Waiting for the tooth fairy

Stephen lost his first tooth on Monday. We noticed it had gotten really loose over the weekend in Branson, and when we got home, Monte got a bit of string around it and, after three tries, got it out. It was great. Our six year old Kindergartner became a man. Or at least he joined the lost tooth club.

And then that night we forgot to put it under Stephen's pillow.

Utterly completely totally forgot. When Mason FINALLY lost his first tooth at age 8 last summer, you'd have thought we were celebrating his acceptance into Harvard or something. Speeches were made, backs were patted and a huge deal was made out of putting it under his pillow that night. The surprises left the next morning were a sight to behold. A few weeks later we had to come clean about certain facts regarding the Tooth Fairy, (he was about to enter the Third grade after all,) but for a brief moment, teeth were magical. Since then, however, the magic of lost teeth has tarnished a little. Gotten a tad stale. Poor Stephen just had the bad luck of not losing his first tooth before Mason, which frankly, Mason gave him more than ample time and opportunity to do. So anyway, after we completely forgot Stephen had lost his tooth and should get a visit from the TF, we did our best to make up for it the next night. Monte wrapped a pretend tooth in a bit of paper towel (the real tooth is already affixed on a scrapbook page downstairs--don't judge me) and put it carefully under Stephen's pillow, and in the morning, there was a little bucket with stuff to make s'mores in it. Quite a thing, right? Pageantry and all.

Except that he lost another tooth on Wednesday. And again, we forgot to put it under his pillow.

I know, right? Twice? Having three kids has kind of redefined our family limits, especially when it comes to making a big deal out of stuff the second and third time. Or frankly, just remembering it happened. But, after hanging our heads and explaining we could make it right because we have a hotline straight to the Tooth Fairy's booking agent (he's only six, so I have more time before some kid in his class contradicts my carefully constructed reality), we again wrapped a "tooth" in a paper towel, and put him to bed.

And then, around 11 p.m., plans were set in motion in to replace the paper towel with something more substantial. As the covers were lifted, a shaft of light from the hallway illuminated our sweet little spiderman boy . . . and he was clutching the tooth in his sleep.

It was so precious I can't even tell you. He probably wanted to catch the tooth fairy making the switch, so he could get a good look at her. Or him. Whatever, you know what I mean. So I took his picture, because these are the moments I live for, while I'm cleaning up dried urine from behind the back of the toilet.

Unfortunately, Stephen never got to catch the Tooth Fairy. He is afflicted with his mother's ability to sleep though gale force winds and category F5 tornadoes and nuclear testing and such. Tragic, really. Adorable, but tragic.

PS And his index finger isn't broken. It's double jointed. THAT he inherited from his dad's freaky side of the family.

Branson Landing

We went down to Branson Landing on Saturday night, to eat at Shorty Smalls. There was a 30 minute wait, so we went down to look at the water, and as we did, fog rolled in. Like, within ten minutes, there was fog where there had been no fog before. Speedy acting insta-fog, the kind Americans would make if they commercially produced fog, and the kind Europeans would sneer at in some sort of accented snobbery, as if to say, "fog made zhat quickly is inferior! You ridiculous Americans and your microwaves and drive thrus and immediate fog. You know noth-zing. NOTH-ZING!"

Anyway.

It was cool. Neat foggy type fog, and it accented the area perfectly, and made for such a pretty picture, and it would all have been just right.

Except.

The water smelled really really fishy. Pee-yew!

Run out of town on a rail

This is a true story of four men and one woman, living in a hotel room in Branson, Missouri, who are having their lives photographed, to see what happens when people stop being polite and start being real. The REAL world, Branson! (It wouldn't last a whole season.)

Here are my four guys on the Branson Senic Railway trip. We traveled an hour south into Arkansas, and then stopped on this very very very high train tresle, sat there a minute to let the fact that we were very very very high up sink in (I have a fear of heights and bridges and open windows and so on), and then the train reversed itself and we traveled back the way we came, to Branson Landing. All in all it was around a 2 hour trip, which wasn't too bad, although if it had been much longer, Peyton would have registered several complaints, or pooped on something. Or someone.

I gave the boys some disposible cameras to see what they would take pictures of. Stephen took lots of grainy underexposed pictures of price tags and knick knacks at the Branson IMAX Mall. Mason took lots of pictures of himself and his brothers doing dorky stuff. I paid to have these things developed. You see the fly in the ointment, don't you?

I think now that we're home and eveyrone has had a good night's sleep, I should be kinder and gentler in my Branson vacation review. I mean, it was full of nice stuff, and the sleep loss and rough housing and perpetual motion and constant complaining are things we put up with at home . . . it's just that, at home, I can send perpetual motion complainers off to different parts of the house so that they can fine tune their argument, leaving me to do my job of not hearing them or seeing them. So, next vacation, we're just going to have to rent a house to stay in. Or a department store. Or the Mall of America.

Labor and pain

I planned a trip for my family in Branson, MO, this past Memorial Day weekend. We saw the Irish Tenors, which was nice, and rode the Senic Railway, also nice. Unfortunately, I learned many many lessons during this trip, including:

1. Peyton is too little and the other two are too rowdy to share a hotel room with. This means no meaningful family vacation until 2015.
2. by 2015, none of us will be speaking to each other.
3. I must never ever plan a vacation, as I get a little emotionally imvolved when it doesn't go as planned.

It was a tough weekend.

Stephen Ells, MD

Stephen was covered with poision ivy (again) and I was putting some medicine on it, when he said, "Mom, I think I'm allergic to all these bug bites." I said, "Oh, really? You're allergic to bug bites?" He said, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Then there was this long pause

And then he said, "Or maybe cheese."

Stephen is not allergic to cheese. He's allergic to being serious.

Kaleidoscope, Crown Center, Kansas City, Missouri, USA, Earth

The four Fairview Third Grade classes (all 100 kids) enjoyed a trip to Crown Center, and Kaleidoscope, in Kansas City. Monte and I went, along with other parents and teacher helpers, to herd the herd. It was a pretty good time. Mason made several things, although I didn't get to see him much, since I had to man the "gold and silver paper on a roll" station. I had to cut the paper off for each kid, because the scissors chained to the station for cutting purposes were dull and didn't work very well. Monte didn't fare much better--he was in charge of the "glue a bunch of stuff together your parents would consider trash, and then call it art" station. There were empty tape spools, all sorts of plastic pieces and parts, and crazy ribbon. He looked so bewildered, like he was thinking, "but I just threw a bunch of stuff just like this away at work, and now you are all climbing over me to get to it, and glue it together. Maybe later you can get my hamburger wrapper from lunch out of the garbage and make a hat out of it."

Ah, childhood!

You are so beautiful to me

You can't see it, because I can't make this picture big enough on blogger, but Mason's eyes are simply stunning in this shot. What a precious little man I have. Ah, he's a heart breaker.

Things you may not know about Mason:
1. Besides video games, he loves the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series by Rick Riordan. We're on the last book, "The Last Olympian" right now. He also enjoys the Harry Potter series, although not quite as much.
2. He asks very mature questions.
3. He loves the Lakers. A lot. He practices his jump shot in hallways, theater bathrooms, restaurant lobbys, EVERYWHERE. Kobe Bryant is his favorite player, but he's starting to branch out and enjoy other players as well.
4. He is beginning to rebel a little, but in his heart he wants very much to please his parents.
5. He is 4 feet 9 inches tall. His mother is 5 feet 5 inches tall. His feet are about an inch shorter than his mother's feet. His mother is 30 years older than he is. I'll save you the graphs and trend charts, and just say, he's gonna be taller than his mother in about a minute and a half.
6. He loves Coldstone ice cream, especially mint with chocolate sprinkles, but hates frozen custard.
7. He likes to go on walks/jogs with his mom and or his dad, and when we're jogging up Chapel Hill, he chants "You can do it! I'm so proud of you! You can beat this hill!" And you know what? It helps a gal get up and over the hill, without too many rest breaks!

