Happy New Year!

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How ever it gets you there . . .

Peyton was standing in front of my van in the garage, when he turned to Monte and said, "N, I, S, S, A, N. That spells car."

Yes it does, baby, yes it does.

Stop the presses

Stephen presented me with this handwritten story this afternoon after school:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Attack of the Glowing Monsters, By Stephen Ellis

Hi, I'm Stephen Ellis. I'm in the agent BIXQ. We heard a loud beep. Mason is my friend. Beep means there is trouble in the world. There was a glowing monster in China, and off we went to defeat that glowing monster with the powers of the agents BIXQ, one of the most powerful agencies in the world. The glowing monster was smashing building after building. We finally made it there, and we were so so so hungry and so so so thirsty for a drink and snack. We're the lucky ones. Then we attacked the glowing monster but it is no use without the crystal of China, and we did not give up. They were trying but still no use, the crystal of China was in his hand, and then we got a hold of it, but they lost their grip and still no use, but they had a steel cannon and payed for it, and got the crystal of  China and defeated the glowing monster and celebrated. It was very very very very fun and we had a drink and a snack. The agency BIXQ had saved the day. The end.
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Agency was spelled agentse, snack was spelled snake, crystal was spelled cristel, and sometimes China was Chinea, but he got monster and powerful and smashing and hungry and glowing right, and the story has a fantastic beginning, middle and end (which I know even college students can't always pull off), and when I asked about BIXQ, he explained that was the agency's name and it was supposed to be like that, because the letters were other secret words. An acronym, people! And on top of it all, he saves the day with his brother!

What an effort from my little guy!

Makin his momma proud

So we're sitting around the table at Monte's parents house with his nephew Jordan, who is a senior in high school this year. Last year Jordan went on a mission trip to El Salvador, and the topic under discussion was whether he would go on a second mission trip in the spring.

MONTE: "So, these mission trips . . . where all can ya go?"
JORDAN: "Well, there's El Salvador, Chile, Peru . . . "
MONTE: (with a silly smirk on his face) "Des Moines?"
JORDAN: "No, I don't think we go to Italy."

What makes this funnier is the kid is making reasonably good grades in school. Well, I would guess in everything but geography.

Things get serious

We have a contract on our Missouri house, and another one on an Oklahoma house, and between working out all the details, having inspection after inspection, signing this and paying for that, moving and packing, I'm out of breath.

But if nothing falls through, I'll be out of my in-laws house and in our own digs by November, and that's worth smiling about.

I'm just amazed at how many boxes there are!

Say what?

Mason brought home all A grades at mid-semester recently, and is generally regarded as a smart kid by one and all, but every so often he loses things in translation. In church Wednesday night he leaned over and whispered, "Mom, what does your shirt say?" I whispered back "It says, 'Authentic'." Then he said, "What does that mean?" I said "It means real . . . not a forgery." "Oh," he said. Then he whispered something I couldn't hear to Monte, and Monte started laughing. Then I heard Monte say, "No honey, you're thinking of 'Autistic'."

Not sure what's more disturbing, that my 5th grader didn't know the meaning of the word Authentic, or that he thought I would rock a shirt with the word 'Autistic' on it to church.

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They're Their There

I don't know if it's Oklahoma, Fifth Grade, or what, but I have done more in the way of project homework help in the last two weeks than ever in the past decade of parenthood. Last week, we made an animal cell composed entirely of candy. Ever try to find a sugary treat that looks like mitochondria? I even drove all the way to Michael's (remember, this city is freakin' spread out) to get chocolate fondant for the cell itself, and pretty gel icing for the cell membrane. And it doesn't look like it's going to let up . . . this week Mason had to hand draw an island, complete with geographical, agricultural and industrial features. Big deal you say? No problem, you insist? Then I forgot the best part . . . for these fun projects, we get one to two days notice. Oh yeah, and Stephen has to read to me while I help Mason create these things, because he has homework too . . .

I was a much better parent before I had kids.

A Duck, from a Goose

Stephen drew this for me. I asked for a chicken. He said what I really wanted was a duck. And he's right.

