There is a line drawn...

I have to get this off my chest. I will then stop whining about it, if Jon is lucky.


I live in a frozen wasteland like unto Hoth, the location of the secret rebel base at the beginning of the Empire Strikes Back. (see? total geek here.) In case you doubt, I give you exhibit 1:



This was the view from my breezeway this morning. For those of you who don't know what a breezeway is, you obviously live someplace SANE.

Elijah used to be my fellow desert rat. As you can see from exhibit 2, he has betrayed me:

This shouldn't have surprised me. He's always had Sith leanings. Witness: the lightsaber in the snow behind him. But, still...

This is my theory: there is a line drawn across the United States. After some discussion with my geography-wise husband, this is my representation of said line:

Every person wants to live on one side of the line and hates the weather on the other side. With a passion. If they find themselves living on the wrong side of the line (vacations don't count, you can do anything for a week or two), they whine like crazy (if only on the inside) about how lame and unbearable the weather is. Also, at some point, they will say to a native, "This isn't [hot/cold]! This is nothing! In [insert city or state here], it got [up to 120/down to negative 40] ALL THE TIME."

Since moving to Hoth, I've met several people from both sides of the line. They all have strong opinions about the sanity and/or toughness of people living on the other side of the line. I'm telling you, this nation is divided and it has nothing to do with democrat or republican. It's the weather, and there is NO convincing someone from the opposing side of the error of their ways. It's worse than arguing about health care.

So here's my declaration of party allegiance and final rant, and then I will go back to making the best of it: I AM A DESERT RAT. THE SNOW SUCKS. You should only need to wear socks because you are wearing tennis shoes, and that would clearly only happen when you are working out, because your feet don't need protection from the elements and SHOES ARE TOTALLY OPTIONAL. And the heaviest form of winter clothing you should ever have to buy is a sweatshirt. Maybe a jacket if it is cute and you're going for a look.

I think I'm going to go tanning...and try to working on loving the poor, misguided souls from above the line...

One last note. This is the proof you needed that Bella is INSANE and NOT a role model for young tween girls. She moved to Washington (or was it Oregon? I don't rememer) from Phoenix and the living on the wrong side of the line made her go crazy. This is why she fell for a controlling, manipulative pyscho like Edward (leaving the bloodsucking out of it) instead of the clearly more progressive and supportive Jacob (who deserves someone less whiny and codependent, and I doubt that the offspring of two emotionally challenged people will fill that bill).

That is all.

Yer KILLIN' me, Smalls!

This is Gabriel.

I know, he's devastatingly cute. It's his lone survival skill. I'm glad he's not, say, a horse, and able to walk within an hour of birth. There are advantages to being able to find him exactly where I left him. I'm not looking forward to this stage ending.

Gabe thinks he's a teenager. He's up until AT LEAST 2 AM every night, he sleeps until noon if I let him, he eats a ton, and he doesn't lift a finger to help out around the house.

The only part of that I have a problem with is "up until AT LEAST 2 AM every night." You see, NOT being a teenager anymore, I:

1. can't stay up--gracefully, at least--past 11 PM

2. can't sleep in past 8 AM. Stinking grown-up responsibilities.

3. definitely need more than three hours of sleep per day. Did I mention that he routinely wakes up for a mid-sleep snack, generally around 6 AM, thus effectively waking me up for the day?

Summary: I am sleep deprived, even WITH my awesome partner parent who most certainly does his share.

Let's look a little more closely at Gabe's picture...aaaahhh...just as I suspected...there I am, wrapped securely around his little finger.

TANGENT: do you suppose the phrase is "wrapped around his little finger" because his fingers are little and can refer to my being wrapped around any of them, or is it specifically referring to his little/pinky finger? Just a random thought. I have those.

Back on track. There I am, in my sleep-deprived glory, wrapped securely around his little finger. Which is how THIS happened:

He's in his crib...sleeping. Don't judge me, people!

I know I gave up any shot I had at the "mother of the year" award when I decided to let him sleep in his car seat for the night. Let's get real, I gave up any shot I had of winning that Major Award long ago. At least he was sleeping...and at 3:30 AM, that's all I wanted. You'll notice that the straps are kinda fastened to create the illusion that we were going somewhere in the car. Not that we actually left the house...or his bedroom...

Note: he's in the crib so my loveable yet dumb dog didn't ***accidentally***eat his toes. But that's another blog dealing with Dharma and $75 dollars worth of plastic--and apparently tasty--breast feeding/pumping supplies that no longer exist. At least, in a "useable without questioning my judgement" way. She, too, is lucky she's cute.

And now, because he is asleep, I'm going to join him...