There's probably a joke in there about him helping me get "over the hill" but I'll leave it to the reader to craft it.

I'm sooooo sorry!

For anyone who attended yesterday's worship service at Fairview Road Church of Christ in Columbia, MO, I would like to publicly say I'm so so very sorry for forcing Monte to lead "The Lord Bless You and Keep You" as the closing song. I take 100% of the blame. Totally my fault. Rookie mistake. You know it's bad when your friends look at you and say "Oh, wow. You didn't think this through, did you." Like, when they look at your 80s prom dress choice or your wedding hair.

Nope. I didn't. Thought it would be fine. Figured it would be cool. Like the day we went to Johnson Shut-ins with baby Mason, and I thought a regular diaper would act just like a swim diaper, for a short period of time.

It wont. It'll blow up to 10 times its regular size and then explode in a gelatinous crystallized mess. And all the way back to the car, in the woods, with no real recourse but to carry the bewildered gelatin covered baby, you think to yourself, "I'm going back, not to a real bathroom, but a tent and a campsite." (The baby, although 9 now, still acts as though his parents have no idea what they're doing. I suspect it started right there at Johnson Shut-ins.)

Upside though, I now know what a vocal train wreck that song is! Lesson learned--only three billion more just like it to go! (I'm a simpleton.)

Ahhhhhh-men.

P.S. This afternoon, to get the sound of that closing song out of my ears, I went to the new Star Trek movie. Ooooo, it was soooo good. I give it six stars out of five. Dang it, Chris Pine is cute. Holy cow! I don't get a sitter, like EVER, and I would leave my kids with a street corner hobo to see this sucker twice, and happily pay the eight bucks for the privilege. It. is. So. So. Good. Christmas dinner at grandma's good. Ethel M's chocolate good. Two hour massage good. Free luxury hotel accommodations good. IT'S GOOD! GO SEE THIS MOVIE!!!

Just don't sing. They don't take kindly to that on Vulcan.

Rock the vote

I just ran a few of my Mother's Day gift actions from MCPActions.com on this picture, and I have to say, I like it better. You can't see it, since I have to upload these within Blogger parameters, which means small, but after darkening the lighter background and lightening Pepe's face a little, especially his eyes, it seems to enhance the overall look and accent the depth of field to me. I dunno. I just wish he hadn't been wearing a dang dark brown shirt. and sitting next to the black piano bench. But the mess was where and when it was, which prompted the picture in the first place. It's all about location.

I know I'm going to look back on these pictures in five years and think how utterly clueless I was about retouching in Photoshop. They'll be embarrassing first tries, like a fifth grade art project that your mom shows all your adult friends. "My, she certainly was a fan of, uh, color, wasn't she?" Ack.

You'll have to be the judges. Which picture is better, the first one (the one in the last post, not quite straight out of the camera, but close) or the above computer-enhanced second one?

I eagerly await your opinions!

Boys for sale, gently used, cheap!

This one is cute, and he takes an occasional nap, but in the interest of full disclosure, he tears up anything set in any kind of order. Order in general makes him angry.
Also, be aware he has a knack for turning on and off computer components. And lights. And small appliances. CD Players, vacuums, TVs, Tivos, DVD players . . .
This one is nice too, and very low miles, but is consistently covered in ticks and Poison Ivy, Oak, Sumac, etc.
Also, he has many many criticisms for his care givers, as they attempt to counteract the work of the ticks and Poison Ivy, Oak, Sumac, etc.
This one mainly just sits in one spot and plays video games. I would suggest you start here if you're looking for a low maintenance boy. Just remember to triple your present grocery expenses when calculating the household budget.

Please direct inquiries to Mom. All sales are final.

Okay, just kidding. They're not really for sale. Who would keep me warm in the middle of the night when they come in and want to chat at 3 a.m.?

Unless somebody makes me a really really really good offer.

Salon Adair and Spa is just NOT that into me

So I'm feeling pretty cranky right now. I just sat for 30 minutes in the waiting room at Salon Adair and Spa, across from Hy-vee in Columbia, hoping for a haircut. I didn't need a style, or even sparkling conversation. Just a haircut that brings the ends of my hair back in alignment with each other. I called on Saturday to make an appointment for sometime pretty quick, and after stifling a yawn, the terse and sleep deprived receptionist with barely veiled disdain, told me they had a six o'clock on Monday, and did I want it? Okay, I said, and gave her my name. Mason had a baseball game at seven-thirty, so I reasoned that, surely, an hour would give me enough time to get a haircut, drive the two miles back to our house, and leave an extra fifteen minutes of organization time before we had to leave for the game. Surely. I mean, in this economy, nobody turns down business, right? Right? Is this thing on?

Not so at Salon Adair and Spa. They apparently have so much ridiculous business coming out of their amazingly coiffed ears, that they have no problem treating customers like they were something unpleasant on the bottom of a manolo blahnik. I walked in at six on the dot, and checked in. The receptionist (a new one this time) reacted to my presence like she would extend her help only out of sheer boredom and lack of anything better to do, which didn't bother me too much early on. It was only after fifteen minutes of sitting on their overstuffed couches reading boring hair and bride magazines that I realized I had been utterly forgotten. I walked up to the receptionist and explained I had a six o'clock appointment, and it was now quite a bit past that. She stared at me like she couldn't decide what to do next, and then after a protracted pause, told me she'd go check with the stylist. The stylist, it seemed, was still working on the person ahead of me, but she was just finishing up. I assented, but asserted I had to be finished by seven. The receptionist then said the most amazing thing. She said, "Well, it takes about an hour for a haircut." Hadn't I scheduled an hour? Wasn't six to seven exactly an hour? Ignoring the fact that this obvious point was lost on everybody but me, I said "Well, maybe she can just cut it and not style it or anything." At this point the receptionist and I agreed everything that could be said on the subject had been, and I sat back down.

At six twenty-five, I realized I was not important in any way to the entire staff of Salon Adair and Spa. Neither the receptionist nor the stylist had initiated any contact with me. I had to ask why my appointment was off schedule. (I never saw the stylist at all.) Finally, I stood up. The receptionist, realizing I might be upset, for the first time, said "I'm sorry." To her credit, she actually used a tone that implied she was being sincere. Unfortunately, it was too little too late. I said, "Thanks anyway" and "It is what it is" (in response to her apology), and left.

Nobody up there cares I left. In fact they're probably celebrating getting to go home early. And they really didn't lose a lot of business. I have my slow growing hair cut, maybe five times a year. But if the subject comes up, I wont hesitate to share my experience. Like I'm doing now with you good people out there. See, it's very hard for someone who takes care of a baby all day to get a second to herself for a haircut. Once you carve out the time, it just seems too precious to spend on waiting rooms and rude treatment.

My apologies to anyone from out of town who reads this . . . sometimes a gal's gotta vent.

