4. A hillarious blog entry by my sister, Danielle, entitled "Why You Should Not Ride the Zipline in the Third Trimester"
I've been chuckling about it all week, and making all my visitors sit down and read it.
I have really enjoyed reading all my friends' blogs, and writing in my own. I am so pleased with blogging as a means for keeping in touch, and for sharing happy things (and anything else) with friends.

Patriotism from the eyes of a 3-year-old

View from the top of Pike's Peak (Colorado Springs, CO)
Mark, Janel, Sage (14 months)

Mark is from Colorado Springs, a beautiful city nestled next to the Rocky Mountain chain. In May we taught Sage (almost 3 years old) the first verse of "America the Beautiful” on a 10-hour car trip, when we were driving past Pike's Peak (the mountain in Colorado Springs that literally inspired the line about "purple mountains").

Last week I decided to dust off "America the Beautiful" for a naptime song with Sage. Here's the interesting rendition I got.

“Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of GAMES”

"For purple mountain majesties above the fruited “PLAYS”

[Anyone else thinking of Ramona Quimby's "dawnzer lee light?"]

When Sage first learned the song, she was clearly confused about the relationship between Utah, Indiana, Arizona, California, America, and the United States (the only abstract locations that meant anything to her). When she started asking about "brotherhood," it dawned on me that there's a reason she hasn't learned this song in nursery yet. And if anyone has a good definition for "crown thy good with brotherhood," I would be interested.

I'm forced to wonder whether Sage has always thought this is a song that might be better titled "Fun and games in America" than "America the Beautiful." Maybe next time we'll just stick with "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam."

Like mother like daughter

I have resigned myself to having no say in the shoes Sage decides to wear each day. When it's time to go somewhere, Sage, and Sage alone, chooses which shoes to wear. Beware if Eliza tries to take a shoe once it's been selected. Beware if I try to help her put said shoes on before she attempts them, remembers she doesn't know how to tie shoelaces, and asks for help. Beware if anyone tries to rush her in choosing a shoe. Beware the tantrums.

I recently learned a trick from Mark. My dear husband has started getting up with the girls and letting me sleep in the morning. When I wake up after a blessed extra half an hour of sleep, Sage and Eliza are almost always fully dressed—which is an impressive amount of progress to have made in a mere half an hour. But here's the genius Mark discovered--if you get Sage dressed early enough in the morning, she's likely to be too groggy to remember to pick only the pink or blue sweatsuit (again) out of her full dresser of cute, underused clothes, and insist on color coordinating her shirt and underwear.

Yesterday I tried to break the rules. Mark had dressed Sage in some cute red track pants. When it came time to put on shoes, I REALLY wanted her to wear her red Nike shoes. (When else do you wear red Nike shoes from a garage sale?) Unfortunately, but naturally, she was dead set on wearing black ballerina shoes. With track pants.

So I did the unthinkable. I bribed her. "I'll give you a candy if you wear the red shoes." Naturally she acquiesced. And I happily gave her the candy and put on the red shoes. Which brings their total usage to three times. Well worth the tootsie roll.

In Sage's defense (and because I know my mom will leave indignant comments on this post if I end now), I must confess a few idiosyncrasies from my past. Long past, I'll have you know. I had a little bit of a reputation for being rather opinionated about clothes when I was in 5^th grade. Lest you get the wrong idea, I must be clear that I did not really know a thing about fashion. I just had very strong opinions about clothes.

Janel's (5th grade) cardinal sins included the following:

1. wearing socks that were not the color of your shirt. (Ex: red shirt, jeans, and white socks. Terrible.)

2. wearing a shirt that was darker than the shorts/skirt/pants you had on [I remember being astounded by my gym teacher's outfit one day: magenta shirt and white skirt. What was she thinking?]

3. going more than two days without wearing lycra/spandex shorts—preferably black. [I remember someone asking me if I had more than one pair of lycra black shorts. I wish I had thought to lie and say yes.]

4. wearing a watch that was not sporty looking.