"If irony were strawberries, we'd all be having smoothies!"

They say that God speaks every person in an individualized way that s/he will understand. If that's true, when He talks to me, it's in a tone that's heavy on the sarcasm.

In fact, He probably would tape record ME talking to my kids just so He could play it back to me at JUST the right moment.

For example:

• Stop picking on your brother!!!! (said to the boys on any given day)
• I warned you that would happen! (generally said to Ethan when he decides to ignore my advice)
• You know, I'm not as dumb as you seem to think I am. (also to Ethan, when he looks at me like I have NO IDEA what he's talking about or going through)
• Do you know why you're in trouble? (to Elijah as an introduction to the "next time, let's..." speech)
• It would be nice if you would just take my word for it! (to either of the boys during the endless cross-examinations they give me 1. to make sure I've made up my mind or 2. to check my facts)
• Why do you assume I'll say "no?" (to Ethan, who stops himself mid-question EVERY TIME because he thinks he knows my answer. It's not ALWAYS no!)
• I think the phrase you're looking for is "thank you." (usually to Ethan, when dinner is something he doesn't like)
• I'm not trying to make you miserable...I'm trying to help you! (said repeatedly during homework and chores)
• Why aren't you listening to me? (or its corollary) How many times do I have to TELL YOU??? (you try making through a day without saying that when there are kids in the house!)
• Shhhhh....everything is going to be okay...I'm right here...[and then I kiss his forehead] (to the older boys after nightmares and to Gabriel when he is crying inconsolably because life as he knows it is miserable)

Thank heavens God is more patient than I am...I would have smitten me long ago...

Today's observation

After yet another frustrating "help the baby learn to fall (and stay) asleep somewhere other than my arms" session, I've determined that Gabriel looks at pacifiers the same way I look at gum: a lot of effort that gets you absolutely no result, so why waste your time? I guess that's a good thing--I'll never have to break him of a binky habit--but sometimes it would be nice to have a quick and easy way to pacify him...

I think I'll choose to see this as another sign of my child's amazing intellect. :-) He can see through the pacifier. :-)

An Alfred Christmas Story

Starring Ethan as Ralphie...

(Ethan at the school Christmas program)

And Elijah as Randy...

(I swear I didn't set this up!)

And Peter as the creepy spider-infested Christmas tree...

Oh, wait...that didn't happen in the movie. Just at my house. Man, I've GOT to let that go...

Merry Christmas!

I'm not proud of this. Well, not very...

Today, I have single-handedly denuded an entire forest of Little Debbie Christmas Tree cakes.

I don't know what it is about these snack cakes. Normally, I'm a chocolate freak. Is it the taste of sugar, pure and undefiled? The crunchiness of the Mario Big Land-style green sugar sprinkles* on top? I don't know, but I think I need to look for a 12 step program.

That is all.

*I'm pretty sure it's the sprinkles. I think they might be crack that's been dyed green.

When I said I like Cake Wrecks, that isn't what I meant!

First, an update on the Christmas tree. Here is what rational people see when they look at our Christmas tree:

This, on the other hand, is what I see when I look at our tree:

My spiderphobia has reached new levels.

Thursday was Ethan's magical birthday--he turned 10 on Dec. 10th. He asked for a 40 lb. cake, and a 40 lb. cake is what he got.

Mom and Elise make baking multilayer cakes look easy. With their blase' attitude, THEY LIE. This experience made me long for the days when I was an engineering major at Utah State.

This is the 40 pounder before Ethan decorated it:

Cylindrical poo, anyone?

Then Ethan and his friend Jonathan got their hands on it, and it looked like this:

It's a cake AND a word puzzle! Can you guess what the random splattering of letters spells? Hint: it was his birthday, and he was very happy about the way he decorated his cake.

And then...we served it. As it turns out, there is an art to serving an oversized cake, and that art is NOT to cut it like a pizza. When you cut it like a pizza (which is considerably less vertically endowed than this behemoth of a cake), your average 40 pounder cake will do this:

Think of the amazing chocolate orange. Or the delightful bloomin' onion. They, like Ethan's 40 pounder, open up like a rose. Although seeing a chocolate orange or a bloomin' onion or a rose doesn't make me want to yell,

TIMBER!!!

and that's what crossed my mind as I watched Jon try to save half of the cake from the backwards swan dive it was making (he ended up with cake all over his hands. heh heh heh).

Before I leave, one last note. Ethan's favorite present: the mail he got. The kid is obsessed about getting mail, so getting two letters and one package was heaven on earth for him. I love that kid...

