Going, going, gone

Whoever said that "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery" must not have had a blog. In actuality, comments are the best form of flattery. What I mean is, I'm flattered at the outpouring of interest in a picture of me wearing a ruffly tent and eyeliner mustache. Unfortunately, I will now have to resign any interests I may have had in running for President of the United States, because that picture of me "crossdressing" would be bound to surface. As I have no nude photo shoots to my name, I may still keep myself in the running for other important posts, such as PTA president, or city Bingo Coordinator. That’s a relief.

As every good thing must come to an end, I am removing my Nacho wannabe picture from the World Wide Web, and none too soon, I think. This experience has taught me a few important things. First, if you’re low on self-esteem (and/or comments), post a picture of yourself in a silly costume. Second, always leave it to Mickey to liven up the comment section. Third, I AM BRAVE!!! Hooray. This Nacho-like show of bravery has filled my courage quota for at least a year or so.

To quote Nacho himself, “I know the wrestlers [and ruffly shirt wearers] get all the fancy ladies, and the clothes, and the fancy creams and lotions [and blog comments]. But my life is good! Really good!”

Mine is, too. I’m glad I donned the ruffly shirt, but now I’m content to give it up, because I’ve got friends who read my writing, and my life is good. Really good!

"You guys are the behhhhst!"

Quantity vs. quality

Never have I been so anxious to post on my blog as today, with the overt attempt to put some space and ink between...well, you know what, and the top of my blog.

Luckily, we had another event yesterday that was worthy of a few pictures. Eliza got her first haircut! She was being plagued with the "18-month-female-mullet" syndrome. Other babies sport the mullet sooner...probably those lucky babies who are born with a crop of beautiful hair. My babies are nearly bald at birth and even balder a month later. Thus the mullet hits us a little later.

Sage definitely sported this mullet. She had a few curls to cover it up, but one day Mark decided to blow dry her hair, and that brought out the awful truth: the mullet was alive and well. Not a day went by that I didn’t attempt to hide the mullet in little pigtails.

I wised up a little sooner with Eliza and decided a haircut was in order after looking over our weekend pictures at a friend’s cabin in Sundance.

The picture came as something of a revelation, a definite clincher to the hair question that all parents of little girls must ask: quantity or quality? When do you snip off those baby curls in favor of a more grown up and groomed and non-mulletish look? The answer for me was as soon as possible.

Lucky for us, my mom is a jack of all trades, and that includes haircutting (as well as mustache painting, which she also did for one of Eliza's relatives that morning). My mom is also one of the most creative and innovative people I know. In no time she had Eliza strapped in a booster seat that was perched on three phone books, happily licking a sucker and watching Cinderella. Then with a torn rotator cuff, my mom still managed to whip out a stylin' haircut in just a few minutes.

Of course, Sage was not about to let Eliza get away with all the excitement, or all of the sucker, for that matter. She begged for her own chance in the makeshift barbershop chair. Since I wasn't about to give up her curls yet, Mom strapped Sage in, and gave her a literal haircut. She cut one hair. But then she brushed and combed long enough for Sage to take out most of the barbershop sucker, and get in a good fill of Cindrella.

The final product:

I think that settles the quantity vs. quality debate for me. Short hair wins out for Eliza. And just in case the mullet does come back in style, I know a great barber! Thanks, Mom.

For a limited time only

It is with great embarrassment and regret (already), that I present Nacho's ruffly shirt and a Nacho wannabe in a ruffly tent. This special offer is available ONLY for a VERY limited time. Translation: Here's a little gift to my most avid blog readers. In 48 hours, Nacho's look alike will only be a very bad memory...
Hug hug, kiss kiss.
Janel and Nacho

[Picture removed]


"I am a-singing at the party
I am singing it's my turn to sing at this party
Everyone is dancing, happy party
But Ramses is not dancing he does not dance at the parties
Ramses' number one he knows the secret of desire
Ramses is the one, he puts the people all on fire..."

