And the bunnies ran for cover, but only the bunnies

So.  I just finished my first round of Dungeons and Dragons.

(the view from my chair)

If you thought I was a dork before...yeah.  I think I just leveled up my dork. 

I had a BLAST playing with the mirror Alfreds.  Granted, we were like a bunch of drooling idiots, at least as far as our ability to hit the actual opponent went.  Pigeons and dogs were at risk from our endless volleys of arrows...but not the goblins. 

We eventually got the job done, mostly thanks to a great dungeon master (Jon) who sneakily dumbed down the goblins so we could defeat them.  And it still took awhile.

But it was FUN.  And we're doing it again tomorrow.  Bunnies, beware. 

I think that I'm going  to put a female spin on it.  Traditional DnD fare is Mountain Dew and Doritos.

I'm making a relish plate. 

HA.

Just kidding.  I'm getting more Grasshoppers.

Dorkness Rising***

The Alfreds have met their mirror-universe counterparts.  There is the more outgoing gamer dad, the quiet and shy mom, the quirky older son, and the effortlessly cool younger son.  They also have a few daughters, but I'm not going to try to have that many kids simply to make it a perfect match.


The good news is that there is a friend for everyone.

The bad news is that, since Jon has a goatee (the full beard is only for disguise the winter), I think that means that WE are the evil ones.  I hope we don't scare them off with our heathen ways.

It is the mirror-universe Alfreds that caused me to find myself in the local comic book/gaming store tonight.  We were there to get dice...special, geometrically-unique gamer dice.  Freaking EXPENSIVE dice.  Because, in an attempt to bond with my boys, I rolled (created) a character so I can play Dungeons and Dragons with them and the Mirror-Alfreds.  Plus, Mirror-Meegan is excited to play, so I'm functioning under a little bit of peer pressure.  Twenty years later than normal, but whatever.  My cleric needed dice.

More bad news:  I have a massive chip on my shoulder when it comes to gaming.  It's visible.  So when I found myself standing in the corner of the comic book shop, I couldn't shoot lasers out of my eyes fast enough to keep up with the curious glances of the pre-and pubescent clientele.  There aren't a lot of girls in your average gaming shop, so when a girl DOES wander in, it's like wild Africa when the lions see a wounded gazelle.  Even if the gazelle in question is carrying an infant and is in the company of two stepsons and her husband.

These are my observations of gamers, based on my time in the shop:

1.  Gamers are card-carrying dorks.
2.  You shouldn't be allowed to wear a Pokemon sweatshirt if you have a beard.  Then again, he was hispanic, so he could have been in middle school.

Then again, in fairness, I have to point out that:

1.  I've been to a Star Trek convention.  And once spent the better part of a night making a 3-D chess set with my friend. 
2.  I was wearing a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt at the time.  And my beard is thriving, due to my infant-induced grooming habits.
3.  I was the only one glaring at everything the moved.  Including my husband.

The moral of this story is that, yes, gamers are dorks, but they are nice, accepting dorks.  (Except for online gamers.  They are all trolls.)  I was the one with an attitude--the guys in the shop tonight were just there to have a little harmless fun--there is actually very little ritual sacrifice involved in DnD, unlike what I thought as a teenager (I'm sticking to my guns about Ouijii boards, though).  I would much rather hang out with them than a group of snooty intellectuals or overbearing jock types. 

So, armed with my fancy purple dice, I'm ready to play DnD with the Mirror Alfreds.  And have fun.  Especially since I snornked most of a package of Grasshoppers (the poor man's Thin Mints), which has put me in my version of drug-induced happy land.

Bring on the orcs.

***I can't take credit for this title.  It's a movie of awesome proportions about gaming dorks.  I laughed riotously the whole time.  Google it.

We are omnibussin', baby!

Many of you have asked me how I kept myself entertained during my recent knee-jerk drive to St. George.  By "many," of course, I mean "myself as I was talking to myself on said trip."  (talking to myself is one of the ways I entertain myself.)

So, without any further ado, here is....

The Complete Omnibus of How I Entertained Myself for Twelve Hours on the Road

Subtitle:  no snarky cracks about "maybe you should try PAYING ATTENTION TO THE ROAD"  allowed

Q:  What is Eddie the iPod Imp's current favorite band?