Something I wish I'd written

You get a lot of good stuff off http://thepioneerwoman.com/. For example, there are the photography tips, hints, tricks and free photoshop actions, which have really helped prod my picture taking evolution. There are the fabulous recipes that I will never ever ever attempt, but that still look amazing in pictures that make the food look piping hot and delicious, like you could smell it cooking right through the internet. There's the smartypants quizzes, the homeschooling info (that, I'll be honest, isn't of much use to me) and the harlequin romance novel story of Pioneer Woman's courtship with Marlboro Man (her husband). All of which is extremely valuable and worthwhile information . . . but today, in a post about her mom and grandma, Pioneer Woman published the attached poem which really touched me. It was in there because her mom forwarded the poem, which is just like her mom to do (it was a mother's day post, after all). But I read it and thought, "this is how I feel when I stand out on my back deck alone and stare into the city-fied woods, and remember growing up on the farm near real woods, and real fields and real hog smell. Hog smell aside, a powerful bond exists between me and God's creation, and my small but solid place in it, and frankly, I just liked the poem's words.
------------------------------
“In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver, from American Primitive. © Back Bay Books, 1983.

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
-------------------------
Yeah, Mary, I'll try. I'll try.

Bye bye baby

As inevitable as death, taxes and TV show dry spells, the day of Peyton's first haircut was coming and it was getting to be just a question of when. Monte had had enough of strangers commenting on how pretty his sweet little girl is (dang it, he IS pretty), and the other boys needed haircuts, so after the intervention, off we went on Friday to SportsClips. Peyton's hair was a little long, I'll admit, but it's basically cotton candy air fluff, and there really isn't much there when you get right down to it. Besides, he's so pretty and it's not THAT long. However, I am a reasonable person, and when threatened with being excluded from the first haircut and just finding out it happened later, I was motivated to go ahead and get on the haircut bandwagon that everyone else was already aboard. Here are some before and after pictures from the big day.

See, nobody but me gets that now that his hair's been cut, he's a little boy. He was a baby until Friday at 4:30, and after that he became a boy. It's the Christian version of a bar mitzvah--my son is a man, without the reading from the torah and the obligatory band. He no longer needs his mom in the same way as he did before. You think I'm being melodramatic, but later that night, he used a fork successfully, and he now says the words "fla" (flower) "Maah" (more) and "guh" (juice/drink). If he sees the floor he reaches for it, and once there he's off like a shot, in whatever direction I'm not in. I mean, give him a driver's license and a bank account, and suddenly he's calling me "mother" and shaking my hand in greeting. Waaaaaaaaaaaa!

God may be in the details, but Kindergarteners are NOT

I'm reading Stephen the second Harry Potter book. If you've never read it (and really, this explanation is for all five of you out there who haven't), there's a school called Hogwarts and in it are four houses the kids are sorted into: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Stephen was engrossed in the chapter, which discussed Harry's interaction with some Hufflepuff kids and some Slytherin kids. When we finished reading, we had this conversation:

MOM: So, what did you think of tonight's chapter?
STEPHEN: Good.
MOM: What was your favorite part?
STEPHEN: I don't know. Which kid was Ernie? Was Ernie a Sucklepuppy?
MOM: A Sucklepuppy?
STEPHEN: Yeah, you know, a Sucklepuppy or a Hidden Door?
MOM: You mean a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor?
STEPHEN: Yeah, that's what I said.
MOM: Oh. He's a Sucklepuppy.
STEPHEN: That's what I thought.

It's not about the details with boys. It's about how wacky you can get when you mangle the details. I think I'll write to J.K. Rowling and tell her she needs to rewrite the books using Sucklepuppy and Hidden Door, because from now on, that's what I'll be thinking when I come across Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

Are you making fun of my mullet?

My daddy's hair looks just like this in his and mom's wedding album. Seriously.

This movement needs more allegro, fortissimo . . . and DiMaggio!

Having a little brother can be difficult at times. Especially when you've got two. Mason seems to be coping better than most, and for the most part, his payback has been the adulation of little bit and even littler bit.

But sometimes, a man's got a job to do and having little brothers can get in the way. For example, let's just say a man's got to practice his piano. Although Mason has one recital under his belt (last Sunday) he's still got more to do in piano learnin'. But how can you play with a little brother all up in your business?

I guess it's time to embrace the fact that little brothers aren't going anywhere, and you just have to deal with it!

When Peyton closes a door, he does NOT open a window

Oh, hello Mom. I'm sorry, but we're not interested in anything you're selling.

Yes, thank you, good-bye now. That's right, I'm closing the door.

See how much fun it is, when Mom is outside and Peyton is INSIDE? Now shoo or I'll set the dogs on you! (We don't have any dogs, but the door seems to be doing it's job.)

Parole Hearing

All five of us were sitting around a table at Red Lobster, eating dinner. In silence. It almost never happens, and when it does it never lasts. However, it was actually lasting for once, when suddenly, Stephen breaks the silence with . . .

STEPHEN: "Dad, what would happen if Mom went to jail?"

MONTE: "Uh, I'd be sad. What would she go to jail for?"

STEPHEN: "Well, what if she forgets to feed me?"

MONTE: "When has she ever forgotten to feed you?"

MOM: "Well, what do you do when you are hungry and you need something to eat? Wouldn't you just go to the kitchen and find something to eat?"

STEPHEN: "No, I would go to a restaurant, but how would I get there and who would drive me?"

MOM: "What about our kitchen in our house?"

STEPHEN: "No, I can't go there, there's nothing in there but muffin tops [eggo waffles] and yogurt."

Niiiiiice. The only reason I'm not in jail is that I know where all the restaurants are in Columbia.

Belated thank you note

• Thank you, Lisa Doty Guerrero and Kim Harper Frances, for teaching me to ride a bike at grandma and grandpa Doty's house. Lisa brought infinate patience, Kim brought passionate motivation--it was the perfect storm, and the bike got rode.


• Thank you, Rachel and Riley Doty for the American Royal, trips in a big grain truck with too many people in the cab, trips to Silver Dollar City, trips all over. I hope there's a travel plan in heaven.


• Thank you, Bob and Joyce Doty, for taking me to the Camelot Hotel in Little Rock, AR when I was 14, and showing me for the first time what man made splendor was.


• Thank you, Julie Doty Mankins, for being my first best friend. Thank you Susie Harvey, for being the last best friend I'll ever need.


• Thank you, Elaine and Clyde Harper, for the camping trips and the pies made out of white bread and cherry pie filling, cooked over a campfire.


• Thank you, Chris and Sharon Harper, for buying all kinds of stuff I sold when I was in school for this or that. I always think of you when I see a little kid with an order blank in his hand.


• Thank you, Laura Harper McWilliams, for showing me in adulthood what peace looks like, and for all those late night little girl talks under the Nadia Comaneci poster in your room back in the day.


• Thank you, Lisa Brass Ross, for the funny, funny, oh so funny.


• Thank you, Lisa Viets, for freshman year in high school, and not having to walk the halls alone.


• Thank you, Barbara Anderson Bickford and Stephanie O'Neal Beck for the 80s funny, funny, oh so funny, and how many times did we sing The Rose on some sort of stage, or at least in front of people? Too many. Bette Midler called. She wants her song back.


• Thank you, Andrew and Tiffany Lough and Michael and Alicia Moore, for Branson. Each and every time.
• Thank you Terri Hines, for several thousand dollars' worth of lunches. I'll never live long enough to pay you back! And for being my friend, and funny and for helping me face all those doctors . . .

I know I'm forgetting somebody . . . I'll probably have to do this again with a second list.

Mom and Dad, Brandon and Karen, Shauna and Matt, Monte, I'm always thankful for you, and hopefully you know what for.