Ruffles libres

Do you ever get the feeling that everyone is watching you, and not because you have an amazing haircut, or a sweet new pair of pants, or even a really cute newborn? [Actually, Suzy is the one with the sweet haircut, Danielle’s got the cute newborn, and I did get a new pair of pants, but it was up a size from the last one, and that’s why I needed it.]

Tonight we went to a Nacho Libre birthday party for our friend, Larry. I made a special trip to D.I. (a thrift store) to procure a costume that would be worthy of Jack Black himself. I found an excellent ruffle-y cream colored tent that someone had hung on the “women’s blouses” rack. Perfect for a reenactment of Nacho’s little debut as a musician at the “parteee.” Sage helped me dig out an old dollar store trumpet, which had seen better days (such as the time when it’s mouthpiece and fourth key were actually attached and not floating around in the bottom of the toybox).

I don’t usually have the guts to wear a costume like this. But it was a special exception, because the birthday boy himself was wearing an excellent Nacho Libre mask, large red underwear, and a cape, all on top of his normal clothes. I wanted Mark to wear a suit and a gold mask to the party, but I knew better than to ask. And besides, Becca already tried spray painting a ski mask gold, which was impossible to put on once the paint dried. Also, Mark would have had to gain about 200 pounds to pull off the “Ramses” look. I donned the ruffley shirt alone. [Sage begged to be able to wear her princess dress…I think she had the wrong idea about the look I was going for.] I was a little scared when lots of ruffles poked their way out of the sleeves of my pea coat on the drive over, but by then there was no turning back. Besides, I'd already invested two whole dollars in my costume.

The party was a lot of fun. Danielle and I made nachos, and Trine made an amazing luchador cake, as well as the classic elotes [grilled corn cobs] from the movie, which made me want to quote my favorite line from the movie “Get that corn out of my face!”

Complete with green plastic trumpet, I was ready to make my debut, but I began to get a little self-conscious. I think no one could help but stare at me the moment they set eyes on my cream tent shirt. [It was something an elephant-sized Professor Umbridge might have worn.] I didn’t have the guts to explain my outfit to each guest, and I don’t think it was quite authentic enough so as to settle the question without leaving a few doubts. So the staring began. And the staring continued with my posterity.

At one point, I gave Sage a plate of nachos, and she disappeared downstairs with the goods. She returned and casually mentioned “Mommy, I made a big mess” and started to prance off. “What do you mean a big mess?” I asked her. She corrected herself, “I mean, a little mess.” And she was gone. It turns out her “little mess” was Spanish rice ground into the white carpet downstairs…whether the grinding took place before or after she fled the crime scene, I don’t know. I was too busy investigating crime scene number two, perpetrated by Eliza.

Like an idiot, I had noticed Eliza holding a glass cup, and did nothing. Actually, I was probably stuffing my face with delicious Luchador birthday cake. Then came the crash. Cursing myself, I rushed to help clean up the glass shards as ten curious (and barefoot) kids under the age of four came to investigate. After I finished sweeping and the birthday boy finished vacuuming, Sage was christian enough to pick up the last remaining invisible glass shard in the bottom of her foot, so as to spare the others from injury. When I saw her clinging to the pant leg of a total stranger, I knew there was trouble.

I was beginning to feel stifled by my ruffley shirt. With my own sanity wavering at this point, I decided it was time we made an exit. I tried to pack up the kids before we could create another scene. One example of a “scene” is having your three year old demand an elote right when you’re trying to put on her coat, and soon after she recovered from the glass incident. I made my escape halfway through this scene.

Once out in the car, I wondered if I was crazy…beginning with the ruffles. But instead of beating myself up about looking silly [as I was severely tempted to do], I decided to take a lesson from Jack Black, and give myself a big pat on the back for being brave. It took guts to wear a costume, and I did it. Tomorrow I think I’ll donate the ruffle tent back to D.I. But maybe I’ll check out what they’ve got in spandex. Just in case.

Focus, toilet, focus!