A:  Judging by what kept coming up when I hit "shuffle," I would say Eddie's current favorite band is Van Halen.  Also, Eddie has pretty lame taste in music.  AND someone needs to tell him that it is NOT OK to follow up Jimmy Buffett's "Margaritaville" with ANYTHING by Depeche Mode. The universe explodes when you do.  On a related note, you all can thank me for saving the universe AT LEAST TWICE during the last 48 hours.

Q:  What is your favorite game to play in the car?

A:  When traveling with the boys, my favorite game to play is called "Coming Up With Appropriately Dire Consequences For Bugging Your Brother."  When I'm alone, I like to play "Who the Heck is Listening to that on Their iPod?" (TM)  Nissan XTerra, I can't believe that a group of such granola-y people as yourselves would be listening to THAT, but you were the most likely perpetrators.  Thanks again for sharing.

Q:  What town has dethroned Fillmore's "You Have a Friend In Fillmore" town slogan as your new favorite?  Why?

A:  Parowan:  "Great Things Are Happening in Parowan" is my new favorite because Parowan ALSO boasts a billboard depicting an atomic explosion, thanks to the Parowan Prophet.  Great things ARE happening in Parowan.

Q:  If you were given an unlimited supply of red solo party cups, how would you use them?

A:  I would go to a freeway overpass and spell out "Take Luck" in the chain link fence.  That's something we all can enjoy, not just the recently-returned missionary, Elder McQueen, or Kay (who apparently is sweet sixteen).

Q:  Which coin makes you feel most like a pirate?

A:  The dollar coin, hands down.  They make me want to say, "Aaarr!"  I actually did at a convenience store.  The clerk didn't get it.  I couldn't decide who was more lame, her or me.

Q:  How do you react when you see cars coming from the opposite direction covered in snow?

A:  Remind myself not to take road condition advice from Canadian truckers.  Their idea of "icy road" is NOT mine.  You might as well ask an Ice Road Trucker.

Q:  Who is your new favorite brother-in-law?

A:  Frank.  Welcome to the family, Frank.  We'll try not to be too overwhelming.

It's Girl Scout cookie season...

...which prompts me to say, with all the feeling these sick limbs (thanks again, Monna!) can muster:

CUUUUUUURSE YOOOOOOOU, TAGALONGS!  

AND the pig-tailed, be-freckled ten-year-old who brought ya!

sssh!  No one tell Sarah, my misery buddy, that I pretty much hosed the entire box.

It's a good thing I was able to leave the Thin Mints unopened, because I would have DEFINITELY eaten that whole box. 

Maybe I shouldn't blame Monna for how I feel. 

Nah.  Somehow, it's her fault.

It's ALWAYS her fault.

mwah ha ha ha ha!

 

Ahhh...I love the smell of sunblock in the morning!

Background:  I whine a lot for someone who leads a charmed and greatly blessed life.  Yesterday it was the leaves that Gabriel's fall arrival caused us to not care about until the snow receded...at which point they appeared on my radar in a big way, rapidly becoming the bane of my existence.  I spent several days sweeping, mopping, and muttering about how our top floor looked like Rivendell on a bad day and why you never hear about Elrond's wife (she started the exodus to the Grey Havens, mad as a hornet about the leaves on the floor of her bedroom).  Jon, being WONDERFUL, took the hint (a non-too-subtle text that read, "we either get rid of the leaves or the dogs!") and de-leafed our backyard, which was no mean feat.  Do you know what happens to leaves under a protective layer of snow?  Nothing you want to put your hand into, that's what.

And then TODAY, he took me on a surprise HAWT DATE in Salt Lake.  I love that Lost Wages is no longer the closest big city.  Nice.

First, he started by teaching our already devastatingly cute son how to charm the ladies:

See, with the sunglasses, no one knows you're staring.  

Subtle.  (unlike his behavior when he wants to nurse)

Then Jon humored me and took our picture under the disturbing beheaded elephant:

Am I the only who thinks beheaded animals and a cafe 

called "the Beastro" are kinda creepy to find at a zoo?  

Aren't we there to enjoy the beasts in a non-digestive sense?