Bangs were another issue of tremendous importance. Bangs needed to be fixed and hairsprayed heavily, directly after showering—even if this took place at nighttime—so as not to move a millimeter, even in the strongest of winds. Hats were virtually ruled out, because of their propensity for squishing bangs. [Although, with great care, a baseball hat might be perched on top of the large boat of bangs, if the family were going to play baseball for FHE, and mom were to be videotaping and taking still shots throughout, to be used to torment me in later years.] I know that if I submitted a resume to Denny's with my 5^th grade picture, there's no way I would not be hired. [To this day, the mere words "bangs" and "hairspray" make me cringe a little. Probably because I wonder if someone's about to break out a picture of me from 5^th grade, and burst into raucous laughter.]

Wilson Family Home Evening

(I wish I could say I'm the little one wearing pink, but unfortunately, that's the always cute Suzy. I'm the big one wearing pink. Also wearing big bangs. And bright pink and blue spandex shorts which, happily, are hidden. Let the raucous laughter begin.)

If my mom was making a visit to school, I told her which clothes to wear [or more specifically, which ones to not wear…like those pink culottes], and I set out outfits for her and my youngest siblings--just in case my friends saw them. To my mom's credit, she never complained, and always obliged. Which was above and beyond the standard duties of a mother, I think. I might call it charity.

My sister, Danielle, was my most avid student in the fashion world. I taught her everything I thought about fashion...for which I owe her a very big apology.

Danielle's husband, Adam, has been known to ask "Why did your mom let you wear that stuff and get those glasses? And why didn't she help you with your hair?" The answer is, I'm sure Mom tried, with absolutely no luck. She probably wondered if too many hairspray fumes had caused permanent damage to my brain. I wonder how often she hoped and assured herself that "This too shall pass."

So, when Sage decides to wear the blue sweatsuit for the third time in a week, and chooses her pink Dora jellies to go with it, I should just be grateful that she's not setting out my outfit…or running off with the hairspray bottle.

PS--All included images are copyrighted, and my husband is almost a lawyer, so don't even THINK about trying to save the baseball picture to your computer...or else!

We're all out

A few days ago we needed to go somewhere so I asked Sage to go put on some shoes. She told me that she was going to wear flip flops. After searching unsuccessfully for the second shoe, Sage returned and broke the bad news.

"I think we're all out of flip flops."

I wonder if Old Navy will buy that same logic from me when I try to return that new shirt for which I lost the receipt.

"I need to return this shirt."
"Do you have a receipt?"
"No, I think I'm all out of those."

Halloween is coming

Now that it's officially past October 1st, I feel justified in ushering in many happy Halloween traditions from my childhood. I have a hard time explaining why I love Halloween so much. It's kind of irrational, I guess. The candy after Oct 31st is a nice perk, but there's much more than that. I love the Halloween decorations (the cute ones, of course). I love everything about fall: the colors, the cool air, the smell of wood-burning stoves, the chance to wear pants again (thus rendering shaving unnecessary). I admit it--I love all the seasons, but fall is perhaps a step ahead of the rest. [I bet if I asked Danielle, and maybe watched Jacob for a few hours, my dear sister could write a really nice fall poem to go hand-in-hand with "Spring."]

Yesterday Danielle and I sorted through 5 boxes of old Halloween costume kits that we wore growing up. Sage really wanted to be a princess, but was too embarrassed to try on the costumes with others looking, so I brought a few home. This morning Sage asked me, "Can I just sit down on this chair and think about what I’m going to be for Halloween, Mom?” So I pulled out the costumes, and let her dress up.

She liked being a ghost (for 15 seconds). She kept the witch outfit on long enough for me to get a picture. (So cute!--even though the hat looks like it belongs to Barbossa the pirate from this angle.)

Then we came to the princess outfit. Sage loved it all--wand, crown and skirt. There was no designated princess shirt, and Sage wouldn't hear of me putting on one of her own with the princess costume. She insisted on adding on a pair of fairy wings I had also brought home (still sans shirt). She pranced around the house singing "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo" and waving her wand at Mark, Eliza and me, and "changing" us into various things. So far tonight, I've been Cinderella, a horse, a dog and a pig, and a few other inanimate objects like a door and a pumpkin.

