Spare time

My dad always used to say “the mark of a true genius is what he does in his spare time.” Of course, he always said this to us to lecture us when we were in high school. No high schooler wants to hear this at 8am on a Saturday morning. He also used this quote to get us motivated to work in the garden.

About a month ago, I needed something for Sage’s urgent ear infection. My sis, Danielle, was nice enough to watch all the kids while I took off with the prescription and a good book. I was planning on reading while they filled it, but I got a little sidetracked. I drifted over to the spices aisle and spent 20 minutes examining McCormick’s new line (and by “new” I mean developed within the last 3 ½ years…the time I’ve been a mother. Who has time to look at new spices with kids in tow at the store?) The reason my time on the spice aisle is limited is that I know for a fact that there are no spices with Dora’s face on them, to tempt younger children into interest while I examine McCormick’s “garlic herb” “garden herb” “garlic pepper” and other variations. [By the way, what in the world are cardamom seeds, and why do they cost $15? Maybe I need some.]

So, there you go. In my “free time” at the grocery store, I look at spices. Does that make me a true genius? Probably not. I guess I'm just a true eater at heart.

Gold's Gym

Tonight Mark and I decided to make use of some free 24-hour passes to Gold’s Gym that we had. When we arrived at the gym, we were welcomed by a guy with a hairdo that should be called “mohawk meets mullet.” I was scared.

I had a hard time paying attention to the representative’s descriptions of the many plans and their features, partly because I couldn’t imagine how hair like that could be socially acceptable under any circumstance, and partly because I’d never seen so many TVs going at the same time in one room.

Mullet-mohawk man kept our driver’s licenses--no doubt to copy down our address and phone numbers for future harassment purposes--and let us in. I don’t remember the last time I got to spend over an hour working out without kids in tow!

As luck would have it, I had packed a white shirt and black shorts to exercise in. Little did I know, 95% of Gold’s Gym’s patrons tonight were wearing some variation of white shirt, black shorts. Luckily, no one else had chosen to sport the mohawk-mullet, otherwise, I might have ditched the free pass and run right home.

I logged time on the elliptical and spent more energy trying to keep my eyes away from the subtitles on a cartoon I found highly offensive, and ill-deserving of the word “family” in its title, than I probably spent on the exercise itself. Then I tried out the treadmill (all the while wondering if I did buy a pass, and brought some friends, if Gold’s Gym would let us practice the amazing treadmill dance on their equipment).

Not to be outdone by Mark, who was still going strong on the weights, I jumped on a stationary bike and tried to pretend like I was not trying to keep up with my neighboring biker. Ten minutes later, when my self-esteem and thighs were shot, I left my neighbor to continue his training for the Tour de France, and went to check out the hot tub.

The hot tub was great, and luckily there was a sauna to dry off in afterwards, because I had convinced Mark that surely the gym supplied towels for its patrons. Oops.

The last feat of the night consisted of trying to get our driver’s licenses back without wasting half an hour explaining why we weren’t willing to make a 3 year commitment, even if mullet-mohawk man dropped the exorbitant joining fee “because it’s a slow Friday night.” Sensing we were staunch in our determination to not be made suckers, he desperately asked us if there was anything he could do to change our minds and get us to commit to a 3-year-plan tonight. Mark told him our idea of an acceptable price range, and mullet-mohawk man shook his head with what almost looked like anger and said “No way!” before sliding our licenses across the table.

I won’t deny that I looked longingly at the childcare center as we left Gold’s Gym. But, let’s face it. I’m better off running on the streets around my home. Then I won’t have to look at ginormous posters of women with 6-packs, wearing sports bras, and I can wear whatever color shirt and shorts I want!

It's a girl!

Congratulations to Danielle, and her new baby girl, Cindy Rose Woodbury!

Mom and baby are both doing great after a 1 hour labor and no epidural!

click here for more details

Let it snow

Utah is a beautiful place in the wintertime

A rock and a hard place

While trying to cook broccoli in the microwave today, I blew the breaker three times. A trip to the apartment upstairs assured me that I was the only one accessing electricity from that breaker. Further investigation brought the terrible realization that I was basically only running my Christmas tree lights, computer and microwave.

One of the benefits of living in a college town is that there are bound to be dozens of discarded Christmas trees in students' front yards the week before Christmas (but after finals). My brothers-in-law recycled a beautiful tree, and even gave it a little trimming to accommodate our ceiling, leaving a bit of a platform on top that was perfect for perching a big, tacky gift bow. Although our Christmas tree has only been with us a few days, I am extraordinarily attached to it. It smells fabulous, and has surprising Febreze-like capabilities for overriding residual dirty diaper smells. I have made a pact to never water it, because the scent of dry pine needles being vacuumed up always reminds me of Christmas.

Even the distinctive odors of cooked broccoli tonight were lessened by our majestic Christmas tree--lessened by the strong pine scent, as well as the tragic fact that the microwave and our sparkling Christmas lights refused to coexist.

