Spy Kids

Regardless of how tightly packed your summer is with camps, vacations, projects, activities and events, eventually the whole darn thing melts down into a stay at home mom with learned helplessness and children plugged into video games. So in order to stop the insanity (and the incessant discussion of various game levels and what was gained or lost on them) I ordered the boys to do something using ONLY their imaginations. This lasted eight seconds. They came up with a Spy scenario involving missions and such, but they needed gadgets. Absolutely required them, no getting around it. It started innocently enough, with a couple of paper towel rolls and the discussion of what spy telescopes should look like, but that snowballed into the need for electronic equipment--I mean what James Bond film depends utterly on cardboard? With the argument made and accepted, I agreed to get them walkie-talkies from Dick's Sporting Goods.

Rookie mistake.

Now, instead of hearing about video game levels, I'm stuck in one of those Verizon wireless commercials. Mason: "Stephen, can you hear me now? I'm on the stairs." Stephen: " I can hear you. Can you hear me? I am in the back yard." And on and on it goes. I'm not sure how the mission is going, but one thing is crystal clear. If the element of surprise is necessary to thwart the enemy, we'd better craft our little white flags now. Out of paper towels. Lots of them. How do you think I got to the rolls so quickly?

Home Improvement

Monte is a mad genius. Just don't tell him I said so. In the 18 years we've been married, he's gone from this adorably geeky kid to a Renaissance man. In the home improvement category, he spent one weekend watching our uberbuilder friend Rickey tile the downstairs bathroom, and suddenly he not only had the urge to tile other bathrooms but he how has the wherewithal to do it all by himself. It's like watching the brain plug in scenes from the Matrix films. Can't tile? Wait a second, I watched somebody or asked a couple of questions or watched a video, plugged in my brain, had a little rapid eye movement and bippety-boppety-boo, I CAN tile. And fly helicopters. Ridiculous.

Here is evidence of some of his recent work. The tile you see here took him three days. (If I had done it, after the three days I would have had two pieces of tile glued to each other and the rest broken into little jagged pieces. You would then find me downstairs eating an entire chocolate cake and crying.)


The kitchen is still in progress. He's doing it at night after work. Well, ONE night after work. Night two is for grout, and presumably, for him to rest and survey his handiwork and call it "good."


Since none of the appliances have a home while the tiles goes up, Peyton got to examine my green mixer, that would have been red if I hadn't listened to my sister when I was ordering it from QVC in 2001. I doubt the red would have made the food taste like fine cuisine, but I would have liked looking at it better for the 100s of years I'll own the dumb thing. Stupid Kitchenaid and their Toyota like durability.


In the space of three seconds, he got the front circle part off (the part that, if I really could cook, would accommodate lovely life simplifying attachments) and was running down the hall with it. I finally pried it from his clenched fist, and then got front row seats to the most amazing tantrum you've ever seen.


Terrible twos, six months early. Ah well, at least I'll have several lovely tiled living spaces from which to watch the meltdowns. It's all about perspective.

Say cheese

Ever eaten shredded cheese with a fork?

No?

It's probably just as well.

Have you seen this kid?

We've had a wild few weeks. We got back from Cancun last Sunday, and by the time I had unpacked and washed everything it was time to take Mason to his first ever week of Ne-o-tez church camp. He looked pretty shy and quiet standing there with all the other boys who can't stand still (the girls were off in a group of their own, and it didn't look like they were quite ready to have anything to do with the boys. Lucky for me. I would hate to pick him up in a week and find out there's a . . . girlfriend. Ack.) Monte went back to check on him twice before he finally agreed to get in the car and go. He is worried Mason will not have the time of his life and that he might be sad for a week. I am worried his clothes will come back irrevokably stained and grimy. Monte is worried Mason wont get what he likes to eat at camp, and that he might be hungry. I am worried he wont brush his teeth all week long. Monte is worried his little boy will be lonely without his daddy. I am worried his mother will get used to peace and quiet and then be jolted violently back to reality when his mouth comes home.

I hope my little boy isn't lonely, and that he's having a good time. Goodnight sweet boy. We miss you terribly already, and it has only been six hours. Good grief!

