Ain't No Sunshine When He's Gone

We miss our Daddy/husband.

Sure, we're grateful for a good job that supports our household and that he is doing well in his career and that he gets to do all this traveling and learning and developing.

But sometimes this job stinks. It gets pretty old not having him around. And Skype hugs and kisses are a poor substitute for the real thing.

While I feel that I'm more of the optimist in our relationship, he definitely brings the sunshine into our life. He is our comic relief and sometimes we go a little too long without a good laugh when he's gone on these long trips.

Today, I stumbled on a video clip I took awhile back that is a perfect example of his joviality.

To preface...We had just finished watching the episode of "The Office" where the character, Michael Scott, keeps saying "I do declare!"



We turned off the TV. Joe headed back to our bedroom and I walked around the house turning off lights and locking doors. When I made my way to the bedroom I heard Joe, who was sitting in the bathroom, giggling.

And giggling and giggling and giggling. It went on and on, long enough for me to go find the camera, come back, and record a few minutes.



He had no idea I was standing by the door, much less recording.

Later he explained, that "I do declare!" line set him off and he just could not stop laughing. We've all had those moments.

I'm so glad I have this recorded. It's the best sound in the world. I can't help laughing so hard every time I watch it. Especially when my big, burly husband says things like "Oh, my tummy!" and "Shut up!" to...himself.

It is Monday. And this is my life.

Watching "The Walking Dead" makes me want to beef up on my food storage. And guns. Lots and lots of guns.

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On Friday my four year old daughter let out a huge belch in the Costco food court. Before I could melt with shame an old man walked by and congratulated her. I might have congratulated her myself. Had we been at home. 

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 I left my crown and pearls at home, but other than that...TWINNERS!

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In a fit of familial fixing I decided we should declare Sundays "screen free". My husband whimpered a bit and settled into negotiations. "Screen-Free Sunday Evening" it is! On Sunday evening, we turned off the TV, the iPad, and the phones. And then we stared at each other wondering, "Well, what do we do now?" The kids decided we should play the game of Life. Little do they know, Joe and I "play life" every day and sometimes it doesn't feel so "gamey". But it was fun...until we pulled the lid off the box. And then it got very, very frustrating. Two and four year olds are not so big on Life. Six and eight year olds are, but they aren't so big on getting married or paying taxes or playing by the rules. Our first Screen-Free Sunday Evening didn't last long. But at least it happened.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MOM!!! I don't know if you read my blog anymore, but I love you and am so grateful for the influence you have been in my life. You are one of the biggest reasons I am what I am today. Thank you for teaching me about hard work and testimonies. Thank you for passing on your love of mountains and pioneers. Thank you for showing by example that anything is possible if you work hard enough and never give up.

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A couple of weeks ago, I posted this status on Facebook:

Waaaay back in high school, I was supposed to read "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad. But I didn't. I faked my way through the unit, probably because I was too busy being social or sleeping or something. I've felt guilty ever since, so today...today I will read "Heart of Darkness".

You are welcome, Mrs. Fleishchman.

And I STILL haven't been able to get through the first chapter.

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I also posted this on Facebook...

...And somehow I have once again managed to simultaneously feel incredible pride and humiliation. Kind of like when the four-year old belched in Costco.

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And this...while not posted on Facebook...makes me really not in the mood to make dinner.

I ran out of dishwasher detergent so I had to wash all of these...BY HAND! Oh the horror! Those are clean dishes. Why dirty them up now?

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On Sunday I seized the opportunity to bear my testimony in Fast and Testimony meeting as I had not been able to the month before, thanks to a woman who took the better part of 25 minutes relating to the church congregation just exactly what kind of medications she can and cannot take when traveling out of town. I had really wanted the chance to publicly express my heart-felt sentiments about my beloved religion to my son, who was recently baptized a member of our faith. As I did this on Sunday, I looked down to the bench where he was sitting to look into his eyes, which were bound to be tear-filled as I declared my cherished convictions...only to see him using his little sister's wooden dress-up doll to repeatedly bonk himself in the head.

Maybe I ought to find out what meds that other lady is on.

Great Americans?

For the last couple of months, my second grade son, Dee, has been working on a Great American project. His teacher presented him with a list of Great Americans and he chose Christopher Columbus. While not a true American, Columbus did "discover" the Americas, becoming a key figure in American history. Dee has been reading books, building a time-line, writing a paper, and constructing a visual presentation all about Columbus for his project.