Then we saw the ACTUAL elephants, where I discovered that human parents aren't the only ones who can't eat a meal undisturbed:

I had hoped that Gabe would enjoy the real elephants, given how enamored he is with Robert the Epileptic Elephant:

But, no...he was most impressed by:  1)  the finches  2)  the ceiling fans and 3)  the monke...hey, wait, is that a WALMART BAG IN A TREE?!?!?!  Yes, we could have saved ourselves time and money and entertained Cute-o-Potamus just as well at home.  But then we would have missed the silverback gorilla fiercely guarding his expensive plaything (a piece of a cardboard box). Parents everywhere, can I get a "boo-yah!"  Or at least a "Duh!  He's not even ONE!  Of COURSE he loved the ceiling fans best!"

Jon finished out our FantastiDate at the Pie, which has the BEST PIZZA ON THE PLANET.  I don't like pizza, but I would have driven to SLC for that alone.  Delish.  However, I refused to become one of the stereotypical masses who must take pictures of themselves eating.  (I've been shamed into stopping.) You'll have to take my word for this, too.  Recommendation if you go:  the Wise Guy zappi.  Awesomeness in the form of a calzone.  And you simply CANNOT get bad pizza there.

All in all, it was a fun date, although we missed our oldest boys, who were visiting their mom...and so were also in Salt Lake, just not with us.  Man were we tempted to see if she wanted to come, but that would have been a little too creepy, especially on the tour of the Brigham Young home.  Awkward.

And because I think it's charming:

Elijah was worried Gabe was getting bored during tummy time, so he decided to read him a book.  You know, to help him pass the time.  I have the BEST boys.

The end.

Or I'll huff...and I'll puff...

In case you haven't been avidly following my whining about Gabriel's sleeping habits, here's the Reader's Digest version:

He doesn't.

So to keep ourselves sane (sort of), this is the kind of thing we do late at night. 

Isn't he cute?

Casey, this one's for you!

I missed Casey's birthday.  I suck.  So, as a gift JUST FOR HIM, I'm going to learn to play Wonderwall on the guitar.  And also the cello, so I can sing it with a kickin' vibratto, just for Monna.  (But obviously not at the same time.  Geez, guys, setting the bar a little high, don't ya think?)

I'm serious.  I already have the sheet music.  HEH! It's going to be JUST LIKE THIS. Only probably a lot slower at first.   And hopefully without the creepy circus freaks.

Monna and Casey, never say I didn't do anything for you.

As you were.

DJ, Manny, Jim, and Frank: you can just be grateful that you aren't on my radar.  heh.

The War of Northern Aggression

It has come to my attention that Jon has been telling people that if they want to find out what is new in our family, they should read my blog. 

I wish he would have told me that.  I would have SERIOUSLY cut back on the amount of space I dedicated to whining about Gabe's sleeping habits.  Or poop.

So, for those of you who believed Jon (SUCKA!), this post is for you.  Enjoy! 

First, here's what Ethan and Elijah are up to:

Those are the Civil War caps that their mom bought for them last summer.  For some absolutely unknowable reason, they started wearing them again last week.  This is strangely appropriate for a number of reasons.

First, Elijah is wearing the Rebel cap.  Yeah.  Rebel.

Second, Ethan is wearing the Yankee cap.  As in, "Hey!!!! You can't do that!!!!  Uh-huh.

Third, you know how one of the tragedies of the Civil War was that "brother fought against brother?"  Yeah, we've had a lot of that around here lately.  So, when I wandered out to check on their homework and saw this scene...it was all I could do to keep a straight face.  Instead of laughing, I gave thanks for the table between them, because it takes a giant wooden barrier to keep them from going at it these days.

Here's some boy-specific news...

Ethan is still playing the viola in the school string orchestra.  He's improving A LOT.  I've really enjoyed having him learn to play the viola because it's been good incentive for me to play the cello--the cello and viola are strung the same and so we can practice together.  He complains A LOT less about practice this way. 

Also, Ethan is starting to show some interest in photography.  My untrained eye thinks he has some potential, so we're keeping an eye on him and letting him explore this new interest.  Let us all pray for the safety and well-being of my camera.  Here's his handiwork:

Because Elijah can already play the guitar (snort*), he's working on his mad art skillzz.  He seems to have inherited his dad's artistic ability.  It's awesome, especially when you put it together with his love of dinosaurs and tanks, as demonstrated here:

Gabriel continues to be off the charts.  In an attempt to prove to Jon that I don't hold him ALL the time, I give you....

Also, because we have an ongoing joke about Gabe beating my freakazoid brother's "walking at seven months" milestone (heavens, please NO, not that early...my cupboards aren't ready), I feel the need to document this...