Old puppies, new tricks

The babies started second and fifth grade in Oklahoma today, and both reported they had a pretty decent day except for the turkey corndogs at lunch. That was one new thing they didn't care for. New school, fine. New kids, no problem. New teachers, bring them on, but new corn dogs, hold on just a cotton picking minute. I have always subscribed to the "put enough mustard on a corn dog and the flavor of the corn dog becomes a moot point" rule, but apparently the rule's only exception is a corn dog composed entirely of turkey. And probably soy, but thank heavens we haven't had to deal with that yet.

Stephen said the corn dogs tasted vaguely of mint.

Makes you wonder what these Okies are feeding their poultry.

The Heat Is On

Right now it's 100 degrees at 7 p.m. in Oklahoma City. That means 100 wasn't the high, it's the come down number. I used to love warm. The warmer the better. Bring the heat I would say. I'm so cold natured that at times in my life it has seemed I couldn't make my own body heat, and I had to depend on the sun or Monte to provide some warmth for my otherwise icy skin. Grocery stores, movie theaters, churches,all were places of freezing discomfort. I had to carry a sweater with me year round. No place was ever completely warm.

Until now.

Now I'm cured.

I'm finally aggressively fanning myself with all the other old ladies, with our floppy arm fat moving as fast as the paper fans we are cooling off with. I'm on the other side.

Dang it. Turns out the grass isn't greener over here. It is dry, brown and burnt!

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Core Philosophy

Sometimes the glass is half full. Sometimes it's half empty. Sometimes the stupid thing is all the way empty, has a hole in the bottom and is made of uncoated tissue paper.

Consider the last few days. I was with the fam at Silver Dollar City, having a wonderful time. It was hot, sure, but there was plenty of lemonade and water to drink and fine misting fans at periodic intervals. And of course, we had the kids with us, and they have a tendancy to whine if things aren't spot on perfect, but we aren't new at this and so we pursued the policy of hanging in there and identifying lots of "teaching moments" while still enjoying the park. No problem, right? Manageable. Doable. Under control.

Until Friday morning.

Until 11 a.m., Central Standard Time, when I lost Monte's wallet with all our money, credit cards, season passes, IDs and the very first social security card he was ever issued, inside. He and the boys decided to beat the heat by going on a "soak ya through" water ride, so I put the wallet and his cell phone in my stretchy lightweight shallow pocketed workout capris and set off with Peyton for some quality sitting time. The only thing we did was buy a lemonade, locate a shady spot and sit in one place. That's it. I had the wallet when I bought the lemonade, but when I walked up the hill to meet Monte, I didn't have it anymore. I did everything one might do in that kind of stressful situation. I retraced my steps. I looked everywhere I had been. I asked vendors, people in the vicinity and the lost and found ladies if they had seen the wallet. I teared up. I panicked. And then, having no other options, I left the park with my family.

The first thing we did was cancel the credit card and debit card. Then we decided we needed IDs, which led us to drive an hour and a half acorss the Oklahoma border to the nearest tag agent, to get our driver's licenses replaced. Through the marvels of modern technology, the state of Oklahoma can replace your license with no other form of ID because they have your index fingerprints on file, and a scanner in every office. That's the good news. Unfortunately, what they can't do, is reprint the license using the picture you already took.

The picture you took when you were well rested, had on makeup, had your roots freshly done and hadn't just lost your husband's wallet.

The picture that didn't show someone who had been sweating in a theme park and then crying in a mini-van for three hours.

No sir. They take a brand new picture. A current picture. A picture of the right then and now.

So to make matters somewhere between worse and unbearable, I now have a government issued memento of one of the worst days of my life that I am, for the next six years, required to show clerks, ticket agents, policemen, anyone I need to prove my identity to. And I'm sure once they've seen it, they'll look at me and all ask the same thing.

"My goodness, what on earth happened here??!!"

Epilogue: They found the wallet at SDC, with the money in it and everything, the next day. It was Baptist days, so we probably have some nice Baptist to thank for being honest and giving us our life back, not to mention the license with the better picture. Also, one might say we were fortunate to have lost the wallet on a Friday when the tag agent was open, and that we were close enough to their location to get there during business hours and replace our IDs with no other proof of identity than our index fingers. Oh yeah, and cancelling the credit and debit cards were probably a good thing too, because both accounts been open for a long time with the same numbers and were probably more prone to identity theft than the newly issued cards.