Today we had the chance to go to the school to see all of the second graders present their Great Americans. The mayor was invited along with several present day Great Americans: local firefighters, policemen, and military. The second graders had set up rows of desks in the gym, placing each part of their project on their desk and sitting in a chair next to it, ready to answer questions about their Great American. The program ended with the children singing a couple of patriotic songs. (Servicemen and women in uniform with little voices singing patriotic songs? Of course I cried. Like the red-blooded American mommy I am.)

The children were given the option to dress like their Great American or at least dress nicely. I had no idea how to make a Christopher Columbus costume and I couldn't bear to spend $30 on a costume that would be used once, so Dee dressed in his Sunday suit. He looked handsome and knew his stuff about good ol' Christopher Columbus. (Stuff I've been learning too as I've been helping him with this project. By the way, Columbus was "great" for "discovering" the Americas, but also wasn't so great in that he couldn't admit that he messed up and these new islands were not the Indies. Not to mention, he was rather nasty to his crew and the natives. At one point he was even arrested and brought back to Spain for being such a jerk. Hmm.)

As we walked around the rows of desks today, we saw lots of cute little Amelia Earharts, Abraham Lincolns, Thomas Edisons, and Eleanor Roosevelts. There was even a darling little Laura Ingalls Wilder (a personal favorite). 

But imagine my surprise when we happened upon not one, but several Katy Perrys.

HUH?!

  

I'm all for making education fun and relevant, but since when is a cupcake-bra wearing chick like Katy Perry categorized with the likes of Sacajawea, Rosa Parks, and George Washington?! What has she contributed to our country? Besides a lot of trashy, provocative music and costumes that is. When did voicing a Smurf cartoon equate to dying as a martyr?

Unfortunately my little girls wouldn't hold still long enough to let me read the Katy Perry presentation or ask the Mini-Katys just what on earth made them "great" Americans. It was probably for the best because I probably couldn't have held back my laughter/disgust and would have tromped on some poor, little misguided second grader's self-esteem. A self-esteem that might be even more fragile since they are looking to the likes of Katy Perry as role models.

Pardon my geriatric rage but....WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO?!?

P.S. At least Lady GaGa wasn't there. *whew*

Putting on Airs at the In-Laws

If there is one thing I know how to do well, it is to embarrass myself.

I've had a lifetime of practice and I'm a pro. In fact I've gotten so good at saying and doing dumb things that my mouth is practically foot-shaped. (Get it? Open mouth. Insert foot.)

To give you a recent example...

This last weekend we had the opportunity to spend sometime in Hometown, Idaho with our families. I have a great in-law family that I really do enjoy and feel comfortable being with. Nonetheless, I would still like to make somewhat of a good impression to remind them why their son/grandson/brother/nephew/cousin picked me as his blushing bride.

The morning before we drove out to the family lunch and Easter egg hunt, I spent a fair amount of time picking out a flattering outfit and doing my hair and makeup just so. I left my parents house, where we had stayed the night, feeling confident about my appearance. Woo! I still got it!

And then I snuck a peek in the vanity mirror in our minivan.

AGH!!!

Bright purple and unmistakable, there it lurked, begging for any passerby's visual attention... A hickey.

And not just any hickey.

My very first hickey. Ever.

You know, besides the ones you would give yourself when you sucked on your own arm in 3rd grade class out of boredom and curiosity. (Oh, you didn't do that? Well...Umm...)

This was my very first neck hickey.

And this one didn't even come with some amazing amorous affair.

My husband and I were just messing around the night before--STOP! Not THAT kind of messing around. Just teasing each other about something. He wrestled me down and latched on to my neck for .0013 seconds. There he left The Mark of Shame, flashing brighter than any Scarlett Letter.

No makeup, no ice, no nothing was going to cover that thing up.

Oh well, at least my hair--that is looking goooood--will maybe cover it up. My good impression isn't shot...yet.

And then I spilled an entire water bottle. In the worst place one can spill an entire water bottle.

With burning cheeks, a bright purple hickey on my neck, and looking like I had just peed my pants (not "Oops! I giggled too hard!" peed my pants, but "Woah! Buy me some Depends!" peed my pants) I prepared to greet my husband's entire family. Grandma and Grandpa, all the aunts, a few uncles, cousins, everybody.

Sweet.

As you can see, with my amazing sense of fortune and poor timing, I don't need any help in the mortification department. But that afternoon my seven year old son felt free to offer his services anyway.

Later in the day, he and I made a trip out to our van to get him some Benadryl for an accidental milk exposure he had experienced. While we were out there, I felt free to...ahem..."air out". A couple of times.

My son was walking away as I did, but turned quickly when he heard me. He giggled wildly and asked if I had indeed farted.

I confessed, thinking it would be our little secret. Moms fart too. What's the big deal?