Mason's Crazy Hair

GeoTagged, [N38.93428, E92.38937]

Happy whateverth of July

The problem with traditions are that you have to have the wherewithal and the focus to keep them in the same way every single year to have any lasting or meaningful effect on collective memory. Sometimes our little family of five celebrates American Independence by spending hundreds of dollars setting off fireworks at the farm. Sometimes we go and see someone else's fireworks (the upside here being that you save tons of money and (probably) eat someone else's food), and then sometimes we hit a movie or go to the store and skip fireworks altogether. And then there are my personal favorite years where Monte says, "When is the 4th anyway?" on the 5th. We just don't have the dedication to scheduling and planning that it takes to do the same thing at the same time every year except in very specific cases (Halloween trick or treating, and being home on Christmas day are the only two I can think of.) Frankly, tradition takes too much concentration, and besides, the little boy audience barely notices the holiday itself, except to be grateful for school cancellation. Maybe if I had daughters there would be some sort of expectation or something, but boys can't remember what they did yesterday--and unless it has to do with video game levels, they don't care.

So from our house to yours we extend our most sincere and happy non-traditional 4th of July wishes, complete with everything or nothing, as you choose to celebrate it, in your own way. Or not. Go Lakers!

It's Official

Taken at Senior Frogs, Cancun, Quintana Roo, Mexico. Hence the balloon hat. (At least it's not red and purple yet!)

Circus People

You guys HAVE to see this.

This is Ben, my sister Shauna's baby. He was 18 months when they shot this video. In my opinion, he is a freakin' genius!



I KNOW, right?

Less Trouble in Paradise

Sometimes less is more. And sometimes the less that is more is bad.

We head out to Cancun on Monday. Peyton is spending the week with Grandma in Oklahoma City. We met the grandparents in Joplin and Peyton got in their car and left, with me standing there in the Bob Evans parking lot trying not to cry. Having never ever been away from him all night before, this evening has been a challenge. Monte kept bringing me chocolate and iced tea lemonades this week to soften the eventual blow, but I guess I'll have to work through tonight's bedtime all on my own.

There is an upside to having one less kid though. Suddenly, I feel like I can do anything. Really. Like, we went into a Best Buy just now and I actually shopped. I saw what they had in the way of retail merchandise, considered options and was able to thoughtfully select some items based on those options. My two older children played docilely in the video game aisle without moving from the general gaming vicinity, which was easily observable from most areas of the sales floor. I didn't need a cart, I didn't have to corral anyone, I was able to thoroughly consider what I was about to do before I did it, the whole time. I didn't have to talk over anyone, there was no yelling, I didn't have to wipe anyone, I didn't have to soothe or comfort anyone while trying to find someone else. And most of all, when I left, I knew what was in my bag and where my purse was. The amount of physical stress in my life if you're just going off today, has been greatly reduced. Emotional stress? Off the charts. We'll see what Monday and the airport brings.

(I'll bet that Michelle Duggar lady in Arkansas says stuff like that when she only has to look after six kids instead of 18. I'm such a wimp.)

Goodnight, punk-y punk, out there under the Oklahoma sky. I miss your little face so bad. Sleep well. Have good dreams. And tomorrow, go through all the kitchen drawers and find each and every one of grandma's measuring cups and big spoons, and spread them all over the living room and bathroom floors. Just to make it home.

Spanglish

Aunt Shauna speaks Spanish. We're going to Cancun in a week and a half. You'd think this would be the ideal time for Shauna to teach us some of what she knows. You would be very very wrong. The following e-mail is what I got when I asked for some handy Spanish phrases for the monolingual traveler. Shauna clearly does not have our best interests at heart, although she did throw in phonetic phrasing so we'd be able to pronounce our doom clearly.
********************************************************
Handy Spanish Phrases

1. Get out of here! I’m watching TV! (Mason’s request)
Salga de aqui! Estoy mirando la tele! [Sal guh day ah key! Es toy meer ahn doe lah tay lay!]

2. Let’s go to the beach! Vamos a la playa! [Vah moes ah la plie ah!]

3. I think the maid stole my money. Creo que la criada me robo de mi dinero. [Cray oh kay la kree ah dah may row bow day me dee nare oh.]

4. That stuff looks cheap and I don’t want to buy it. Sus cosas se me parece barato y no quiero comprarlas. [Soose koe sahs say may pah ray say bah rah toe E no key air oh comb prahr lahs.]

5. Come on in. I’m naked in the shower. Usted puede entrar. Estoy desnudo/desnuda (depending on if you’re a boy or girl saying it—a for girl, o for boy) en la ducha. [Ooh stead pway day in trar. Es toy dace nood ah in la doocha.]