Still.

Worst vacation ever.

How's that for how empty the glass is?

Cast off!

Mason got his cast off yesterday. He's still getting used to flexing his wrist and moving his arm, but for the most part he's 100 percent. The doctor said no basketball until the bone, which has healed, "matures" but hey, a little shooting around can't hurt, right?

Right?

Maybe he can climb a fence while he's at it. :-)

New Normal

We've officially been in Oklahoma for a week now, staying with the inlaws until our house sells, and although they've been nothing but nice in welcoming us to their home and making us feel comfortable, there's just so much privacy and control you can exercise while living under someone else's roof. I'm sure it's not a walk in the park for them either, having given up their right to peace and quiet while living with three small boys, but they've been really gracious and accomodating, and we are extremely grateful.

Still, moving is terrible. I had forgotten--mostly because the last time I did it I didn't even change school districts, and now we're in a whole different state. Sure, it's a state we are both familiar with, having visited for holiays and such, but living is a whole different kettle of fish from visiting. The grocery store is laid out all wrong. The streets are in the wrong places. There isn't any shade, or sidewalks, or frozen yogurt stores. July in Oklahoma is like July in Death Valley, without the charming name. There's no Starbucks for like, 8 miles from where we are living. Everything in Oklahoma City is so big and in your face, but at the same time it's all spread out, so you have to drive a long way to get to all the big in your face stuff. Nearby the new (temporary) address we have tag agents and nail salons, neither of which I need at the moment, but no really useful stuff like an Applebees or a Longhorn or a Cold Stone. (They think Braum's counts. It does not. At all.) I guess my old town was small, but it felt right sized. Not so big that you get lost and not so small that you didn't have options. And it had trees. Tall mature ones, with shade. I'm just saying.

But I'm coping. I'm finding I can walk indoors at the City Center, which is a membership based work out place, library and swimming pool complex not far from my inlaws house, and half an hour away there's an IMAX theater, so we were able to show the boys Toy Story 3 in really really really big 3D. And there will be other things, special unique things, as time goes on that will endear me to my new home.

It's not a bad place.

It's a very nice place actually.

I guess change is hard on everyone.

Rookie Blue

Monte was upstairs watching "Cops" on the Tivo while giving Peyton and Stephen a bath. He went to get them out of the tub when his cell phone rang. Drying off two little wet boys takes all available focus so Monte let it go to voicemail. After he got the two monkeys dry and in PJs, he decided to check his messages.

The missed call was from the Columbia Police Department.

That got his attention.

It said "We have a message from one of your employees. He fears for your safety. Please call us at . . . " blah blah blah. So Monte calls back and assures the CPD that we are not in danger and are in fact freshly washed and in PJs, and then works with the officer to reconstruct whatever unfolded that got us here.

Apparently, before getting in the bath, Peyton played with Monte's iPhone and inadvertently called one of the IT guys at his work. Because nobody was actually talking to the IT guy, all he heard was "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND" and then several beeping noises. What he thought he was hearing was some sort of terrible home invasion or something. What he didn't know was he was actually listening to Monte watch a policeman from "Cops" chase a perp, followed by the sound of fast forwarding through commercials. After Monte called his friend back, the guy said "I should have recognized the beeps. They're Tivo beeps."

Between my mom last summer and Monte's friend at work, the cops are starting to put a mark by our name that reads, "I know we're supposed to follow up, but somehow I know this is going to end up on somebody's blog."

Teepee Hee Hee

Mason and Stephen went to my parents farm for a few days, because my mom has been wanting to build a teepee with them. Stephen's been pretty excited about it but we've had to wait for one or two days without rain to be able to get to the soggy farmland where the small trees are, to be able to cut the poles.