I love Photoshop Actions

Because they turn the little guy on the left, into the little guy on the right! Boom! Yea color boost, yea lightener, yea yea yea!

Also, for those of you keeping score at home, Mozilla Firefox is faster, less flaky and a far superior browser than IE7, much like the MAC is superior to the PC in every way but third party software availability. Take that, Microsoft.

Oh MY!

My sister's year and a half old baby Ben is a spirited little guy who loves to scream and throw and run and bite and grin and laugh and play. He is a typical boy, and as a typical boy, he likes to rip the pages from books instead of looking at them and gently patting the pictures. (I have several books with no pages in them anymore. We switched to board books after the doctor announced the second Ellis baby would be a boy too.) But Shauna's Ben has done an artful job of ripping the above book, and Shauna wonders aloud, "Is he trying to send me a message?"

Yes, Shauna. Yes he is.

Welcome baby Caden!

So, I was helping to plan this baby shower for my friend, when baby Caden James arrived early and threw everybody off schedule! It's okay, he's just cute enough to get away with it. The little guy is just under 4 pounds and 18 inches long, with lot of hair! (All my babies were so precious, but also so bald. I've always been jealous of babies with lots of hair!)

Fritz's

GeoTagged, [N39.08325, E94.58183]

A few weeks ago while in Kansas City for LTC, we ate at Fritz's in Crown Center. Fritz's is a train-themed burger joint, with a black old time corded telephone for customers to "call" in a food order, and each booth was decorated with a train car-looking window that shows paintings of scenery, I guess to simulate what it might look like if you were on a real train and looked out the window or something (I've never been on a train, so I'm wildly guessing here). Anyway, the cutest part is that instead of people, an actual mini-train brings the food (people still bring drinks--they're not completely insane). It's on an overhead track that goes around the perimeter of the restaurant, and a little mechanical arm drops down in front of your table stop when the food is for you. Then, when the train passes by over head, the arm drags the food off the train and on to a tray, which is lowered down to your table. The boys couldn't stop staring at the process of each table getting their food. One box of food nearly fell off the tray while it was still in midair because the train went by kind of fast, and we jokingly wondered to each other if any of the trays ever topple over and pelt people with burgers and fries. The Hajicek family ate at Fritz's the same night, and I guess when you're both lawyers, you don't just wonder things and move on, you verify with people who know. So they asked the waitress if the food ever actually spills on unsuspecting customers, and she told them that, no, it didn't happen very often, only about once a week. We all agreed once a week represented a high incidence rate of food falling from the ceiling, not a low one, but even though we went back once more during the weekend, we never got to see anyone wearing a burger hat or fries for hair. But wouldn't that have been so cool?

My Favorite Websites . . . right now

If you know me, you know I don't live long without technology. Even camping I take my cell phone and make sure we can use Google Earth on it or some sort of GPS to make sure we can find the tent again. I do a lot of my shopping online (no crowds), nearly all of my banking (again, did I mention no crowds) and even track how far I've walked with my Nike+ shoes (to get AWAY from the crowds).

So it would seem I have a teeny tiny expertise in the area of rampant internet consumerism, and for one lucky post, all my knowledge can be yours. Shall we begin?

MY TOP ELEVEN FAVORITE WEB SITES (in no particular order)--That's right, eleven, deal with it!!!

1. The Shabby Shoppe digital scrapbook store: http://www.theshabbyshoppe.com/
   I just like this lady's digital scrapbook kits and designs. Plus, I use them for a lot more than scrapbooking . . . the spring kit will figure prominently in baby shower decorations in the next few weeks!
2. Pioneer Woman Photography: http://thepioneerwoman.com/
   Has awesome Photoshop actions, Photoshop tutorials, Photography hints, and even other website sections related to cooking and home schooling. The recipes look great and her pictures of them look even better. She can keep the home schooling, though!
3. Oh My Crafts: http://www.ohmycrafts.com/
   Everything scrapbooking, and it's cheaper than at the stores. Plus, sometimes they offer free shipping, or a discount on your total order, which makes all your craft items an even better buy!
4. Nelle and Lizzy: http://www.nelleandlizzy.com/
   Personalized silver rings and necklaces, and in a style you can't really find anywhere else. You can have your baby or sweetie's name in silver on your finger or around your neck, just in time for Mother's Day! These pieces are the bomb!
5. Columbia's Kitchen (formerly Super Suppers): http://www.columbiaskitchen.com/
   It's like having mom cook for you, then freeze the dish! Delicious, better than supermarket frozen food, and cheaper than eating out. I highly recommend the Bacon Cheeseburger Meatloaf and the Green Chile Chicken Enchiladas.
6. Ancestry.com: http://www.ancestry.com/
   Let's face it. If you're doing family history research, you're eventually going to have to get on this site. I know, I know, rootsweb and genweb are free, and this involves a membership, but still, you can get more info, in less time, with easier search tools and better hints from the mama of them all. Ancestry still rules the genealogy game.
7. Hulu: http://www.hulu.com/
   I have a thing for the past, especially old time radio and TV broadcasts (for my purposes, old time radio and TV involves anything originally broadcast in the 30s, 40s, 50s or 60s--in some cases I'll include 70s and 80s if I'm being nostalgic for my own old time lifespan.) Hulu has great TV shows you can watch on your computer for free, if you don't mind a few commercials. They have some of the old 60s Dragnet TV show, and of course, some newer stuff, depending on your taste.
8. Netflix: http://www.netflix.com/
   And, if you don't mind a few bucks a month and sitting at your computer monitor instead of your television (or at your TV if you have Tivo hooked up to Netflix, but I digress), you can watch even more old TV with no commercials. Plus some movies. I love this service--it's really worth the $14 a month to get the Rockford Files any time I want me a little James Garner in 70s polyester plaid.
9. iTunes: http://www.itunes.com/
   I love downloading old time radio and listening to it while doing the stuff I don't want to do, like laundry and such. It makes the separation of whites and darks so much more interesting, if Boston Blackie or The Shadow or Perry Mason are solving crime in my head! Plus most of the OTR podcasts on iTunes are free. Can't beat it, unless you don't have an iPod or other MP3 player. But seriously, that's like not owning a microwave anymore, right?
10. Pro Bar meal replacement bars: http://theprobar.com/
    I love the Cran Lemon Twister, and the Cherry Pretzel ones the best! If you're out or busy or need a little snack, these babies can either be a pick me up or a whole meal, depending on how much of them you eat (350 calories per bar). They really fill you up if you're hungry and lunch is still a long way off--and you can slip them in a diaper bag or purse or car glove box or hide them under your bed or in your underwear drawer! Think of the options! Plus, after you find out how good they are for you, you can buy them here (or at Clover's, but since this is all about the web, we'll gloss over that.)
11. One True Media: http://www.onetruemedia.com/
    Get all that footage out of your camera and into everyone's e-mail inbox! You upload your clips to OTM, add in some (for the most part) free styles, effects, transitions, music, whatever, and then you can share it by e-mail, to another person's Tivo, buy a DVD of it, any number of options. You don't have to invest in footage editing software or burn your own DVDs or try and get Grandma to understand how to open the MPEG file you sent. I use this site a lot!

Ta-da! Oh, and of course, blogger.com, but then again, you guys knew that!

