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Sunday, November 30, 2008

So, Yeah.

I hit the sales, and I hit them hard.

Christmas shopping--DONE.

And that's as much as anyone can expect from me.

Please don't ask me about the status of my Christmas cards.

And don't ask me about the status of the pie leftovers at my house.

Because they currently reside on my thighs.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Dropping It On Thanksgiving

We spent our first Thanksgiving on our own, and in my new spirit of self-aggrandizement, man, we rocked it. We had awesome food, good company (our own and some friends), and more pies than people eating at the table. That makes for the best Thanksgiving ever.

Here are the name place cards that Rhett made with the kids (with absolutely no prompting from me, honest!).

Spe's awesome plate setting features rock star feathers.







Rhett's features an 80s like visor. I have no explanation for this, however, he made this himself, so that may be explanation enough.





Jaker's has a frog. Probably because with his recent sinus infection, he has been a little toad most of the time.





Veevs is sporting some kind of Picasso like turkey. I always knew that girl had genius buried deep inside.


For the piece de resistance, here's mine, which Rhett was kind enough to make for me (I was at the doctor's getting antibiotics for my sinus infection. I'm pretty sure I have also been a toad for a good portion of the time.). I think the sexy legs really capture the spirit of the season, don't you?


Basically, we spent the morning cooking, the afternoon eating, and the evening eating more pies. And then, the night ended with Rhett singing, "Drop it like it's hot!" while dancing around the kitchen slapping his own butt.

That's when I knew it was time to go to bed.

Monday, November 24, 2008

The Lazy Gene

I don't want to say that I got my laziness from my dad, but I know I didn't get it from my mom, who makes perpetual motion seem like a commonplace reality.

I had hoped it would bypass my children.

Today, Veevs said to me, "I just wish I were an emperor so that people would feed me my food so I wouldn't have to lift it myself."

Sounds like that one has my lazy gene, yes?

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Served Up With a Side of Abandonment

Let me say this: No one likes vomit. But you know what's worse than cleaning up your own kids' vomit?

Cleaning up someone else's kid's vomit. I know. Sort of. I didn't actually clean it up, but I gave it the old college try, you know?

It all started when I picked up the little girl in our preschool carpool.

"She's complaining of a sore throat," her mother told me, "but she says she still wants to go to school." So we trundled her in the minivan and then, on the freeway, this sweet little girl loses her lunch. (Or breakfast, but please, is NOW the right time to be picky? With vomit all over?) In my minivan. Have I mentioned that I'm not her mother? And that I have no wipes in my car? And also, that I just kept driving until we got to the preschool?

I finally procured wipes, spray cleaner, etc., only to discover that my totally and completely overactive gag reflex will not physically allow me to clean up another person's child's vomit. Seriously. I was all like, "Okay, Lexie, (retch) I need you to (retch) take this wipe (retch) and wipe off (retch) your hands (retch) because (retch) I can't do it (retch)." Finally, I admitted defeat and called her mom to come and clean it up.

Just for the record, I did manage to get her hands and face clean and her clothes off before her mom came. But it was Herculean, that's all I'm saying.

I took the car to get it shampooed, because the smell was making me (surprise!) gag some more.

When we got home, Jakers had a diaper issue (I would go into detail, but isn't this post already full of bodily fluids? Do you really want more?). Fortunately, the shampooer guy had found a small bag of wipes in some hidden crevice of my van, so I changed his bum right there on the van floor. Then I let him play in the van for a minute while I went and got the garbage cans from the street.

And then Jakers locked himself in my van with my keys inside. And then I begged him to come hit the unlock button, which he did, happily. Unfortunately, he only knows how to lock, the upward movement of the unlock was lost on him. And then I tried to get him to push the buttons on my keys. And then I called a friend to laugh about how awful my day was turning out to be, because you guys, I have priorities.

And then I called Rhett to come home from work and let our twenty-month old out of our van. He only works forty-five minutes away.

And then the water meter man tried to break into my car (he was suspiciously knowledgeable about it) and failed, and then Jakers started to cry because it wasn't fun after thirty minutes to sit in the car.

And then he discovered that he could make the garage door open and close, and he was happily engaged in garage door opening hijinks until his dad finally let him out.

And then I realized that my day was cursed.

The End

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Five

You know, five-year-olds are pretty awesome.

My five-year-old, for example, has now mastered the use of air quotes for emphasis. She said to me just the other day, "Mom, I thought there was something in that box, and then I looked inside and there was 'nothing' inside!" And she used air quotes with her fingers.

She recently told her brother to say a prayer for forgiveness when he took a toy away from the baby. And he did. Because he's learned that you don't mess with that particular five-year-old and her rather rigid sense of Jesus' justice. I swear, I teach the mercy part. She just likes the justice part better.