During the planning stages for the teepee, mom had this conversation with the boys:

GRANDMA: Okay, so all we need to do is go over to the Shepherd place and then Grandpa can use the chain saw to cut the little trees that we'll use for poles, and then we'll bring them back here and we can put the teepee together.
MASON: What is the Shepherd Place? Is it a store?
GRANDMA: (laughing) No, the Shepherd Place isn't a store. The old indians didn't go to the store when they needed to cut poles for their teepees, did they?
MASON: Well, did they use chain saws to cut the poles?

She could almost see him getting smarter than her right before her eyes.

They also used tarps instead of buffalo hides, so the most authentic thing about the whole process was the part where my boys got really muddy and then washed some of the mud off in the creek which probably just made them muddy and wet.

School's (almost) Out

The boys are so ready for school to be out, and oddly enough, I am too. Ready for summer outings and trips to the zoo. (Probably because I've forgotten how much luggage and bother they require.)

Rite of passage

Mason broke his arm Friday. It was the first time we'd been to the ER with one of our kids. Well, that's not technically true. I tried to go one other time when Stephen was have trouble breathing due to croup. I got there and the admission nurse sardonically said, "Yeah, the wait from this point is 4 hours." I said, "But that would be 4 a.m. and I can see my regular doctor at 8 a.m. and he's having trouble breathing NOW," which was the nicest thing I could say given that I was holding my sick baby in my arms. What I was thinking was, "It's not a theme park ride, it's an ER. Help the gasping baby, you complete idiot!!!" She was not swayed by my wheezing kid or the panic in my voice. "Yeah," she said, as if to say "your summary of the situation is accurate, and now I will go back and sit by some large desk filled with papers and files, and drink my extra large coffee and forget all about you." She turned and walked away, and in so doing forced me to see the futility of the situation . . . I figured I could go home and call 911 and get some nice EMT guy to help me, so I went home and crossed my fingers. Luckily, Stephen did okay during the night and we were able to see our regular doctor in her office first thing the next morning. Needless to say, we're not big on ERs.

So, Friday night mom offers to watch the kids at Brandon and Karen's while all the parents got a date night. We had just made it to the restaurant and gotten food when I decided to call and check on the kids. I dialed the phone and said "Hi, Mom, how are the . . . " and she interruped and said "MASON JUST BROKE HIS ARM IT WAS FINE UNTIL JUST NOW BUT NOW HE'S HURT HOW SOON CAN YOU GET HERE." I told her I'd be there immediately and hung up the phone. Monte didn't even eat. We left the food sitting there and sped off toward Mason's arm. Turns out he was throwing a football around and it went over the fence, and he climbed the fence to get it, lost his balance and crack, standard split fork forearm fracture.

We took one look at the arm and realized it was broken, because arms don't bend that way otherwise. We got him to the ER, and they took one look at the arm and ushered us right in. We filled out paperwork, and got X-rays with super speed. Unfortunately, pain meds took a LOT longer. Mason was sobbing and I was standing over the nurse asking again and again when the doctor would come in and sit in our room long enough for the state legislature to be satisfied that he was being cared for by someone wth a medical degree, so the nurse could finally give him the morphine she knows plenty about, can give in her sleep and had been holding in her hand for half an hour.

We finally got the morphine right around the time we got the bad news. The orthopedic surgeon can't set the arm because Mason had had dinner. (What kid in a family with any kind of positive cash flow doesn't have dinner?) But dinner was the deal breaker because they needed to knock him out in order to set the arm and he had to have an empty stomach. They wrapped the arm up and sent us home, with oral pain medication, and instructions to come back at 7 a.m. to get checked in to have the arm set at 8 a.m. So home we went, with ORAL pain meds. Remember now dear reader, in order for him to get a cast, we can't give him anything to eat or drink after midnight. Did I mention the only way I could manage his pain was with oral medication, because it turns out that counts toward the no eating and drinking. You see where I'm headed with this? Sometime around 2 a.m. he started hurting pretty badly, and by 5 a.m. he was sobbing. I had a pill that would fix it IN MY HAND, but I couldn't give it to him. What an awesome feeling that was. By 5:30 we were back in the ER begging for someone, oh please oh please oh please ANYONE, to give him a shot in his IV (which had stayed in his arm from the night before). Again, we waited and waited for someone with an advanced degree who wasn't the nurse holding the meds, to tell us he could stop hurting.