PS: Other sites I love, but that didn't make the list because it was getting too long: http://www.bellasnaps.com/scripts/default.asp; http://www.talkshoe.com/talkshoe/web/talkCast.jsp?masterId=18797&cmd=tc; http://www.heavenlystitchesembroidery.com/ (yes, that's Hayden, it's Kristin Lasiter's site);
http://www.otr.net/; http://www.papertreyink.com/; https://lty.s.upromise.com/secure/cookiedHomePage.do and http://www.twopeasinabucket.com/shop/

Sometimes you want the drama

Mason's LTC drama participation (turn the sound up--my camera didn't catch the sound very well). It's a call in radio show, where the host, Ferris C. (Pharisee--get it?) played by William Kallenbach (yes, he's ready for his close-up) isn't all that fond of that radical Jesus guy, until the very end . . . Mason plays Peter, one of the diciples.

Life, Light, Word and Exhaustion

We spent the weekend at Leadership Training for Christ, a church based retreat in Kansas City where kids 3rd through 12th grades competed in events designed to grow them spiritually and encourage the development of their leadership skills. Each year there's a theme, and this year it was Life, Light & Word, the gospel of John. This was Mason's first year to participate, and the events he competed in were Christian art, speech, drama, bible reading, bible quiz & puppets. The whole weekend was amazing (it was at Crown Center also, so there was great food and shops when we weren't running to and from events), but the best part was anything Mason participated in--we had been before as church organizers, but there's something about having your own kid in the events, that makes it all feel so rewarding. He worked so hard--besides memorizing his lines for drama, he nearly memorized his speech and the first four chapters of John! Here's his speech (given at 8 a.m. on Saturday, in a suit, after having less than optimal sleep, thank you very much!)

We were really really tired when we got home, (and a few of us got the stomach flu and threw up so they were even more tired than the rest of us), but we would do it all again just to see Mason so grown up. (Well, grown up with the exception of a few escalator and elevator moments, but then again, Monte IS his dad!)

Sorry PETA, I just don't get it

GeoTagged, [N38.93424, E92.38938]

So, Peyton and I are in the Westlake Hardware store picking up some mulch, when we are transported through the looking glass into an upside-down world. Normally, any store experience is like a baby show without all the rouge and dysfunctional stage moms. "Oh isn't he precious!" "My grandson is about the same age--isn't this a fun time?" "What a charmer! What a doll!" And so on. (You get used to it.) So imagine my surprise when the cashier at Westlakes simply takes my money and hands me back my change while avoiding eye contact like I was there all by myself . . . I'm all "Really? No one sees the adorable baby with the cute hat? Sitting right here? Being . . . adorable and such?"

It was true. No one was looking at Peyton. That's bizarre enough to end the story right there. But then, as if this wasn't Twilight Zone-y enough, a guy comes in, and at the end of his leash was something best described as the result of breeding a large black dog with a small, even blacker, horse. Do the employees scream and run for cover? Do they ask the animal what it wants and beg it not to hurt anybody? NO! The cashiers go ga-ga! Nuts! Completely bonkers over this canine giant. "Oh my goodness, what a sweet baby! She is beautiful, what is her name! Raven? Oh how precious!!!" Blah blah blah. I mean, this hellhound looking beast didn't really evoke 'sweet' so much as bone-chilling fright, like the kind of dog you'd find guarding the gates of Hades (although, to be fair, the scary dog-horse was very well behaved). And these grandmotherly cashiers are overtly fawning, and Peyton can't get a "Hello there" to save his life. What sort of freak show mixed up world are we living in anyway? :) I'm going to stay in my house until things right themselves again.

Not wasted

Most people get into genealogy because they want to discover a link to a famous person or find hidden mysteries about their past or because they have ridiculous amounts of spare time. But for me, aside from that other stuff, the draw has also been the fascination and examination of the seemingly wasted or semi-wasted life. The what ifs. When my father was twelve, my grandfather committed suicide. What if he hadn't? My great aunt also committed suicide, after retiring from her job. Her suicide note suggests she was depressed and felt there was nothing left for her to live for. What if she hadn't given up? On another side, my great great grandfather was divorced from my great great grandmother, when my great grandfather was still a toddler. He grew up without a father, and he and his sister had a decades long feud regarding money and property eventually gained from the absent father after he passed. What if they hadn't grown up fatherless? What if they hadn't fought so bitterly about money, that the acrimony never allowed them to reconcile? On still another side, my great grandparent's home burned and they lost two children in the fire. What if the girls had been saved, and not lost so young? What would their lives have been? What if my own grandmother, having lost her husband by his own hand and left with two small boys to raise, had chosen to remarry? What if my dad had grown up with a stepfather? How would my grandmother's life have been different if she had had a partner to share it with? Or what if she had remarried, and chosen poorly? How would any marriage of my grandmother's have affected my father or his children? Even more than that, what of the mysteries surrounding the pictures in the family albums of people we don't know . . . people dressed in period costumes with names lost to time. No place, no history, no story--we have no way of knowing if these lives were lived, wasted or a mixture of the two. I feel for all of these people, and the situations they found themselves in. I wish I had known them personally, and had a first hand glimpse of what each life was like--the bargains they made, the circumstances that surrounded them, and why each chose to deal with their problems as they did. I often wonder if they felt they ever had options, or what motivated each choice that eventually caused their stories to be written such as they were.

Although my family tree has its share of tragedy, it also has its success stories and its unknowns. And I'm not suggesting all lives that contain tragedy are wasted. But I think the lives really worth celebrating, the ones that I would deem successful or at the very least not burdened with waste, were the simple, boring lifespans that bound a hard working family together. The ones who seemed to care about one another until the obituaries were written and the subsequent generations found their own place. Not exciting or gripping, plodding in fact, but still I think I would like my life to be like one of those. Some tragedy, but not even partially wasted, not defined by what ifs. Just tied to the people I care about, walking shoulder to shoulder into time, into someones historical record, until the generation I represent fades enough so that it's hard to remember what life must have been like back then. Long cold in the ground, but not a waste.

Multipurpose

GeoTagged, [N38.96316, E92.29452]

PEYTON'S VIEW OF SALTINE CRACKERS: They're a toy AND a food! PS: That's a carrot hat, by the way! My mom still dresses me.

Communications Major

Mason: Stephen, you have bad breath!
Mom: That's the pot calling the kettle black.
Mason: What does that mean?
Mom: Both the pot and the kettle are black. It's a figure of speech that reminds us not to be hypocritical.
Mason: So . . . . . you're saying I'm black? (long pause) I don't think I'm black mom. I think I'm peach.

This was followed by a discussion of what color everyone at the table actually represented, which turned out to be peach, pink, light tan, cream and baby colored. Grandma's an art teacher.

But I went to college . . .

Mom: Stephen, how is it going? Are you winning at your video games?
Stephen: Yep. I just got the emperor. He weighed a lot of money.
Mom: No, he either cost a lot of money or weighed a lot of pounds.
Stephen: No, he can't weigh a lot of pounds, Mom. He can fly. He is light. (Whispered loudly to Mason) Mom doesn't know a lot about video games, does she.

You're KILLING me!

On the way out of the Steak-n-Shake last night, Stephen was dancing all around the parking lot, unintentionally affecting our schedule and taxing our nerves. He often does this, breaking the cardinal "shortest distance between the car and the restaurant is a straight line" rule, combined with his "I'm a kid, so that speeding car - jagged cliff - flaming poisonous rabid mountain lion can't hurt me" philosophy. Because our Kindergartner was driving us crazy, Monte said "Arrgh, c'mon Stephen, you're killing me!" Laughing at this, Stephen turned around, walked up to daddy, and playfully punched him in a region containing some fairly sensitive reproductive tissue (Stephen didn't aim, but he and Monte are at a certain height ratio, and the gods were smiling on him, and it all just connected that way.) Monte (after a prolonged moment of recovery) got understandably aggrivated and told Stephen that he was in quite a bit of trouble. Stephen, at this point extremely bewildered and a little upset, tearfully said, "Uh, but dad? You said to kill you."