He's pretty good at standing, although obviously needs some help balancing.  He's also pretty stable sitting, but  by the time I took the standing/tummy time pictures he was pretty much done with being a circus monkey, so there is no photographic evidence.  You'll just have to believe me.

So to sum everything up, things are good around here.  The boys are still alive and kicking, which is a testament to Jon and I remembering all the garbage that we did as kids and OUR parents didn't kill us...so we should pass on the favor.  Not to mention that they're really good boys.

And, Jon?  YOU WERE BORN IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.  You can either say "dude" along with the other surfers, or continue to hate the Yankees for their aggression.  Not both.  I love you!  Happy early anniversary!

This post is dedicated to Elise, because without her baby swing, Gabriel would NEVER have given me this much time to "myself."  Thanks, Elise!

* I snort because Elijah INSISTS that he knows how to play the guitar.  SNORT.

The one where I blow my sisters' cover.

My sisters used to make fun of me.  (MONNA!) 

I would be doing the dishes or cleaning the bathroom or some other worthwhile and helpful thing, minding my own business, happily listening to my walkman when, out of nowhere, BLAM!  My sisters would make fun of me.  (mostly MONNA, but sometimes LISA!)

Meegan:  (jamming) I have rooooaaaaaamed....I have...(mumbles)...I have scaaaaaled...these city waaaaalls...these city waaaaaalls....only to be with you....but I stiiiiill haven't foooooouunnnd...what I'm looking fooooor...

mostly Monna:  MEEGAN!  It's not a HYMN!  It's not supposed to sound GOOD! 

Meegan:  (indian burns Monna while sticking out and biting her tongue)

Lisa:  At least I am a horse!

Monna: (kidney punches Meegan)

Yes, my mean sisters used to make fun of HOW I SING.  Specifically, they used to sing my favorite songs with an obnoxious and inappropriate vibratto and then say that's how I sounded.  I think I still have a complex about it.

I don't know why they would do such a thing.  It's not like I was bossy* or mean or watched Star Track (heh).

OK, maybe I was a little bossy and slightly mean and actually read Star Trek novels.  But making fun of my singing?  RUDE!!!!  Imagine how they would react if they knew that a guitar has mysteriously appeared around our house...huh.  And just in time for our anniversary...and Jon knows its Hobby Adding Season...huh...weird...

At any rate, I've decided to take advantage of the Mystery Guitar and learn a few little ditties.  heh.  Guess what the first number will be...

drum roll, please...

THUNDERSTRUCK by AC/DC

(Monna rolls on the floor laughing)

And you all thought that U2 sounded funny when I sang it.  Brace yourselves.  Think of new ways to make fun of me (MONNA!).  And maybe buy some earplugs.  Because you're all about to be...THUNDERSTRUCK! (nah nah naaah nah naaaaaaah nah!)

*On the way home from a particularly fun day in nursery, I commented that I have never had a problem bossing around children when, from the back seat , Elijah said (very matter-of-factly), "TRUE!"  And then there was the time that Ethan told Elijah that he (Elijah) should dress up as me for Halloween so he (Elijah) could boss him (Ethan) around.  HMPH.

Today we find out if a picture really is worth 1000 words...

Today, I feel like...

because Gabe still isn't sleeping.  I think he might be teething.  But I digress.  And whine.  Moving on.

I wish that I was...

But instead, I find myself... 

Wait a second...it was RAINING yesterday.  What the???  

There I go, whining again...at any rate, even if I were

 

I would miss

 

Not to mention the fact that I go crazy when I am not close to

 After all, what fun is it without them?

So instead I'll work on being grateful for 

 

and 

and that I know about

which lets me be with these guys forever

 

which is pretty awesome.  Not to mention that soon I will get to be

because like everything else (I mean you, stupid laundry and dirty dishes and bills), winter will eventually pass...and it helps me appreciate the summer when it finally does come.

The end...for now!

PS--Dude.  I just got mail from Hong Kong.  As in, CHINA.  And it came waaaaay faster than we were expecting.  If that doesn't put things into perspective, nothing will.  Peace out.

I have only myself to blame, but I'm still blaming Jon for it...