6. Where is the bathroom? The food was not very good. It’s an emergency! Donde esta el bano? La comida estaba mal. Es una emergencia! [Dohn day es tah el banyo? La coe mee dah ace tah bah mahl. Ace oonah ah mare hence E ah!]

7. I brought lots of money and I’m ready to spend it! Traje mucho dinero y estoy listo/lista (depending on boy or girl) para gastarlo! [Trah hay moo cho dee nare oh E es toy leese toe pah rah gas tar low!]

8. I’m an American. You should treat me like royalty! Estoy Americano/Americana (boy or girl). Debe tratarme como derechos. [Es toy Ah mare E kahn O. Day bay trah tar may coe moe day ray chos!]

9. I want another room. This one smells like a dead animal. Quiero otro cuarto. Este cuarto huele como un animal muerto. [Key air oh oh troh kwahr toe. Ace tay kwahr toe hway lay coe moe oon ahn E mahl mwair toe.]

10. I lost my wallet and I will do anything for 50 dollars. Se me perdio mi dinero y hare qualquier cosa para cincuenta dolares. [Say may pear dee oh me dee nair oh E R ay kwal key air coe suh pah rah sin kwin tah doe lair ace.]
*********************************************************************
The subject line in this e-mail said "Let me know if there are any others you want to know." Why yes, Shauna, how about, "My sister is a complete dork and gave me these phrases because she is secretly jealous of my brains and beauty. Also my sister is beginning to act just like her madre." Ha, that last one'll get her!

Camp Half-Mud

This is beautiful Camp NeOTez in scenic DeSoto, Missouri. It's a picturesque setting with lovely accommodations, and the locals are all kinds of friendly. As it is the rainy season in beautiful DeSoto, each and every single thing within the confines of camp is covered in mud. This includes, but is not limited to, clothes, towels, shoes, children, motor vehicles and unused toothbrushes.
Speaking of the locals, here they are in all their finery. This is some sort of tribal custom called a camp sing a long. It is used to lull parents of small children into accepting offerings of hot dogs and punch, and to distract them from exclaiming "what have you done with my child, and what is that large mud covered thing you are giving me instead?!?!" Do not be alarmed. The mud covered thing is indeed your child.
This is Marco. I think he was the upper bunk to Stephen's lower bunk, although I'm not entirely sure. I'm not convinced they slept in their bunks, although the beds had mud in them, so I guess the children at least laid down. As I said, it was very stormy and muddy, and at one point all of the children were covered in shaving cream. And mud. There is still some mud on Stephen's face. You can see it in the photo. Marco's face is clean. Sigh.
These are the good natured counsellors at Camp NeOTez, cabin 4. Stephen got to know them very very well. They are blood brothers. One for all and all for one. If one is captured, the other one goes back for him, because you never leave a man behind, and so on. When I asked Stephen about this picture, he pointed to the kid behind him and said "That's uh, Jimmy." Then he pointed to the other guy and said "I don't remember his name." That's six year old loyalty for you.

I was worried when we dropped Stephen off Sunday night, he might get nervous or be concerned. This was his first overnight camp. He's only six. He was there for 48 whole hours. What if he got scared or needed his mom? After a tense three hour return drive down to pick him up I rushed up to him and said "Hey, little guy, with all that scary rain, did you miss me?" He said "Uh, yeah, I guess" and took off toward the ice cream sandwiches being served in the mess hall. Again, six year old loyalty. Absence makes the heart look instead, for ice cream sandwiches.

Mason will attend NeOTez in July. Hopefully they will have one or two dry days this time, during which they can wash off some of the mud.
*****************************
P.S. Sorry for the Percy Jackson and the Olympians rip off in the title post (Camp Half-Blood). We just finished book five (The Last Olympian), and they tell me there are to be no more. Curse you Rick Riordan, and J.K. Rowling before you for getting us all wrapped up in your characters and then deciding to stop writing about them. I guess we'll have to look elsewhere for entertainment. If you have a kid and would like to read to him and are interested even a little bit in Greek Mythology, pick up Riordan's work. It'll have you googling Hecate and Hephaestus in no time! www.rickriordan.com

Photoshop for (me) Dummies

I took this with my point and shoot camera, and even though the noise (grain) is extremely high in the photograph, (flash didn't fire for some reason) I still liked the subject well enough to hang on to it. I decided it probably could use a few PS actions, just to jazz it up, although the resolution on the P&S isn't that high, and you have to have pretty high res images for most actions I've come across to work properly. Still I figured it didn't hurt to give a few of these lower ones a whirl, just to see.