When it was bedtime, Sage was so unwilling to relinquish her newfound "identity" that we practically had to peel it off her. I asked her if she had chosen to be a fairy princess after all. She said, "No, Mommy. I'm a fairy godmother." It could be worse, I thought, as I pictured the Disney's Fairy Godmother's outfit--hooded periwinkle mumu complete with hideous moth-like magenta bow. It could be much worse.

Dress up time wasn't the only time we devoted to thinking of Halloween today. We also sang the very repetitive song "Halloween is Coming" (a Wilson classic), no less than 30 times today. (By the way, my dad is the only person I know of who made their children "Halloween-carol" a half dozen families before we were allowed to begin the real trick-or-treating.)

"Halloween is coming, coming, coming
Halloween is coming, oh what fun
There'll be lots of ____, ____, ____
There'll be lots of ____, oh what fun!"

Once Sage had exhausted all the Halloween items she could think of (witches, ghosts, princesses, pigs, candy, trick-or-treaters, chocolate, etc.), she moved onto other unrelated food items, mostly from Grandpa's garden and orchard (peaches, pears, tomatoes, etc.).

Halloween is coming, but not quickly enough. Maybe by the time Oct 31st actually rolls around, we'll be so sick of singing Halloween songs and dressing up that we'll just want to skip it ...Nah! October and fall are too fun to get grumpy. I think I can put up with a fairy godmother singing "there'll be lots of tomatoes" and turning me into a door a few more times.

Splish splash

Just before Sage turned two, she learned the first few lines of “Splish splash, I was taking a bath,” and loved to sing them. She wasn’t particularly selective about when she sang what originated as a bathtub song. One day, at one of my prenatal appointments, there was a medical student that came in to observe. I was busy talking to the doctor, but I could see Sage was trying to get the medical student’s attention. Finally I heard her inform the student loudly, “Splish splash I was taking a bath!” When all else fails, quote Oldies songs, I guess.

A few weeks later, I poked my head into Sage's nursery class on Sunday. Eight little kids were busy eating graham crackers and raisins when Sage piped up, “Splish splash, I was taking a bath!” The nursery leader, surprised, said, “Oh, really, Sage!”

One of my favorite words from 2^nd grade was “onomatopoeia,” meaning, a word that sounds like what it means. (Examples: buzz, beep, thud.) Anyone who has a one-year-old child can assure you, from experience, that “splish splash” is a prime example of onomatopoeia. A toddler playing in the toilet makes exactly the noise “splish splash.” The splish is the initial dunk into the water, and the splash is the slapping of the water against the toilet bowl. Or, if the initial entry was forceful enough, the splash is likely the water making contact with the arms, face, and body of the toddler, or even possibly the bathroom floor or walls. Do I sound like I know from experience? Well, after today I do!

This morning I was putting on my makeup in my typical mommy weekday fashion (the bare essentials as fast as I possibly could). I was hoping to get out of the bathroom before Eliza found a stray piece of TP (probably used from the garbage) that she could relocate to the toilet bowl. I was just screwing the mascara lid closed when I heard the dreadful “splish splash.” Eliza had just dunked a graham cracker into the toilet and was bringing it toward her mouth. With lightning-like reflexes that surprised even myself, I snagged the piece of cracker, and was lathering Eliza’s hands at the sink before she could blink.

After a gentle scolding, I set Eliza outside the bathroom door, hoping she’d toddle happily over to the many exciting toys that were genuine toys, and not in any way related to bodily functions. I resumed my Olympic training for the 5-second-foundation-application event, mentally congratulating myself for my quick work with the graham cracker. Not surprisingly, Eliza was back in the bathroom before the 5-second-workout was over, and I handed her my powder brush to buy myself 10 more seconds to put my makeup back in the bag.