Meanwhile, I did my best to see if my shoelaces had any imperfections in them, because to look up was to lose all control and give in to the laughter, which would have put me in quite a bit of trouble.

I'm in big trouble

Mom: You're in big trouble, boys!
Mason & Stephen: (snicker, snicker)
Mom: What's so funny?
Mason: You're in big trouble! Urine big trouble! Urine!!! Ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Mom to Dad: Are you going to do something about this?
Dad: Boys, calm down! (Whispered to Mom:) It was kind of funny. Urine. Ha ha ha ha ha.

Men/Boys. Life's one constant. No matter how old they get, urine is a funny word.

The End of an Era

Mason turned 9 yesterday. No more baby.
Also, he is noticing girls, and that they are different. VERY different.
Tick, tick, tick, here we go, up the roller coaster ramp.

It's cold again . . . and again

The weather in Missouri is fickle. It has been in the 70s and so beautiful that all of us kind of dropped our winter guard, putting on shorts and short sleeves and airing up our bike tires and basketballs, and shoving our winter gear deep into the closet. But this week there's been a change of fortune, and we woke up Tuesday to find ourselves facing 30 degree rainy drizzle. Amid sighs and hung heads we climbed into the closet and retrieved what had been gleefully shoved in there just days before—out came the coats and hats and gloves and cursed scarfs. The boys have been particularly hard hit and are in very deep denial, attempting to leave the house in short sleeves or profusely denying they are cold when their noses are bright red and their bodies shivering at a fever pitch. I was trying to describe the mood in my house to my sister in Phoenix, when I came across this page in one of Leslie Patricelli's books, Baby Happy, Baby Sad. It pretty much sums up what we've all been feeling . . .

Baby SAD! Mom SAD! Boys SAD!

On another more commercial note , if you have little kids, you should pick up Leslie Patricelli's books—they will love them. I got mine at Amazon.com and my sister got one at Walmart, so they're available pretty much everywhere. The books are really cute, and the illustrations are adorable. The author's URL is here: http://www.lesliepatricelli.com/ and the books are: Yummy YUCKY; Baby Happy, Baby Sad; Quiet LOUD; Big Little; Binky; Blankie; The Birthday Box; Higher Higher; and No No Yes Yes. Peyton likes and endorses them all, except Binky, The Birthday Box and Blankie, which we don't have.

And One More

ELEVEN THINGS I LOVE ABOUT MONTE
11. He lets me put my cold feet on his leg at night and he doesn't complain :-)

Early Father's Day

TEN THINGS I LOVE ABOUT MONTE
10. He would rather be with his boys than be anywhere, or with anyone else, in the world
9. If I’m sad, he always tells the boys to say something sweet to me, like, “Mom, you’re the best mom in the world.” Sometimes, I say, “What made you say that, silly boy?” and they’ll look at me blankly, and say “Just a second . . .” and run off to ask dad what the next line should be.
8. He always overdoes holidays, and he never is wrong about what I want, and he never has to ask me what I want, because he already knows
7. He is a strong spiritual leader, and shows the boys what that means by working at church, going to class and making time to pray with them at night
6. He likes to have fun, and plays with the boys just like he was their age
5. He can fix things, and seems to always know a way around any sort of computer problem
4. At night when the kids are finally in bed asleep, he tells me funny stories about his day, and I always laugh at his silly adventures, or we talk about things until we realize we’ve stayed up too late again
3. He tries not to roll his eyes or look bored when I show him my latest craft project or my genealogy work, and he doesn't get too upset when I tell him how much I spent on it
2. He compliments something about me or something I’ve done, nearly everyday
1. He makes me feel beautiful and valuable

Speed Dating

STEPHEN: Mom, you should go on a date.
MOM: With who?
STEPHEN: Peyton or Daddy or Mason or me.
MOM: When I pick out somebody to go with, then what should we do on our date?
STEPHEN: You kiss, and then you get married, and then everybody goes home.
MOM: Great, then I pick you. I'm ready for my date.
STEPHEN: Oh. I changed my mind, I want to go watch a show.

Smile, and the world doesn't necessarily smile with you . . .

A friend of mine read the blog, and noticed I had a very rushed, cell phone quality, not very flattering picture of myself in the profile section. To be honest, it was one of the two I had when I re-set up the site a few months ago, and at the time I was more interested in getting the site revamped than I was with actual content. I had forgotten about it until my friend mentioned it, but the picture, for better or worse, is a symptom of an underlying thing I've had going my whole life, and on the edge of 40 I should probably get past it.

I hate having my picture taken.

It all started in high school, which is the biggest cliche I've written in this blog to date. Ugly duckling and awkward phase were the watch words back then, but it all sort of solidified the day of senior pictures. Every kid in Marshall, MO had their senior portraits taken at Lee's studio. I guess good ol' Lee was the only game in town, and apparently had made some sort of deal with the devil to be the sole provider for high school portrait sittings within Saline county. There I was on a Tuesday evening with my 80s hair and heavy makeup, my mother's suggested outfits (probably the biggest of my slew of mistakes), and to make the evening a triple threat, it was the start of the spring rainy season in mid-Missouri. So I'm sitting in the most awkward position the human body ever assumed (knees turned toward the back of the body, back strait, hand under chin, cramp acquired . . . ) when Lee says, "Okay, now, just relax and smile naturally." I did, with a big toothy grin that nearly closed my eyes completely. Lee pauses, frowns and says "Can you open your eyes a little for me?" And I'm thinking "relax, smile, legs burning, hand trembling, picture going in yearbook, kept forever, open eyes, open eyes . . . " And Lee turns to my mother, and says (I'm not kidding) "It looks like she's got a little chinaman in her—ha ha."

Now, to to be clear to everyone in the reading audience, it was not the idea of having Chinese heritage that appalled me. That would have been really cool, and definately would have made me unique in a 95% Caucasian Midwestern high school. It was that, to my very sensitive awkward teen ears, it seemed Lee was pointing out my round fleshy face with it's unfortunate musculoskeletal system, produced a smile that, simply put, was too difficult to photograph for posterity with attractive results. I didn't part my lips much during the remainder of the shoot (too focused on getting those eyes open), opting instead for a Mona Lisa version which gives a hint of happy without shoving my cheeks up and into their upstairs orbital cavity neighbors. There's not much intentional film of my teeth from that day to this. In fairness to Lee, part of the problem was the heavy 80s eye makeup, which exacerbated matters, but the rest of the problem was and is my florid fleshy English-Irish bone structure, which can't be removed with Mary-Kay products.

So, there it is. I don't like having my picture taken. While you're crying me a river, which I have no doubt you aren't actually doing, please note I have three beautiful boys and a husband to take pictures of, and I really do enjoy spending the majority of my time behind the camera (Awww, Mom, not again! Do we have to take a picture everywhere we go? It's the supermarket for crying out loud). I'm not looking for reader sympathy or even mild interest—I'm just providing a long winded explanation of why my blog had such a low-res shot for the profile, why you wont find a lot of me on my own SD card, and how someday the kids are going to have a tough time finding pictures of mom to put up on a display board (assuming they think to do that) when it comes time (far far in the future) for my funeral celebration. To avoid ending on such a down funerary note, I did take a new picture for the blog, all by myself with the iCamera on the MacBook, and I think it looks okay with it's snazzy black and white effect. And don't be too hard on Lee, who I think is still in business over there in Marshall, and I'm sure does lovely work when he has something to work with. His poor ill fated comment was simply a stress releaving joke gone wrong, which we've all done at least once or twice. Fortunately, the world is too rich and wonderful a place to worry over having your picture taken. From now on, I'm giving big fat toothy grins wherever I go! Somebody may even have a camera ready!