Now that Sage is 3, I have noticed that the speed with which she performs a task is directly related to her own personal gains with respect to that task. For example, if I ask Sage to clear off her dishes so we can watch a movie, there is little likelihood that I will have to repeat this request. On the other hand, if I ask Sage to use the bathroom because it’s bedtime, there is little likelihood she’ll be done (without “encouragement”) in under 10 minutes…assuming she goes on her own at all.

This rule of speed and personal gains is especially applicable to using the bathroom. How is it that the walls, shower curtain, vanity cabinets, toilet paper holder, and bathmats all become infinitely exciting to a 3-year-old? Sage often asks for books to read on the toilet. She loves to dawdle in the bathroom. As for myself, the less time I spend in the bathroom, the less likely I am to notice something that needs to be cleaned. Hence, I try to contain my visits to under 45 seconds whenever possible. This also leaves less time for Eliza to wander in and demand to tear off little pieces of toilet paper and deposit them in the toilet.

It can be very frustrating to ask Sage to use the bathroom, and find her sitting on the throne, 10 minutes later, singing away merrily, and twirling a towel with her foot that happened to be in reach. I have often admonished her to “focus,” and she usually speeds up, although I don’t ever remember defining exactly what that meant. My tone of voice was no doubt “encouraging” enough, even if the phrase was Greek to her.

The other day, after Sage used the bathroom at my mom’s house, the toilet continued running for a minute or so longer than ours at home. While she was washing her hands, I overheard Sage telling the toilet “Focus, toilet. Focus!”

Amused, I asked her what “focus” meant. She replied, without concern, “I don’t really know.” Then I asked her why she said it. Her matter-of-fact response: “Because the toilet was being too loud!” It seems that Sage identified the mandate “Focus” with unacceptable behavior in the bathroom, regardless of whether the perpetrator was a person or an inanimate object.

This led me to think about lurking variables. In what other areas does Sage receive inaccurate messages because of our different frames of reference? Last year, after going to an Easter party in our Community Center where someone in a big pink bunny suit shook the kids’ hands, Sage later asked me “Do big bunnies live in the community center?” Another time, Mark found a great sale and bought a few suits. Sage saw his purchase and asked “Is that suit so Daddy can be a missionary?” Apparently, her range of experience with people wearing suits was limited to basically just the missionaries in our ward that ate dinner at our house occasionally.

Poor kids. We, adults, must really give them a run for their money with our lack of clarity sometimes. It must take a lot for kids to figure out this crazy world we present them with. In the meantime, when Sage makes a comment that reveals a case of lurking variables, I’m going to write it down before I forget, and have a good laugh once she’s gone to bed.

Since we've no place to go

When we get a huge snow, something strange happens to me. I become suddenly anxious to cancel all appointments, bundle the kids up in 3 layers, rush outside, and snap pictures like I'll never see snow again. (It's January in Utah...I know.) But, is there anything more exciting then waking up to six inches of fresh snow and no plans for the day? I don't think so.

Today I put both girls in size 3T snow pants (capris on Sage, and astronaut suit on Eliza), and we headed out. Sage's favorite activity in the snow this morning began as making snow angels, which somehow morphed into making "snow caterpillars." Eliza, on the other hand, just wanted to eat the snow. Lots and lots of it. The only problem was, the little astronaut was so bundled up that she couldn't bend down to access it without tipping over, and immobilizing herself like a pink winter pill bug. This is where big sisters come in handy. Sage happily fed Eliza snow on and off for an hour, and carried the rest off for "Frosty," while I snapped pictures like I'd never seen my kids in their winter coats before.

"So, since we've no place to go, let it snow." If you'll excuse me, I'll go back to making hot chocolate, and vacuuming up the pine needles of the Christmas tree I refuse to get rid of. Maybe I'll even get a CD out of the box of Christmas things I'm supposed to be packing up! Let it snow.