Ever sat next to a child in pain? Your own child in pain? It does things to your brain, heart and gut that I can't even put into words, and makes you want to recreate that Shirley MacLane scene in Terms of Endearment where she screams at the nurses station for someone to just give her daughter the morphine. Yes, Shirley MacLane nailed it. She might have even been a little held back.

He got his shot, felt better and then he got his splint and eventually once the risk of swelling goes down he'll get his cast. And he will never ever ever jump off a fence to get a football again.

Overheard at lunch

Monte: "Great, thanks, Peyton. Now my pants smell like corn."

I'm betting his pants already smelled like corn, and he's just in denial.

Bye, Bye Bug!

It's the end of an era. We sold the bug car. When we bought it back in ought 4, there were only four of us and Stephen was the same age Peyton is now . . . six years is a long time in the life of a bunch of kids.

We bought it for fun in simpler times, when thoughts like "someday there might be more of us," or "those of us already here might grow to huge porportions" didn't occur.

At first we had fun in the bug on sunny days with the top down driving around town listening to music and singing at the top of our lungs. But later, we had to listen to Stephen and Mason groan as their legs were getting too long to be comfortable in the back seat, or hear one of them whine about it being too windy or too sunny. (I know, right? Aren't wind and sun the point?) Yeah, the poor bug didn't have much of a chance as our family aged, and besides, it would have been a serious drag doing 60 or less all the way to Oklahoma when we do finally sell this house and move. No, bug is a Missouri car, and should stay here in her homeland, with people who love her and will care for her. We bid you a fond farewell, bug. You gave us many a pleasant afternoon on the way to get ice cream.

Kristi

P.S. That car was built in 1978 and marketed as a family friendly car, because four adults were supposed to fit comfortably in it. For long periods. Four adults. I can't even get Monte and the three boys in it anymore. I guess the projected height in 1978 for the average person achiving maturity was 5 foot 3 inches. Either that or we have a serious metric to traditional measuring system conversion snafu here. Good thing Americans have discovered carbohydrates and protein since then or we'd never be able to grow our kids into giants like I'm doing now! I've had near four footers since kindergarten, and Mason is tall enough to ride every ride in every theme park in the US at the tendar age of ten. My two year old is already three feet tall. Those poor late 70s European car manufacturers wouldn't know what hit them! In the end we were like clowns coming out of that car, and I don't mean just in the traditional sense.

Best day ever

Mother's Day rocks. I was taken to Branson for the weekend, rode roller coasters and rides with my boys at Silver Dollar City, ate a ridiculous amount of really good food, and Monte even coached the kids to ask me, at different times of each day, "What would you like to do, Mom? Can we do something with you?" It was amazing. Any whining and eye rolling was down to a bare minimum and most of the time everyone laughed and joked and had a great time together. Tonight at dinner, Stephen said something out of the blue that nobody told him to say. He said, "Mom you're beautiful. I love you a really really lot. I love you, and also I love Jacqueline, but I love you the best."

Isn't he sweet. It's good to be the queen.

Wait . . . what? Jacqueline? Who's Jacqueline?

House selling is like a box of chocolates . . . that somebody bit into and put back.

Selling a house is like the high school dating scene for an average looking girl. You work hard to create your best appearance and then you put yourself out there, advertizing (hopefully) without coming off desparate, which gets some vaguely interested looks but for the most part nobody wants to dance. So you go on feeling blue wondering when someone will notice all your effort while simultaneously looking past the giant zit on your forehead, and give it all a chance, so you don't have to spend your weekends eating six pounds of chocolate while watching Behind the Music marathons on VH1.

Crap.

Now I'm back in high school.

Finding Clarity

Overheard at the lunch table:

Stephen: cough cough
Monte: Stephen, cover your mouth when you cough.
Stephen: cough cough
Monte: Stephen, cover your mouth, EFFECTIVELY, when you cough.

This parenting moment brought to you by allergy season, and my legalistic kids, who need all the loop holes closed.