Gabriel has reverted back to his early sleeping habits.  This is not good, because--unlike NORMAL babies--Gabriel hates to sleep.  HATES. IT. After that first, blissful week of his life (where he slept most of the time), he spent the next two or three months sleeping about, oh, eight hours a day for no more than two hours at a time.  And it took some serious work to get him to fall asleep.  I was a zombie.  If he hadn't been growing so well--the kid was/is clearly thriving--I would have been in serious panic mode because, um...aren't aren't babies supposed to sleep about twice as much???  Apparently, Gabe didn't get that memo.

The good news is that Gabe will THRIVE in high school/college.   All-nighter?  NO PROBLEM!!!  I think I better have that "baby low jack" thing put in now so I don't have to wonder where he's at when he's using his powers for evil...

So...warning...I'm feeling pretty snarky today.  Personally, I think the Lord gives new parents an energy boosting angel to get them through those first few weeks--that's the only way I can explain surviving them.  Unfortunately, mine seems to have expired.  Or been reassigned.  Either way, very early this morning I was cursing my oh-so-happy and wide awake infant who, with his killer smile and generally cheerful attitude, was making me feel insanely guilty about being so cranky.  If I could have seen straight (enough to post anything, anyways), my facebook status would have been something like: "STUPID SHOULDER ANGEL!!!!  I don't want to look on the bright side of things!  I just want to be CRANKY!!!!"

Here are some of the things that, for some reason, I was really stewing over this morning:

--you can buy a Snuggie for your pet at WalMart.  REALLY????  This is necessary?
--the store formerly known as Albertson's sells organic pancake batter in a ReddiWhip-style can.  REALLY????  PANCAKES are too hard for you?  Not to mention...ORGANIC???  In a ReddiWhip can???? Come on!
--Smith's sells "Best Cinnamon Rolls."  I have two issues with this.  First, they obviously have NOT had my Aunt Jeannie's cinnamon rolls.  Second, that kind of implies that they also sell cinnamon rolls of lesser quality.  I was really looking forward to seeing the "Frankly, These Taste Like Crap Cinnamon Rolls."  Or maybe the "SUCKA!!! You bought THESE!!! Cinnamon Rolls."

I think Brian Regan said it best when he stated, "I give up on this species."  Maybe I'll feel better about everything with a few hours of sleep...

My G string is really bugging me!

AHEM. 

Now that I have your attention, I would like to inform you that having a more-than-passing understanding of physics can only paralyze you in day-to-day life.

It's that time of year again, folks.  The time of year when the snow melts, the gloves at WalMart are on discount, and I take up a new hobby.  I want to learn to play the guitar, but I'm cheap and broke and too far away from my family to steal one of theirs, so instead I broke out my cello.  Which I love.  Unfortunately, I haven't really touched it since before Gabe was born and it's been one cold, dry winter since then.  As a result, the cello is seriously out of tune. 

Enter my A string (saying my G string was bugging me is much more fun).   It's waaaay off.   The other three were close enough to the acceptable striking range of "in tune" to not cause me grief during the tuning process. 

The A string, on the other hand, causes me grief because:

1.  I am cheap.  Too cheap to take cello lessons from a teacher who could tune it, with ease, for me.  Also, too cheap to take it to a reputable cello dealer/repair guy.
2.  I am smart.  Smart enough to be a menace to cellos everywhere because I can piece together how to do stuff on my own, but not smart enough to do aforementioned stuff with technical proficiency OR efficiency.
3.  I am prideful.  I can figure out how to do it on my own, thank you very much.  Even if it does take me forever and a day and I probably mess things up badly in the process.

The result of that array of variables is that my husband and children are huddled downstairs in front of the glowy box while I curse my A string. 

The cursing is rooted in fear because (here comes the physics) as I turn the peg to raise the pitch of the string, part of my brain is thinking about the forces in play on the A string and how, while those forces are the reason for the beautiful notes, that A string is a bunch of potential energy just waiting to be converted into kinetic energy that could do serious damage to my eye.

OK, let me explain:  that's one taut string (it's supposed to be) and once, while tuning a violin, the E string snapped and hit my eye.  Or it would have, except my glasses got in the way.

 Thank heavens big, clunky glasses were the vogue when I was in high school.  Or that I thought they were.

So now, whenever I deal with that frappin' A string, I think about that E string, physics, and putting on sunglasses just in case.

But I got the cello tuned.  The string is still in one continuous piece and my eyes are unscathed. 
Not bad all around.

Up next in the series on why physics is responsible for my existence as a scaredy cat:  "The equation F=ma^2:  the reason I don't like heights."