I have tried to relive the following 10 seconds and figure out what happened to those lightning-like reflexes that previously saved Eliza from her attempted morning snack of sewer water s’mores. They say lightning never strikes the same place twice. Once again, came the "splish splash." Eliza was merrily stirring away—churning up the toilet water (now laden with crumbs from the disintegrating graham cracker) with my makeup brush.

Splish splash, the makeup brush was taking a bath. Onomatopoeia in the flesh.

Chocoholics Anonymous

Mark's triple chocolate cake

Please join me in a round of applause for one full day of no treats consumption by me! I am proud to announce that, in spite of temptation, I resisted and did not yield to the whispers (and shouts) from my treat cupboard, the two open cans of chocolate frosting in the fridge, the leftover s’mores ingredients from last week, Cookies’n’Cream ice cream, and other lonely goodies.

The motivation for this goal came from an evaluation of the definite increase in the size of my stomach after last week’s trip to Arizona, where we were wined and dined at Krista and Bryce’s wedding reception and the tables of our friends the Kings and the Mears.

To what do I attribute this happy milestone of sweet deprivation? Well definitely not to myself, for having a year’s supply of chocolate chips (that’s a lot for our family), among other things. And definitely not to my sister (who wishes to remain anonymous) who came over and said, “Let’s go get in your discipline cupboard” right when I was getting really hungry (the temptation-filled hour: 3:30-4:30pm).

My discipline cupboard is much like my dad’s “research drawer” at his office. It’s got treats galore. Unlike the research drawer, my discipline cupboard is specifically labeled to encourage guilt in anyone who chooses to peruse its contents. The exception is for me, as I have learned to easily ignore the large bold font of the bright red sign that reads “DISCIPLINE IS REMEMBERING WHAT I REALLY WANT.” When I pointed out the discipline motto, the aforementioned sister, who we will call DW, clarified “But I really want chocolate.” So I let her.

Now, when I say I was “sweet-free” today, I must admit that I may have consumed a bowl or two of Marshmallow Matey’s, and perhaps I put away a piece or two of coffee cake. But these are part of an in-between class of food that allows me to wean off sweets without having to break out in hives randomly throughout the day when I accidentally pass the discipline cupboard.

My decision to go sans treats today must have been inspired by the dental gods, because Eliza chose today to abscond with the toothpaste, which I didn’t realize until 11:00pm. I know everyone says toothpaste is really soap. Well, it’s not. Soap is much, much fouler tasting than toothpaste. A trip to Walmart is definitely in order first thing tomorrow. Maybe the chocolate chips will be on sale…

Disclaimer: No Dove chocolates, or sweets of any other kind were consumed in the composing of this post.

Would you rather...?

When my youngest sister, Heather, was little, she went through a very long phase of asking everyone questions like “Would you rather fall off and mountain and die, or be lit on fire?” To really shake things up, she began investigating our spiritual devotion as well. “Would you rather lose your testimony, or be eaten by sharks?”

Tonight I wondered if four-year-old Heather might have been interested in a not-so-hypothetical question I formulated at the 10^th hour of our 12 hour car trip. “Would you rather have your toddler throw up in the car or on an airplane?”

And, unlike many years ago, when I had never had any experience with either part of the question, I can say that Sage throwing up in the car today was slightly less painful than Sage throwing up in the airplane two years ago.

I admit there are a few lurking variables. But here are the constants. In both instances:

--I smelled like vomit for 3 hours after the incident (in spite of clean up attempts).

--Sage’s precious “baby blanket” was rendered out of commission (bad news).

--The deed took place after dinner at a fast food place (foul, foul, foul).

Reasons to choose the car over the plane:

--A finite number of people fit in a car. (Tonight there were only 3 other people to witness, hear, and smell the deed. Airplanes hold a few more.)

--Family members are more forgiving than Southwest patrons.

--You can open up a car window for ventilation.

--The odor eliminating spray the airline attendants use only works for 30 minutes.

So, next time Heather asks, tell her I'd rather eat dirt than have a toddler throw up anywhere near me, but I would also rather the toddler threw up in a car than that I find out The Book of Mormon is not true.