Finding Clarity

Overheard at the lunch table:

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

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

And around, and around

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

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

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

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

Poor Zeke.

Goin' around and comin' around

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

Monte is not you and me.

Not even a little bit.

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

He started uninstalling stuff.

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

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

High in the middle and round at both ends

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

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

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

Big Changes

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

In the paint

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

Looking for action(s)

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

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








The pencil sketch action:

The puffy felt action:

The painted distressed chipboard action:

The inked edges action:

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

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

Peyton's Car Seat

The latest offering in my battle with white space.

Ladysmith Black Mambazo

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

In sickness and health

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

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

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

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

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

Oh how beautiful!

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

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

How beautiful, indeed.

Monte has a dream

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

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

Two tickets to paradise

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

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

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

Something wickedly cute this way comes

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

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

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

Kristi

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

We're never gonna make it to the lightening round

Stephen: "Dad, I got a question. What is your favorite thing to do?"
Monte: "I dunno. Uh, maybe, watching College Basketball on TV?"
Stephen, making a loud buzzer sound: "INCORRECT! I'm sorry, but your favorite thing to do is play with me."
Monte: "Ah, I knew it was something like that!"

I'm dreaming of white space

I enjoy scrapbooking. I enjoy looking at professionally designed scrapbook pages. I often am overheard saying to myself, "Why, the sample scrapbook page in this picture is beautiful. I can do that! I'll just copy what they did, and then I will have the very same page myself. Simple!"

That's pretty much the exact moment it all goes wrong.

I probably should mention I've never been to art school or design college or even drawn one of those mice out of the magazines that promise lessons by correspondence, but I do know a little about layout and design from reading up on the subject and spending 18 years in the home of an elementary school art teacher. Just enough knowledge to be dangerous, really. From this painfully limited amount of knowledge comes my understanding of the concept of white space. Although it seems counter intuitive (we'll get to that later) having a good deal of white space (or blank place) in your design is actually necessary in encouraging the viewer's eye to focus on the other part that isn't blank. The design part. White space is sort of a reverse eye magnet. It also works to frame the design, and makes the whole thing look clean and beautiful, not cluttered or busy. Logically I completely get it--white space is attractive and useful, and you'd think it would be simple to employ. Basically, you just have to leave a part of your page blank. I mean when you boil white space down to its most basic argument, what could be easier than not doing something?

Unfortunately when it comes to real life application, my brain gets a little fuzzy. I look at the page and I inexorably start throwing every element but the kitchen sink in there, because more is more is more, right? RIGHT? I let the wave of "extra pretties" wash over me like I've got some terrible addiction to 'one more brad, one more flower, one more sticker' and I only stop when I'm out of breath and the page is ruined.

Once I come down from the momentary high I step back and look at my well intentioned page now looking like a Hobby Lobby threw up on it and I think, "but my page is ugly. It doesn't look like the page in the picture. How can that be?" knowing full well it is because the lady who designed the original page didn't cover hers in $600 worth of ephemera.

The good news is since I'm leaning digitally right now, there's plenty of latitude in taking out the excess without having to completely start over. The bad news is, I'm me, and it take several efforts before I'm able to stop being me and control the crazy. The page below took three days to put together,  and after eliminating half the original layers even I know it's still too full. The design I was attempting to copy mocks me with its vastly reduced clutter and conspicuous white space. That ever elusive white space. The holy white space grail. Someday I'll pull it off . . . maybe.Or probably I'll just start buying quick pages and have done with it!

Kristi

PS For those of you curious at home, there are nearly 40 layers in the CS2 version of this file. Somebody get me some help.

Merry Christmas from all the boys!

Things we don't deserve

Unless you're highly unlucky or have the personality of a pregnant yak, you have friends. Most of the time friendships are give and take, and if an accountant with a ton of time on his hands were to examine that give and take, he'd find it pretty balanced at the end of a lifetime.

Most of the time.

Then there are those people who just seem to give and give and give, and eventually it becomes apparent you are in a position where you'd have to have the resources of Warren Buffet and Mother Theresa to pay all the love, support, gifts and favors back.

We got us a couple of those.

First, there's Rickey and Susie. Rickey builds things like spare bedrooms, and fixes things like broken walls, on his own precious spare time (because he's got a day job too, like I don't have enough to feel guilty about). He always shows up when we're in a jam, like Batman or Iron Man--somebody who isn't just a superhero, but who brings his own tools. And he never says "you know, just once I'd like to be home watching HGTV and eating a chili cheese dog, instead of in your basement discovering which of my joints hurts worse when overworked." And Susie? She tells me I'm doing a good job and everything is going to work out splendidly, when anyone with eyes can see I'm not and it won't. And I always believe her--seriously, everyone needs someone who will lie to your face, and then help you clean up the mess. I can't tell you how much I love her and have grown to depend on her. Know what I do to earn all that? Yeah, I don't either.