And around, and around

UPDATE:
You'll think I'm making this up, but the thief logged into the stolen PC again, this time TO PAY HIS CELL PHONE BILL. Now, let's think about this for a second, Zeke (may I call you Zeke? Great. Anyway . . .) You left the STOLEN computer on once before, and for your trouble you were rewarded by suddenly losing massive amounts of data. The sort of "thanks for playing" parting gift that should have been at the very least a cautionary tale, warning you to chunk the darn thing in a nearby ravine (admit it, you're surrounded by ravines) rather than risk being located through it. But Zeke, you believe in the inherant goodness of humanity (we all like that about you) and as such, you probably believed the worst was over. Right? Either that, or you don't understand the concept of the Internet as a vehicle for two way communication. Because, Zeke, when you pay your cell phone bill . . . you know, the one in your real name and with an accurate address on file, then you're just saying, "hey, Monte, here's the stuff you need to have me arrested. I ain't got me no silver platter or nothin' but we'll just consider it implied."

I'm sure when the cops arrived, Zeke was more than a little taken aback. I imagine him being handcuffed by the sherrif's deputy on the porch of his double wide, very near the ravine where he should have thrown the computer, saying, " Well played, Monte Ellis. Well played."

The moral? If you are a flippin' thief, and you steal one of Monte's PCs, for heaven sake, look into the cash only disposable cell phone option! (I like the fact that he pays his bills. You want thieves with senses of personal responsibility and accountability.)

Oh, and my apologies to Georgia. I was misinformed. It was Louisiana. However I'm sure Louisiana jails are just as lovely and accomodating as anything you'd find in Georgia, so no worries there.

Poor Zeke.

Goin' around and comin' around

This is hilarious. As many of you know, Monte works for a storage company managing their data and computer systems. The company has stores all over the US and Canada, and four months ago in one particular store in Georgia, the store was robbed. The glass windows of the store were shattered in the middle of the night, and the site's computer was stolen. Now this sort of thing, unfortunate though it is, has been known to happen and it's usually just a matter of filing a police report and an insurance claim. For the most part that's the end of it--you never see the thieves or the hardware again. However, in those cases the thieves in question are smart enough not to plug the computer back in, turn it on and then leave it on for long periods. The Georgian thieves, bless their hearts, didn't suffer from the same burden of intelligence and/or a suspcious nature. Today, Monte noticed the computer from Georgia was turned on, logged in and ready for action somewhere in Texas. Now, you and I would simply notify the police, who would then say in a somewhat snarky voice, "where in Texas?" We'd reply "well, it doesn't work like that . . . we have a general idea, we don't have an exact location," and in response we'd get a very terse and abbreviated geography lesson involving the size of Texas, followed by a comparason of our problem to sewing implements and large amounts of piled fescue. The computer would sit in Texas and blink inquiringly but patiently at us, and not much else would go down.

Monte is not you and me.

Not even a little bit.

Monte, on the other hand, saw that the machine was turned on, and since he has a program that not only tells when company computers are on, but can also change things about those computers at his discretion, he did what Monte would do.

He started uninstalling stuff.

The thieves will discover upon their return that they have no more Microsoft Office among other things, and that he's looked at their e-mail, at their pictures (this is me-n-zeke robbin' a store, this is me-n-Zeke at Stone Mountain, etc.), portions of their drive are erased, and if they turn the machine on again he has other even more sinister ideas he's dying to try. I think one of them involves sending out an e-mail using the thieves own account to the people in their address book that reads, "Don't trust me, I'm a thief. I stole the computer that sent you this e-mail. If I were you, I'd rethink the life choices that brought you into contact with someone like me, who clearly experiences no moral or ethical delimma when it comes to comitting a freaking robbery!!! HELLO?!"

Wait, I'm being told it was burglary. They were burglars. That's not as cool. It makes them sound like that creepy cartoon dude painted next to the grimace in all McDonald's playlands. Still, can you imagine the burgular's dinnertime conversation tonight? "Dang it Zeke, I told you we was not supposed to turn it on and leave it on! We's been hacked! Now we caint use us that Excel spreadsheet you was workin' on to finish out our dang taxes Zeke!"