More and more comedy

KRISTI: "Boys, settle down!"
STEPHEN: (tongue out) "Ppfppffpfttt!"
KRISTI: "That was disrespectful and not okay."
STEPHEN: "Sorry mom."
--Long Pause--
STEPHEN: "But was it funny, though?"

EDITOR'S NOTE: When you laugh at something a six year old does, it is often very hard to get the idea across to the same six year old that the act isn't actually funny over the very very long term.

LATER, THAT SAME DAY . . .
KRISTI: Stephen, I'm your mom. It's important you listen to me and focus on my words. You have to pay better attention and listen with your eyes. Now, tell me, what did I just say?
STEPHEN: Um, I'm sorry mom. I dont know--I accidentally thinked about a horse.

Peyton's Cadillac-ack-ack-ack-ack!

Now that I don't have those handy breastfeeding calories to fall back on, I have to actually select, and get into, a physical fitness program. I'm world famous for holding FFP focus just shy of a week or two, and then giving up the activity once I realize it looked like a lot more fun in the brochure (the people are always sweating AND smiling). But the big (gasp) 40 is coming up this June, and I really am starting to feel the effects of putting off caring for my body. I'm developing these creaky knees (they actually make a sound sometimes when I climb stairs) and an achy back (oy!), not to mention the endless "handles" I seem to be covered with (I refuse to associate them with the word love).

So here we are, to the money part. If you have kids or a hobby, there's always equipment--and since I'm tackling both at the same time, the equipment is gonna be sick, G! (as the kids used to say, about 100 years ago). Enter, the Chariot CX-1 Child Carrier [www.chariotcarriers.com]. This baby will go from a jogging stroller to a regular mall stroller without tools (the difference here being that the jogging version goes fast over bumpy terrain without knocking the baby into next week, whereas regular has a zero turning radius for those tight browsing situations, or when you need to do a quick 180, e.g. when you theoretically run into that mean teacher the kids had at that one preschool that nobody liked and you are looking to avoid strained chit chat). And when you're done strolling in all its forms, the CX becomes a bike trailer, for those times when your heart hasn't completely exploded out of your chest from all the other activity this stupid new post-prime fitness program suggests.

Mock if you will, (and I'm sure you will,) but this baby really is pretty neat. So far its gotten me up and moving (we're still in the two week honeymoon period, natch), and the steering and handling are like butt-ah. Best of all, Peyton seems to like it. He appears to think he's in some sort of cockpit and I'm the good natured but dopey ground crew. He smiles at me, like "Plane looks good today, Sparky--nice shiny wheels! Let's kick the tires and light the fires! Have you seen my Kenny Loggins CD?" He still too young to be embarrassed by the old woman huffing and puffing behind him--thank goodness. The illusion of fitness is complete!

Daddy In Charge

I have stamp club on the first Thursday of the month, which is three hours of card making, stamping, and crafting away from home. It's adults only--no kids are allowed, so obviously I go alone. This leaves Daddy in charge of the boys. I came home from stamp club last night, and found this . . .

When I asked Monte about it, he said "Who am I to judge what someone who is saving the world should wear?" At the risk of getting all Tim Gunn on them, I simply can't concede the point. After all, I think those are my socks.

Overheard at Dick's Sporting Goods

KRISTI: I'm hungary! I'm ready to go eat!
DICK'S SPORTING GOODS CASHIER: Me too! I'll go with you--ha ha!
KRISTI: Sure. I have so many kids, one more or one less isn't all that noticeable.
MASON: (With big eyes) One less?!

Mason's basketball greatness!

We had a big night Friday. Mason scored his very first basket in an organized official ballgame, and then he followed it up with a second two-pointer a few minutes later. His team was on fire. They really acted like a team--moving the ball, passing, rebounding, the works. It was such a good game! Of course with all that mojo they won, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the big smile he got on his face that fueled the rest of his game. He ran, worked, moved with more heart than I've ever seen. It was beautiful. I'd be lying if I denied tearing up when his first basket went in. (I tear up about the babies with regularity.) But seeing that heart--as Drew Barrymore said in Music and Lyrics--was dinner.

The journey of a 1000 miles begins with one silly step!

You know, you might say Peyton is a bit tardy in learning to walk, what with all his bible class friends doing it first. But he holds the record for Ellis babies! Mason was 15 months, Stephen was 17 months--but Peyton comes in at a speedy 13 months! Even better, he took all these steps on Grandpa Steve's birthday! Hopefully he'll soon walk places instead of being carried--I hope this walking thing isn't just a parlor trick he brings out for parties!

What!?

Orange Blossom Luna Tea Cakes. Sports Night. Pushing Daisies. Whisper Pink Mary Kay Eyeshadow. Spring Copper Glazewear. Veronica Mars. Dress it up petals rhinestone buttons. Starbucks Baked Berry Stellas.

What do these things have in common, besides the fact that you can no longer find them on the open market? Me. They were all my favorites. Favorite TV shows. Favorite make up, favorite food, favorite craft item. It's getting to be a joke of monumental proportions. Monte laughs every single time I say, "wow, I really like that" because he knows it's just a matter of time before the subject of my sentence is eliminated in all of its forms as if it never existed in the first place. Not just canceled or discontinued--expunged from the record, all traces removed like a HAZMAT team crossed with CIA spooks on a super secret covert ops elimination mission. It's bewildering. Seriously.

So, since it happens so often it can't be random, this is now an open letter to whomever or whatever is trying to eradicate everything Kristi Ellis likes. Dear evil nemesis, what gives? For real, dude, dial it down! Sorry I had to get all up in your grill. All my love, Kristi.

Since that's not likely to deter delicate baby sugar plum fairies, much less whatever ultimate evil matrix this is, look for the following things to go belly up or be removed from your lives soon: Tivo, iPhones, Scrapbooking in all it's forms, little league basketball, fruit, blue jeans and Starbucks Venti sized Black Tea Shaken Iced Tea Lemonade with three pumps of sweetener and light ice.

Meanwhile, American Idol and Major League Baseball (which I care absolutely nothing about) are still going strong. I'm just saying.

President's Day collides with Black History Month

In the van, on the way to eat, Grandma Judy said "So, has your teacher told you any more about President Rocko Bottom?" [Stephen's pronunciation of Barak Obama]
Stephen replied, "He's not the president anymore."
Grandma was perplexed and said, "Oh really? Well, who is the president now?"
Stephen said, "African Lincoln."

Later, when Grandma asked Stephen to tell Grandpa Gary who the president was, he did come up with the proper name of our 16th president, Abraham Lincoln, and then sometime even later, said George Washington was actually president, so we had three administrations in the space of an hour, two of them run by dead guys. Big day!

Who are you?