Then, there's Michael and Alicia. They show up every Christmas without fail, with a beautiful tray of food you know they spent hours on, that I always hope I'm gonna get and am never worthy of. That food is like a Christmas bonus for stay at home "non-revenue generating" moms. It's a "job well done" platter. Know what I do in return? Eat it. Every year. Just consume it like I haven't eaten in a week. (This year was particularly yummy as you can see.)

So for those of you out there grappling with inequitable friendships this Christmas, I feel your pain. I guess it's the whole underlying theme of the season, isn't it? Gifts given, undeserved? I suppose the best we, the unworthy, can do is to be as ridiculously grateful as possible, and remind those people in our lives how much they mean to us every chance we get, because dang it, Christmas 2010 is only 13 months away, and we're about to be reminded once again how unfair it all is. As we stuff our mouths with delicious cookies.

Kristi

PS While I'm on the subject of being thankful, the funniest thank you card I ever saw was one of those Hallmark jobs that said "Muchas Gracias" on the front, and then inside, it read "That's Spanish for 'if I were any more thankful, I'd give you my car!'" I don't know why, but that always makes me laugh.

All aboard the Santa Train!

The Kansas City Southern "Holiday Express" (better known to the locals as the Santa Train) was in Slater, MO yesterday. I grew up near there and my parents still live in the area, so they knew all about this wonderful event. I had never heard of it before yesterday at 10 a.m. Here's how the telephone call from my mom went:

MOM: "Hey, you should take the kids out of school, call Karen, and all of you should come to Slater and see the Santa Train. Elaine and Clyde are going."

ME: "Wait a minute. You want me to take the kids out of school, in the freezing cold, pick up my sister in law and her two kids, pack up the strollers, car seats, snacks, diaper bags and play station portables, drive an hour to Slater (which is a town of what, 200 people and no Starbucks,) to see a train? Really? A train that my 70 year old aunt and uncle find interesting enough to go to? Are you kidding me?"

MOM: "It's supposed to be really neat. You should come."

ME: "Are they giving away free televisions or babysitting services? Will Bono be there, or some form of massage therapy be offered?"

MOM: "Um, I think the kids will like it. They'll see Santa--wont that be nice?"

ME: "Fine, but there had better be irreplacable childhood memories I get out of this, that I can throw back at them when they tell me what a substandard parent I was."

MOM: "I'm sure there will be. It's the only reason your father and I took you kids to Disneyland."

The phone call didn't quite go like that, but the gist was that no, in fact, she was not kidding, and as an even bigger surprise, it turned out to be a great time. Those Slater people know what they're doing getting the Santa Train to come to their sleepy little burg whose only other claim to fame is being the boyhood home of Steve McQueen. (Seriously. There are signs everywhere. They're really proud of Steve. Uh, Mr. McQueen.) Once we arrived and secured a good parking space next to the Dollar General Store (in case of a snack or drink or diaper emergency) we swaddled the kids up in forty layers of clothing and stood in line outside to get into the train. The line moved pretty quickly and once inside the cars, we were treated to the heated and dazzlingly decorated interior looking for all the world like Macy's and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir had been shoved inside it. Apparently, the employees of Kansas City Southern Railroad donate their time to deck it out, and they do an incredible job. Every bit of wall and ceiling was ornamented. One of the train cars even had two model trains running inside it (trains within a train--cute, KCSI). The whole thing was well worth it, (don't tell my mom I said that) and as any good scrapbooker would, I got one or two decent shots for the books (more on the Holiday Express can be found here: http://www.kcsi.com/en-us/GeneralPublic/Pages/HolidayExpress.aspx and the actual Slater, MO stop is mentioned here: http://www.cityofslater.com/Santa%20Train%20-%20Holiday%20Express.html)

Here are some photos of our awesome train filled 22 degree, day:

Karen, Megan and Noah in front of the train engine. Noah refused to look anywhere but at the trains.

Once we got inside, the first thing you get to do is sit on Santa's lap. I thought Santa and Peyton made a cute couple, but he was more interested in what was coming in the next train car . . .

Where we got to see the model trains. He LOVES trains, and it was tough to get him away from the little one and out of the big one.

This shot doesn't do the model train justice--let's just say I was very impressed at the detail and effort that must have gone into this thing.

I suppose the moral of this story is, if your mother calls you on the phone and seems to be out of her mind and begins telling you to drive to Slater, MO to see a train in 22 degree weather with small children, you should do it, whether you suspect her to be completely unhinged or not. Merry Christmas everybody!

For the Love of all that is good and holy, MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!

I just wish Ben would assert himself more. He's such a shrinking violet.

Maya Kisses, Benny and Sid-a-nee.