High in the middle and round at both ends

We visited Ohio during spring break, while Monte was getting the house ready for the realtor. Mason and Shauna have this thing between them, where sometimes, I think they get each other on a very weird level :-) On the last night, M&S stayed up talking late into the night, and in the morning, Shauna had some very funny quotes:

MASON: "I used to tell people I was an alien, and to prove it, I would speak in alien and tell them my body was a costume and I had a zipper in the back."
SHAUNA: "And people would believe you?"
MASON: "I think I believed it myself."

That just goes to show, if you tell a lie often enough, grade school boys will eventually believe it.

Big Changes

We put our house on the market on Friday, as the first step in our "moving to Oklahoma" master plan. Monte has wanted to move back for several years now, and finally it seemed like the right time even though I still have mixed emotions about it. I will miss the green mature trees and rolling hills of my childhood home, but to everything there is a season, and I believe there are great opportunities waiting for our family in Oklahoma. Plus the boys will get to spend real time with their grandparents which is the best of all reasons to be closer. So keep us all in your prayers as this thing gathers steam . . . and that the housing market cooperates!

In the paint

Yesterday was our last basketball game of the season, and Mason scored 12 points. Last year I think he scored 4 points the entire season. One of the best shots he made was a snake-like move from right under the basket, much to the surprise of the kid who was guarding him. Points aside, he has really matured as a player in defense and overall awareness, and he seems to truly love the game. I enjoy watching him play so much, which surprises me, because I'm not a big sports person. But then my life seems to be conspiring against me there, especially with having three boys. Can't avoid ESPN forever, can I.

Looking for action(s)

I've been having fun teaching myself Photoshop lately. It's such an involved program that I'm only able to learn bits and pieces here and there. However, lately the pieces are beginning to look like they fit together, which is a nice feeling. Some of the bits I enjoy using the most are Actions. These guys are like mini computer programs that run within Photoshop to make something happen without the end user needing to know all the steps. Basically, you find one that will do what you want, load it, select the layer (or thing) you want the action to change, and press play. Easy peasy and best of all there are some places you can download them for free (you have to google "photoshop actions" and then wade through a ton of sites to find things you want.) There are several scrapbooking type actions at Atomic Cupcake I've grown to love, and even though you pay for these (about $5 a piece) it's worth it, because I love the effects I get from them! I've attached a few examples below for your viewing pleasure!

I start with this simple text layer, pick the action I want and press play . . .








The pencil sketch action:

The puffy felt action:

The painted distressed chipboard action:

The inked edges action:

And the "make it look like torn cardboard" action:

Photoshop is magical! Now if it would only raise my kids and clean my house!!!

Peyton's Car Seat

The latest offering in my battle with white space.

Ladysmith Black Mambazo

We saw these guys at Jesse Auditorium on Tuesday. I bought the CD in the lobby and now Peyton falls asleep to it every night--it's way better than the fisher price lullaby CD we used to use. Even the sad songs they sing are pretty enough you forget they're about sad things. LBM put on a show for 4th and 5th grade school kids the day after their concert that Mason got to go to, so he was able to see the show twice, once on the state's dime, and he liked it both times. Imagine, Mason enjoyed being exposed to new and different cultural things--what's next, a request for broccoli at dinner? If you get the chance and are bored at work, search You Tube for LBM and listen to some of their work. They don't need Paul Simon, he needs them!

In sickness and health

If random sickness presents itself, Monte, Stephen and Peyton will get it. Mason and I seem to avoid most itinerate crud, with the last notable exception being the weekend of LTC in Kansas City last year. Mason did the whole day of speechmaking and puppeteering and dramatic interpretation, only to throw up in the back seat of the van on the way to our celebratory dinner.

But for the most part Mace and I escape while the other three succumb. In particular, Peyton gets everything but bounces back immediately while Stephen gets fewer things but his illnesses last longer than that ridiculous energizer bunny ad campaign. It's been 20 years people, give the rabbit a rest.