Yes, Jon, this is too long for a respectable blog. That's my way. :-)

I blame Elise for this. Not the baby, the blog. Although the baby is just as cute in real life.

As I was freaking out in Smiths (for reasons I will detail momentarily), she said I should blog it. And for some unknown reason, I thought that sounded like a good idea. Heavens knows, I have extra time...my floors are clean...the laundry is folded...and I don't need any sleep. Why not spend Gabriel's 15 minutes worth of power nap blogging?

Why not? Because apparently not all of my family is addicted to Facebook (won't you be my Fishville neighbor?), but they would all like to get updates on my family and see the latest pictures of the new cutest baby EVAR. So here I go. If Gabe wakes up and I stop midsentence, bear with me...

So the blizzards finally paused long enough on a day other than Sunday for the Alfred’s to venture out into the cold wilderness to cut down a Christmas tree. We bundled up and headed Out There, excited to FINALLY get a tree. Isn’t the wilderness great? Isn’t wildlife FUN? That’s what I was thinking when we crossed the slushy Home Depot parking lot. And when we found a beautiful 6-7 foot noble fir that I think was mispriced, but I won’t mention by how much because until an hour ago I felt bad about it. I was also feeling pretty good about Nature while Jon and I were trying to keep the boys who can walk from bouncing off the walls with Christmas Joy. I was even feeling pretty good about all of God’s creations when Elijah tried to share his seven-year-old enthusiasm for nature with me by telling me there were ants on our beautiful, cheap, wonderfully pine-scented noble fir.

Fast forward to today. Jon was on Gabe duty and I decided to get the lights and garland on our majestic specimen of noble fir-dom so the boys can decorate the rest tonight (and I can rearrange everything after they go to bed. Come on, fellow moms. You know you do this, because if you don’t, there are only decorations on one square foot of tree about three feet from the floor. On the side by the wall).

Now, I LOVE putting lights on the tree. It is my favorite part of decorating the tree. I take hours to do this, placing every light JUST SO. I was hard at work stringing lights, with Ethan the Birthday School Ditcher trailing me, carrying the once neatly looped, now hideously knotted string of Christmas lights for me (insert Christmas Vacation joke about untangling lights…HERE). I was about 1/3 of the way down the tree and I noticed…it wasn’t imaginary ants that Elijah was trying to point out to me…IT WAS SPIDERS, AND LOTS OF THEM. All over my fabulous tree.

If you’re curious, land speed records were set as I frantically distanced myself from my own personal reenactment of Arachnophobia.

I’ll spare you all a blow-by-blow narrative of the rest of the experience by sharing he following bulleted list (that’s for you, Carrie!):

• What was once a pine-scented tree now smells like bug spray…which will probably kill the tree but not the spiders, thus nullifying all of my other efforts to keep the tree from transforming into a giant pile of really good kindling conveniently located next to the gas fire place.

• The can of bug spray was decorated with cute pink flowers. Nothing says “death to nature” like cute pink flowers.

• When I gathered my courage enough to resume the lighting process (WITHOUT those nifty gloves for birthing cows that Elise so thoughtfully suggested), I managed to get the lights AND garland up in 15 minutes. This is less than half the time I usually spend on lights alone.

• True story: as I stood before the tree debating the most efficient method of bug spray application, there was a spider perched defiantly where the star belongs. I could practically hear it taunting me (“Your mother smelt of elderberries…Come back here, so I may taunt you again!”), so I sprayed it first…and got bug spray all over the mirror over the fire place. Nice. It turns out that the “shock and awe” technique of bug spray application only creates more problems.

• This is the first year I haven’t courted disaster by stringing too many light strands together. Looking on the bright side, that’s probably a blessing in disguise, considering bullet number one. We don’t need electrical sparks next to a dry tree coated in flammable bug spray. Next to a gas fire place. Even with our really great renter’s insurance.

• I exercised my Parental Right to Occasionally Make Decisions Without Consulting the Children…and named the tree Peter Parker. Ethan will NOT like this, because I told him he couldn’t name the tree after anyone from Star Trek or Robotech. I’m such a hypocrite.

So that was my lighting experience in a nutshell. I guess all I have to do now is go find the insect repellant so I feel safe letting the boys in the living room with Peter and friends…because you know those villains…they never REALLY die in the vat of caustic chemicals…

PS—in retrospect, Peter wasn’t mispriced…he was marked down because he was damaged. But I’m sure he has a great personality.

PPS—the Carpenters Christmas was, strangely, NOT appropriate background music for putting up Peter’s lights. With my paranoid rushing, I should have looked for A Twisted Sister Christmas, which not only exists…Jon OWNS it.