The two actions I used are free and in my opinion, indispensable. The first, Touch of Light/Touch of Darkness, can be downloaded off Jodi Freedman's website, MCPActions.com, under the "Try It" section (you have to scroll down, but it's down there, trust me.) I ran TOLTOD, and then selected the paintbrush, and "painted" a touch of light on Stephen's face, to take out the shadow. I flattened the image by right clicking on it and selecting "flatten" (whoa, Kristi, slow down, you're too technical), and then ran Pioneer Woman's Define and Sharpen action, which can be downloaded from thepoineerwoman.com (just search her site). It brings out the color a bit better, improves clarity, etc.

Again, this shot would have been better with the 5D, but most pictures are better out of an SLR. However, gigantor and it's ridiculously phallic lens wont fit in my purse, and with the purse, baby, stroller, Starbucks Iced Tea Lemonade and diaper bag in my twelve hands I had to minimize something.

Yeah, yeah, I know the photo is still grainy, but I rather like the little guy in it. Sue me.

Lost in Translation

Monte bought Stephen some new white shorts with sailboats on them. Not a look for everyone, but Stephen makes them work. On the way out of the house, Monte said, "What do you think of the shorts?" I said "Yeah, he really pulls them off." Monte said, "Oh? He did?" I clarified, "No, no, I mean they look nice." Monte said, "Oh good. For a second there, I thought you meant he was flashing the neighbors."

I'll bet parents of girls never EVER have this kind of misunderstanding.

It's not date night unless somebody calls the cops

This weekend was our 18th anniversary (18 years is the Garnet anniversary--we looked it up. Apparently 11 years is Steel, and if you make it past that you start getting better symbols to work with.) We did the usual thing, got a sitter, went to see a movie, ate dinner.

Except.

Except my mom served as our babysitter. There are distinct differences in our lifestyle and hers, including the fact that we recycle, we have central heat and air, our TVs are controlled by Tivos, we have high speed internet, we live on a cul-de-sac with unique parking implications, and so on. Most of the time the differences in our lifestyles only end up in a diaper in the recycle bin or our neighbor asking us if we'd please move the extra car so he can back out of his driveway. But Saturday, the crazy good luck streak we were unaware we were in, flat ran out.

We left the boys with mom and went to eat at C.C.'s City Broiler. Midway though dinner, Mom called Monte, and after she asked a few questions, he asked to speak to Mason. He then explained to Mason how to put the DVD in the Tivo and watch it. Thinking "crisis averted" we finished our meal and went to see Star Trek. I had already seen it, so in the middle I decided to go to the bathroom. I told Monte that the part coming up was a big plot point, and many things would be explained, and that he should sit tight until I got back.

I came back from the bathroom and found him in the hallway talking on his cell phone. Puzzled, I said "you were supposed to stay in there. You're missing the plot . . . " He told me to "shhhh" and said "I'm on the phone with the Brinks Home Security people." Now, I can't imagine why he's on the phone with Brinks, since we didn't set the alarm before we left, what with four people running in and out of the place, unless maybe something caught fire. So I stand there freaking out, while he finishes his call, and he said "your mom hit the burglar alarm."

We have been using our attic fan because the days haven't been all that hot yet. Before we left on our date I turned on the air conditioning, but I guess it wasn't doing its job, because mom decided she was warm. She called dad, and told him she was warm, and he said "well, just hit the blue button." There were three things vitally wrong with his advice. One, our thermostat is upstairs between the bedrooms, and she was downstairs next to the front door. Two, we have a touch screen thermostat. No blue button. No buttons at all. Three, she had told him she wasn't wearing her glasses and she couldn't read the buttons she was pressing, so she missed the fact that the blue button she was hitting was actually a picture of a blue police shield and the keypad she was hitting it on was marked "Brinks Home Security."

The good news is, if you have a security alarm installed by Brinks, they do call each and every number in an effort to get hold of you, the cops do come right away and it all works just like its supposed to. The bad news is, we have to find a new babysitter option before our neighborhood association writes us a strongly worded letter about our excessive use of law enforcement.

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!