Right now he's upstairs in bed at his own request. Today at 2:45 p.m. his whole class will have a Valentine's party that would make some family Christmases pale in comparason. There will be candy, trinkets, books, festive craft creations and most probably the holy grail of all parties itself, RED koolaid, which you can never ever EVER have at home for fear of testing the limits of your resolve. (Yes, I mean both the carpet cleaner AND my ability to mentally deal with the stains.) Ahhh, red koolaid! Nectar of the gods. And my kid is missing it because he spent all day yesterday throwing up, and then a big portion of the night last night crying and throwing up. This morning when I went to wake him he said "Mom, I need to stay in bed please."

Wow. Ever had a seven year old offer to stay in bed? Even suggest it as a possiblity? How about on a party and video game day? You bet your bippy you haven't. It doesn't happen, ever, to anyone. Poor little guy.

I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that Mason doesn't get sick before his basketball game on Saturday. Or during. Holy cow that would be worse than the van vomit, and it was MY van.

Oh how beautiful!

If you are ever need proof humor is the underlying force driving the universe, feel free to recall my sister Shauna. This isn't the first time Shauna has proven the universe/humor theory, but since she's had twins the examples have become more, uh, pronounced. The other day she sent me this e-mail:

"My back was only turned for a second. I heard the bath water running so I ran upstairs to find Ben, fully clothed, in ice cold water having a blast!  I turned to my right and there's Sydney in mama's makeup bag, putting eyeliner on her chin, saying, "Oh how beautiful!"

How beautiful, indeed.

Monte has a dream

Many people dream. Monte does it with flourish. Today he announced, "I had a strange dream last night. I dreamt we were at home, in our house, except the inside of it was covered in ice, like the inside of one of those ice hotels on the travel channel, that nutty people visit. And it was cursed. Our house I mean, was cursed. And the only way to counteract the curse was to cut up cheese and put it on the floor. So in my dream you were shredding cheese and putting it on the floor, and I was scooping it up with a snow shovel, because there was a lot of it. Pretty weird, huh?"

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Monte Ellis, the funniest man alive.

Two tickets to paradise

Twitter and Facebook are dumb. Not all human thought is valuable. Seriously people.

That being said, the one thought running though my brain over and over that I'm going to shout out to the ol' interweb is, "Praise the heavens, 56 degrees in Mid-Missouri in January! I feel like Kate Gosselin with a faithful and involved spouse. Somebody get me a fruity umbrella drink and a fan! I'm all in shirt sleeves and whatnot in January! My coat is unzipped and I'm not wearing gloves of any kind! Can I get an amen?" The midwest, and our lovely state in particular, just weathered (pun intended) ridiculous lows of -9 last week, and some of the time it was so cold I slept in my sweatshirt and jeans. You just can't get completely warm with that going on outside, and when I got my electric bill yesterday, I had to have the smelling salts handy. Baby, that cold snap cost me a small car. But that was then and this is now, and now is GORGEOUS. You wouldn't think 35 and 46 would feel like 68 and 74, but they do right after "this is how cold it is in deep space" negative 9.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go outside. In just a sweatshirt, in January. That's right. I said it. Jan. U. Ary. AMEN!

Something wickedly cute this way comes

I'm an advertiser's dream because I'm usually very brand loyal. I like what I like and there are very few times when a substitute will suffice. Sometimes, though, I'm torn. For example, I like Coke AND Pepsi (I know, right?) I've voted for Democrats AND Republicans (and occasionally, Libertarians). I shop Target/Michael's AND Wal-Mart/Hobby Lobby, because T&M have higher end stuff, but W&HL are usually cheaper. Some days you just can't pick one over the other.

That's how I'm beginning to feel about digital scrapbook shops. There's Raspberry Road for all your vintage stuff, Designer Digitals for the basics, and the Sweet Shoppe for adorable kits like Monstrosity from Dani Mogstad, from which came this lovely offering . . .

I suppose we'll just all have to get along, because I can't commit to just one place to shop.

Kristi

PS I decided to scrap this photo because I think mothers tend to keep all the smiling baby pictures and get rid of the less perky ones, when constant perk is more the exception than the rule in small children. Time to get real people! Go forth and scrap the cranky! That is all.