And thus begins the battle of microwave v. Christmas lights v. computer. I find myself between a rock and a hard place. Or two rocks and a hard place. Or whatever. Sage's biggest beef with the power outage was definitely the loss of her progress on her "Playhouse Disney" game. I know my brother-in-law Adam would be more than happy to boot the microwave. Little Jacob would too, knowing his "love" for broccoli.

As for myself, I think I can even sacrifice the convenience of 30-second zapped hot dogs for lunch to keep the Christmas mood alive for a few more fragrant and happy days of December. Happy holidays!

Pictures

Yep, I'd say we definitely have some holiday confusion.
But she sure makes a cute Christmas witch.

The princesses
Cinderella (Eliza), Belle (Sage), Rapunzel (Karin), Snow White (Rachel)

Thanks, Debra and John.

Christmas confusion

Today is the penultimate day of our very successful and happy vacation. We drove to Colorado the day after Mark's LAST FINAL (insert chorus of hallelujahs here), flew to Chicago, drove to Indiana, spent a wonderful weekend with South Bend friends, flew back to Colorado, and have jumped around, staying with 3 of Mark's siblings and dad.

Poor Sage--she can't even remember which house is "home." On the other hand, "Poor Sage" also has been pampered with Christmas gifts at each location. If you count the 7 of 12 days of Christmas we got before we left Utah prematurely, Sage has had almost 3 weeks of Christmas gifts. Poor Santa is more like it.

In the confusion that accompanies life when you're living out of 3 big duffel bags, I must have neglected Sage's instruction on typical Christmas traditions. How do I know? Because of a conversation we had this morning.

Last night, my sister-in-law bought adorable princess dresses for my girls. I told Sage this morning that there was a present under the tree for her. She got very excited, and leaped to her feet almost immediately, surely planning to seek out the 21st day of Christmas present. Then she stopped abruptly and earnestly asked me "Which tree?"

Which tree? I could just see the wheels in her brain turning. Is it the tree in the front yard or back yard, or maybe the fake one upstairs?

Which tree? Now the wheels are turning in my head. If I haven't taught her that most people (without curious one-year-olds) put presents under their Christmas trees, we probably haven't done justice to the discussion of "Santa" either. Which explains why she refuses to sit on Santa's lap. She must be thinking, "Who the heck is this big guy in funny clothes that's always doling out gross candy canes?"

On the other hand, after today, maybe Santa won't be a problem any more. This morning, at her cousin's preschool Christmas party, Sage refused to sit on Santa's lap, but asked me to relay the message (almost identical to her cousin's before her) that she wanted a "Belle" dress [that's the first I'd heard of that] and lipstick [meaning lip smackers]. We returned home shortly after the party and there was a Belle dress under the tree. The Christmas tree, that is.

I think Sage just might be a believer now, in spite of her lack of training. Let's just hope Santa knows which tree to put the presents under. Assuming he hasn't run out for presents for Sage by then.

[Many thanks to all the Santas that have been so generous to us. We feel grateful and humbled to have such good friends and family.]

Christmas wishes

For Sage's naptime song a few days ago, she chose "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," and she sang away merrily:

We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
and a happy new day.

Why not? Hope you're having a happy day.

Worthy investements

It took me a couple of Halloweens as a mother to realize that some costumes are a big fat waste of $15. (Example: the ladybug costume that got worn for 1/2 an hour before a certain 2-year-old boycotted the antennae hood, and all the rest, for that matter.)

One of my nephews, Evan, earned himself the near-permanent nickname of Buzz for wearing his Toy Story-inspired Halloween costume approximately every day for two years. It has been passed through two of his younger siblings and is definitely worse for the wear, but is probably the best $30 investment his parents could have made to further the entertainment and creative play of their kids. I saw Evan yesterday and today and both times he was sporting a full-body Spiderman costume for a significant part of each day (beginning the second he got home from church till bedtime on Sunday and from the second he got off the bus till bedtime today, I think). I laughed at Buzz, but now I'm beginning to wise up.

Allow me a small contrast about toy investments. Today, Evan's mom watched my girls while I got some shopping done (THIS is a Christmas gift in and of itself). Do you know how many aisles are devoted to toys at Walmart? They comprise an area approximately equal to the city block I live on. And how many of these toys are worth their cost? I have no idea, but from my personal experience, it's not many. I want to learn how to choose the best toys--the ones that encourage creative play, instead of merely logging time as the toy bucket "benchwarmers." Couldn't someone write a book explaining why the ladybug costume was going to be a failure and why the pig costume was going to last, and how that applies to cooking sets, princess costumes, trains, and stuffed animals?

Here's my little Christmas pig, living it up in her favorite dress up. And if anyone tells her that Santa's sleigh isn't pulled by pigs, they're in big trouble.

The costume's a little tight now (it is 3-6 month size after all), but Eliza's content to just wear the hood over her head, and let the rest hang.