She cries at every episode of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition". She loves those families like they are her own. If she sees a commercial for it, she'll say, "Oh, look, another sick kid we need to help!" like she's a part of the design team.

She innocently passes on the gossip from school. She recently told me a story where a boy named Ethan told the teacher during floor time that he thought there was a red fish. The teacher said (with I can only imagine was a great deal of sarcasm), "Oh really? I think there's a "ZIP IT" fish." I can't imagine her teacher wanted that particular story told over dinner.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

On Rain

It's rainy here today. It's not exactly hot chocolate weather, but I always want hot chocolate when it rains. Of course, I eat chocolate on a daily basis, so I guess hot, cold, or room temperature is just splitting hairs. I really just always want chocolate.

Something else rain inspires at our house? Weed pulling. Well, in me at least. No one else seems to care. But when the ground is all softened up like that I just can't walk by without pulling out two or three, which soon turns into twenty or thirty, and then I end up with a blister (because I never take the time to get my gloves, because I'm going to stop right after this next one, so it won't matter). Trust me, our lawn gives me ample opportunity to pull weeds. Because I can't ever really finish a job, though, I leave the weeds out for Rhett to throw in the garbage. Also, I think it's good for him to see how hard I worked. And I'm just lazy.

You know what? That's it. Post done. I've got some more weeds to pull.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Pretty Much, I'm Awesome

I said to Rhett the other day, "Hey, I'm not going to pretend to be modest anymore. I'm awesome and I'm going to tell everyone."

Rhett's response: No more modesty? Whip off your shirt, babe! You ARE awesome.

Rhett's enthusiasm is in no way dampened by my post-three children body which looks more like a balloon that has been inflated and then deflated several times. Because, actually, it has.

Anyway. Please don't think I'm bragging (except I am) and please don't think I'm trying to make you feel inferior (you should embrace your OWN awesomeness) and please don't feel the need to compete (I know, I know, YOU WIN!).

But I threw a pretty sweet Halloween party for my kids and their friends.

This was the ceiling. Rhett was a trooper and inflated all the balloons (with our air mattress pump) and then strung them together. And no matter how many times they got tangled and he had to start over again, he still insisted it was easier to tape them up first and THEN spread them out. Way to take one for the team, I say.

Another awesome thing about the party? This bubbling cauldron of witches' brew. Seriously, dry ice was more fun than anything else at the party. Although I just want to mention, for no reason at all, that this party also featured Halloween golf, Ghost Darts, cookie decorating, and crafts. I'm just saying.

The dry ice was the most fun, except for maybe this installment of the Heidi Show (I swear, I can't get enough attention), wherein I read Monster Goose to the children. I only irreparably frightened two children, and I'm sure their parents are SO grateful that they have permanent nightmares involving piranhas, mummies, and cannibals.

Also, the children loved chasing our chickens. I'm sure the parents also appreciated the chicken . . . erm, stuff . . . that was on their shoes afterwards. I know I always love a little something like that.

But the highlight was, of course, the children. Here they are in all their glory:
























































And just for Rhett--this is the closest you'll get to the no modesty deal. (If you look closely, you can see down my shirt. Ew! Don't look, you perv!)

See how awesome? I mean, ignore the totally subpar usage of Blogger's picture function. I pretty much suck at that. But otherwise, awesome, right?

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

If I Listen Hard Enough, I Can Hear Myself Getting Fatter

Seriously, please, someone come and rip the Halloween candy out of my hands. Please.

It's a waste to throw it away. I don't want to give it to my kids, who are hyper enough without the sugar high. Rhett doesn't eat it. So I end up shoveling huge amounts of candy into my mouth several times a day.

I'm going to throw it away. I am. After this next piece.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

A New Low (Who Knew We Could Go Lower?)

You know, I've never claimed to be a good cook. In fact, I'm really kind of proud of being a dismal cook. If you ever come to eat at my house, the meat will be undercooked, the vegetables overcooked and dessert? What, you think you're Queen Elizabeth or something? A meal isn't enough for you?

Okay, maybe I'm not quite that bad. But I don't really love to cook, and when you don't love something it just kind of follows that you're not ever going to reach the pinnacle of glory in that area. And you know me, I just love the pinnacle of glory.

But honestly, I think we hit a new low this morning when I came downstairs to discover that my husband's idea of a healthy breakfast for our kids is a banana and Doritos (stale). And whilst it's true that my breakfast was a sugar cookie (heavy on the frosting and candy corn decorations), I generally strive for something more substantive for my children.

"Really, Rhett?" I asked. "Doritos for breakfast?"

"Oh, come on, Heidi," he said with not even an ounce of shame, "it's the day after Halloween."

I almost didn't have the heart to tell him it was actually the day after the day after Halloween. Why kick a man who's clearly already at rock bottom, nutritionally speaking? So instead, I hucked a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup his way, courtesy of the kids' trick or treating bags.

It's almost like I served him breakfast in bed.