Cindy Lou Who

Here's Cindy Lou Who's look alike, doing her new favorite thing: pretending to change her own poopy diaper with a spare wet wipe while chanting "poo poo" and "bleh." If only potty training were this easy.

Old Maid-y

One of my resolutions should be [if I had taken time to officially compose some] to keep a good record of the funny things my kids say and do. Here's the first one of 2008.

Tonight Mark and I took the kids with us to do some returns, and rewarded ourselves after with a stop at Krispy Kreme's [this was not part of any resolution], which was huge hit with the girls.

Later when I was tucking Sage in for bed, I thanked her for helping Eliza be happy at Old Navy. As soon as the store's name was out of my mouth, Sage corrected me and said "Old Maid-y.”

And here's a great picture...definitely one for the desktop. I was pretending to scare and chase Eliza while Sage was using the bathroom. Sage heard the commotion, and called Eliza to her. Eliza went scampering around the corner and hauled it over to her older sister for protection as fast as her skinny little legs would carry her.

May this be the start of a happy year of friendship for my girls.

Okay, I admit it. Shortly after the special moment at the toilet, Eliza quickly became obsessed with Sage's Dora undies. This second picture is almost as good as the first.

"Help, Mom, she's taking my undies!"

PS--Also, I added a bunch of Sage's quotes to the "Best Quotes" entry.

Best Family Quotes of 2007

One of my cousins sends a short quote list from her family each year with their Christmas card. There is one quote per person, and she uses it to tell what happened to them during the year, and show a little of each person's personality.

After sifting through 12 pages of funny quotes (made mostly by Sage) from this year, I'm not sure I can claim these quotes tell you much about my family, except that we're weird. But here are a few funny things that make me laugh every time I read them. [I'm the record keeper, and as such have edited out my own silly quotes! That is called literary license!]

“Any house that does not have an ice cream scooper is not furnished” --Mark

"I’m a naughty girl when I take the books out (of the moving box) and put them right here" -Sage

“We will move to Utah, and Becca will see me, and she will be so crazy to spin me, and she will spin you, too, Mommy” --Sage

“The only thing sporty about me is my bra!” –Danielle

“At least someone is being assertive with my life” –Suzy

“She may be white, but she’s intelligent” –Jordan about Eliza

“I forgot to drink vomit” –Mark re: his bad tasting medicine

“Let’s go get in your discipline cupboard” “Can that quote be anonymous?” --Danielle

J: “Give me a kiss.” M: “I’m married.” J: “I’m married, too.” M: “To Scranz [Mark’s favorite cat growing up]…same-sex marriage!” [I think it’s time for someone to be done with their “Gender, Sexuality and the Law” class]

I tried to hug Mark. M: “No, I’m married.” J: “To whom?” M, looking around: “To that doll.”

“This movie is on drugs.” --Rebecca about “Meet the Robinsons”

--"We are happy because we are girls. And we love to eat." –Sage to Becca

“Leche mongers anonymous. That’s what’s going on in here.” -Mark to the fridge full of 4 gallons of milk

"Is the food happy when we eat it?" -Sage

“That [wedding present] cost me nothing…except a lifetime of marriage.” –Danielle

“I have big teeth, too. They just happen to not look like Mater’s.” --Mark

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

They should do “elf yourself’ with “wanna love you tender” -Mark

“Where are the Milky Way darks, so I can go off chocolate?” --Mark

“We’re talking about my eggs…they are aging!” –Krista

“You got crumbs on me, mommy, and that makes me so, so sad.” -Sage

"Don’t you want to have some more chocolate, so you’ll feel real happy that you went off it, because you’ll feel real sick?" --Mark

“If you don’t choose one for me, Mommy, you can go lie down on the couch and have a little time out.” --Sage

"Jacob needs to take an H-O-T nap." --Sage after she learned how to spell her first word while we were (appropriately) in Arizona this summer.

“That’s enough undies for an army of bums” –Becca re: Sage’s Christmas present of 10 pairs of underwear

Maybe my New Year's Resolution could be to say less weird things. Or at least to not admit to them online.