I hope Santa checks his list twice and informs his elves which toys are going to be the good ones [and I really hope they don't make noise], and maybe the elves can somehow get the word out to Walmart and Target. Because I've got too many boxes of ladybug-costume-like-toys and not enough of Buzz Lightyear and the pigs.

Help an Elf

This Christmas elf is needing a little help with a gift idea.

In Mark's family, there is a Christmas gift rotation each year, and we have Mark's dad this year. We want to do something special with the eulogy that Mark wrote for his mom's funeral in February, but I can't think of anything in specific. It's about 2 1/2 pages, so it would be too small to bind (right?), and it would be too long to hang in a frame.

Does anyone have any good ideas?

See some real Christmas elves (Sage and Eliza) dancing it up here and check out Mr. Mark Scrooge here. (Although after Tuesday, when he finishes his last final exam EVER, I'm sure we'll see him do a happy elf dance, at the very least!)

Time out

Somehow Sage convinced Eliza to share a chair with her. Eliza was content for a while. A short while. But Eliza (inevitably) got sick of having a book smashed into her face by "the librarian" or "mommy" or whatever Sage was pretending to be. Unfortunately, "the mommy" wasn't ready to relinquish her child. [Note the gritted teeth in the second picture.]

__

When I realized what was going on, I pulled the chair out, causing Eliza to fall lightly to the floor.

Sage, still fully immersed in her role play, wasted no time in flexing her mommy muscles and lecturing me:

"Don’t do that. Don’t bonk Eliza off. That was a problem. Go to time out.”

There was a problem, but I don't think it was my rescuing Eliza. I think the problem might be the three-year-old dictator. [Do I sound like that when I issue time outs?]

On second thought, maybe next time I'll accept the punishment, and flee to the time out for a little respite from the dictator. I could use 3 minutes of banishment here and there throughout the day.

Things We Like About Mark

The world would be a better place if everyone got a list like this for their birthday. [And if everyone knew the Mark that Krista does.]

Things We Like About Mark

by Krista and Bryce

edited by Janel [with brackets], on the assumption that not everyone can handle reading the word "pannus" in a blog

1. He’s nice.
2. He doesn’t hit other cars too often.
3. He likes to “love you tender.”
4. He has big calves.
5. He does a mean shoulder roll. [He credits Danielle for this move.]
6. The nutcracker, Mark, a bathrobe. [If you don’t know, don’t ask. It was a late night.]
7. There’s usually whole milk in his fridge. [Uh, Bryce, I think that’s for the 1-year-old, not the 100-pound-birthday boy…Maybe the 100-pounder should drink the whole milk.]
8. He reads blogs.
9. He has purple eyelids [as does his posterity…mostly daughter #2, who looks a lot like his mom].
10. He taught Eliza to say “adios” [and other things in Spanish].
11. He listens to late night woes from in-laws [and his spouse].
12. Two words: big nicey [which is somehow different from #1, I guess].
13. White and delightsome [in the words of my mom for the times she exchanged her usual pants for shorts].
14. He puts up with Wilson cat jokes and presents. [It’s true. As proof I offer the fact that Becca and Jordan gave him a Christmas cat potholder. And I thought those were only available on the black market…I mean Big Lots.]
15. [Okay, I won't deprive you of Krista's warped sense of humor:] He doesn't have a pannus. [Look it up if you want, but don't say I didn't warn you.]

Happy birthday, Mark.

It's not easy being three

Today I was reading a national geographic book called “The Big Cats” about lions, tigers, cougars, etc., to Sage. I turned to the jaguar page and asked if she knew what the animal was. She barely hesitated before responding “Dorito.”

“Dorito?” I repeated with confusion, wondering if she was serious. Her earnest face assured me that she wasn’t joking. Before I could decipher her response, Sage recognized her mistake and quickly corrected herself. “Cheeto.”

I blame Frito-Lay's Chester the Cheetah for this. After all, it's not easy being cheesy. Or being three.

Post birthday letdown

A few thoughts. [Incoherence likely due to overconsumption of sugar.]

…must not eat another piece of chocolate cake, or my stomach might explode…

...must not think about the comprehensive health reform goals required to counteract the birthday sugar binging...

…must not stack another dirty dish by the sink, or the counter might implode…[Even worse than a big pile of Sunday night dishes is a big pile of Sunday night dishes in a sink that needs to be fixed using a tool outside in the garage in the 27 degree weather.]

…must not receive any more birthday pampering, or my ego might explode, and I might decide to never do another chore again. Such nice birthday messages, partying, and babysitting of the kiddos are enough to make me feel like queen for a day, though they certainly do make life seem severely dull the next.

...must remember to thank the husband again for letting me cancel our ritzy birthday dinner date in order to relax and watch hairspray over some tasty grilled cheese sandwiches.

...must wear my new socks to bed. Ahhhhh, bed. I'm old enough now to go to bed at 9pm without shame, right? Buenas noches.