From time to time I do genealogy work, as time and kids permit, and it's usually rewarding, but there also can be some serious frustruations. Take this lady for example. I look a LOT like her, which is convenient because she is my great grandmother, Josephine Goodwin Walker. The bad news? Aside from knowing her father's name was Jacob Goodwin, and her mother was a lady named Sarah who died when Josie was very young, I can't find much more on her ancestry than that. Total road block. It's a pity too, because she and I share a lot of the same facial features, which leads me to wonder if we weren't alike in other ways too. She died in 1951, and her obituary explains that once her mother died, her father left her in the care of the Finley family. We never find him again in any historical records relating to Josephine, or in any of the census records of Saline County, Missouri where Josie grew up. Where did Jacob go? What happened to him? A hundred and fifty years ago it was common to lose a spouse early on, especially a wife (childbirth was extremely hazzardous, and if the birthing didn't get you, the assorted fevers and poxes would make a stab at it.) Most people just married again when their spouses died, mainly to have someone to look after the kids. But not Jacob Goodwin. You could theorize he didn't want to be reminded of Sarah, or wasn't into fatherhood, or didn't like any of the local ladies, or thought little Josie would be better off with somebody else doing the parenting, or that maybe he took this life changing event as a sign he should start completely over somewhere else, but in the end it's all speculation, which comforts me not one bit. Maybe Jacob thought he'd get a job, make some money and come back for his little girl, and maybe he died while doing that, and that's why we never hear of him again, but Josephine's obituary doesn't mention it. It simply says her mother died, she went to live with the Finley's, and she thought highly of the Finley's all her life. Jacob seems to be less dead than just not around. So what happened to him? And more importantly, who were his parents? Who were Sarah's parents? (I don't have a confirmed maiden name--just a scribble in the marriage record of Saline county that may or may not be the same Jacob Goodwin and Sarah, that lists McAnnon, but might instead be McMahan since there were other McMahans around at that time and no McAnnons.) Was Sarah recently immigrated, perhaps from Ireland? Where did I get my face? I will probably never know. Stephen and I have a lot of the same facial features, so maybe he can keep searching for Jacob or Sarah's people once I give up . . . but the truth is, probably, that the search ends with me, and Stephen and I will just be faces in the crowd, never knowing who had this mug in the first place.

Old Time Radio

I'm a huge fan of OTR, and listen to Sirius channel 118 (Radio Classics) every day. Recently, with the merger of Sirius and XM, the programming has moved around a bit and I'm finding more and more shows to love. If you have satellite radio, check out gregbellblog.com for channel updates and the schedule, or just tune in--the shows are moved around so you hear something new in each time slot every day. My faves are Dragnet; Nick Carter Master Detective; the Shadow; the Whistler; Inner Sanctum; Suspense; and Escape. Although the shows are predictable in that they reflect the morality of the time in which they were made (right always prevails, the bad guy never gets away with it) the simplicity and earnestness of characters appeals to me--plus, every so often they throw in a surprise ending I didn't see coming a mile off. I'll admit I'm not as big a fan of the OTR comedy genre, but Fibber McGee and Molly is now, and forever will be, timeless and hilarious. That series is worth picking up at RadioSpirits.com on CD, and listening to when you people with regular radio can't get a signal somewhere. Ah, the good ol' days!

Fun things to do with fruit

We love to eat at Chevy's, and we enjoy the Lough family. So there we are Sunday, with both delicious Mexican fare AND sparkling dinner conversation provided by Andrew, Tiffany and (about) baby Austin. I like the Loughs because they treat my children as if they were their children, praising and correcting and protecting them in equal amounts . . . it's nice, because I can relax just a little tiny bit from being ever vigilant robo-mom, constantly scanning to prevent spills, stains, separation from the herd, embarrassing bathroom incidents . . . stuff like that.

So imagine my surprise when I catch Andrew teaching Mason how to make false teeth out of his Chevy's orange!


I'm going to have to pay closer attention, or figure out some trick to teach Austin. Maybe something in a "stay-up-all-night" flavor? Nah, can't do that to Tiffany :-)

My heart isn't in Valentine's Day

I haven't had time to make a lot of cards in the last couple of weeks, what with the big "V" looming on the horizon. Being Stephen's room parent takes very little work except around the two public school approved holidays of Halloween and Valentine's Day. I really look forward to Halloween because usually we party at school and then go directly from there to getting lots of loot and having our costumes complimented. But Valentine's is another story. I guess its partly because early on I never had a boyfriend on Valentine's, so the only flowers I got were from my mom--how lame is that--and partly because now that I've been married nearly 18 years, it feels like a lot of social pressure to buy something for a guy who is already cool with just getting me to make dinner for once. Maybe my shoes are too tight, or my heart is two sizes too small, but I just plain don't like Valentine's Day. But it doesn't matter, whatever the reason, my heart or my shoes, there's a party to be planned so I'm doing my best to get my Valentine's game face on, and get red and pink supplies together for some Kindergarten food, craft and game time. Luckily, I have my card making to cheer me up, and even luckier still, Peyton took a couple of really good long naps Thursday and Friday. The card you see before you is the result. I scrap-lifted the general idea from a magazine and added the "Thank You" and the flowers in the background (which are pretty hard to see in the picture, but they're there). It went together pretty fast, and not a single heart or Valentine's Day sentiment on it! The stamp set I used is from Stampin' Up, although I forget the name--it was very popular last year and in one of their special mini-catalogs, which is about all the description I can come up with. I used SU Chocolate Chip ink for the tree; Close To My Heart green inks in Juniper, Key Lime, Olive, Citrus Leaf and Clover Meadow for the leaves; the large scallop circle die from SU for the frame, and an SU jumbo wheel called Everyday Blossoms, in CTMH Vanilla ink, for the background. Now that I'm done making cards, I think I'm ready to face Valentine's Day. See you all Friday, (Kindergarten celebrates a day early!) when my heart will have the opportunity to grow three sizes in one day, and I'll be the smiley mom in the corner decorating cookies and shouting "a happy Valentine's Day to all, and to all a good night!!!"

Peyton's Birthday

Peyton turned one on January 23rd and mom made him a little cake. It was a red velvet cake with mint green icing, so asthetically it was a bit, uh, interesting. Maroon-red cake and light green icing . . . Monte said it looked like we were killing a stuffed animal. We sent the video to my sister in Phoenix, and she called and said before she knew it was a red velvet cake, she thought something was wrong with the color on her TV. As it turned out, Peyton had eaten so much chicken and fries at his birthday dinner at Bandana's Bar-be-que, dessert wasn't high on his to do list when he got home. He did smile for the camera though, which is more than I can say for his brothers on their respective first birthdays. In fact Peyton is showing many many signs of being nothing like Mason and Stephen. On their first birthdays they each demolished a little cake, had to be hosed down in the bathtub once the cake was pronouced dead, and finally, they were NOT NOT NOT interested in the photoshoot portion of the event. Peyton is his own person, and will probably be bewildered by his family for the rest of his life.

It's still all about the comedy

Dad to 4 year old Stephen, in the Red Lobster Men's Room, while washing hands in the sink: Wow, this bathroom is COLD! They could hang meat in here!
Stephen to Mom, after returning to the table: Mom! That bathroom water was cold! There was bacon in it!

It's all about the comedy

Night of January 20, 2009
MOM: Stephen, how was Kindergarten today? Did Miss Shrum read you a story in circle time?
STEPHEN: Yeah, she telled us about Rocko Bottom.
MOM: Rocko Bottom? Is that some kind of super hero squirrel or badger or something? Do you mean Rocky and Bullwinkle maybe?
STEPHEN: No. She telled . . . We wrote him letters.
MOM: Letters? Why would you write Rocko Bottom letters?
STEPHEN: Because. We writed him letters because he's the President.
MOM: Ohhhh! You mean Barak Obama?
STEPHEN: Yeah. That's what I said. Rocko Bottom.