He walked back to the house through the back entrance, cackling. I walked back through the front entrance. As I entered the kitchen where my husband's entire family was gathered, they were laughing uproariously about something. They turned to see me and the laughter escalated to another level. Joe's cousin couldn't even talk because he was doubled over, laughing so hard, and pointing...At me.

What I had failed to remember is, to a seven year old boy, farting in and of itself is a mighty big deal and worthy of proper and loud group announcements.

Hickey on neck.
Pees pants.
Farts.

Guilty as charged. And making the kind of impressions the family will be talking about for years.

Hooray.

The Absent-Minded Traveler

Last week it was my phone charger.

He accidentally grabbed mine instead of his, accidentally packed it in his suitcase, and then accidentally flew 1,839 miles to Georgia with my phone charger as his companion.

But it was just an accident. And a funny accident at that. We got a good chuckle out of it, especially considering what a habit he's making of buying new phone chargers in exotic lands like Wyoming and Arizona. I believe his current count of new cell phone chargers purchased in late night haste at 24 hour Super Walmarts is up to 3 now.

Funny, but "Please Dear...send me back my charger so I don't have to be both husbandless and phoneless for a whole week."

As he packed for his trip this week we joked about how he has learned his lesson now and will never make the mistake of packing my charger again.

And he didn't.

Instead...he packed my pants.

Love knows no bounds. But it should.

We have a five year old girl in our family.

Thusly, our house has been swept up in a fit of amorous passion.

Everything in our house is kissing these days.

I walked in on Iron Man in a fervent lip lock with Princess Jasmine the other day. (Shhh! Don’t tell Aladdin!)

Barbies. Stuffed animals. Balls. Cars. Rocks. Shoes. Pillow Pets. Fruit snacks. Bikes. Lego blocks. Sticks. Broccoli and cauliflower chunks.

Love knows no bounds.

But this has just gone too far.

Eww.

Get a room you two.

"...and TOTALLY redeem yourself!"

(Quick! Name the movie I got that title from!)

Update:

Remember how bummed out I was that my kids failed to retain the true lesson behind our little tootsie roll project?

Just now, I was cruising around on my blog and Jeigh walked up beside me. She pointed to the picture of Abraham Lincoln and states, "That guy was a great man. The best man in America."

GASP! By golly! I think she's got it!

Me: That's right, Jeigh! Do you remember his name?

Jeigh: ...pause...pause...pause...Umm...Callahan Lincoln.

That's close enough!!

{sigh} It's these moments that make being a mom the best job there is! I mean, come on! Who else gets to "work" with chocolate and reap the even sweeter rewards later?

That's-Not-My-Kid Thursday

It's high time for a That's-Not-My-Kid Thursday Link Up, don't ya' think?


Here's mine. After you read it, make sure to post your mortified mommy moment on your own blog and link up at the bottom. Or just share in the comments. Whatever floats your boat.

On Tuesday evening Dee (5), Elle (2), and I sat in the lobby of Jeigh's (4) dance studio while she was in her ballet class. Parents and siblings aren't allowed in the actual dance rooms, I assume to allow the students to completely focus on the teacher.

They have placed a screen in the lobby so that parents can watch from a distance. The TV screen has four smaller screens within: One for Jeigh's dance class, a second dance class, a piano class, and an empty room that has two bathrooms leading off of it.

My five-year old son Dee is enthralled with the concept of this monitoring system. He's clever enough that he's figured out where that empty room is and realizes it's being monitored.

This particular day, he asked if he could go to the bathroom.

Me: "Sure, do you know where it is?"

Dee: "Yep!" and runs off to answer the call of nature.

Elle is asking me to read to her so I get a little distracted. Before long, I refocus on the monitor to watch Jeigh's class when to my horror I see my son on the bottom left hand of the screen, walking out of the bathroom with his pants down around his ankles. He's hardly paying attention to his clothing situation. He's intent on finding one thing: the camera. Which he does and begins waving like he's in a parade.

Knowing I can't get back to him quickly enough or yell loud enough to be heard, I send a wish up to the Northern Star that he'll get his pants pulled up before he turns six, or at least before the lobby full of moms see him and make the connection who's streaking child this is.

After awhile he finally gets his pants back up {whew} but then begins break dancing...or seizing (I couldn't really tell) on the floor. Do I dare hope the other moms still haven't seen? Nope. I hear the snickers behind me.

So now I ask myself: Do I claim him or pretend he belongs to the bored looking dad standing outside the building?

I never get the chance to salvage my own dignity, never mind his, when he runs down the hall, hops on my lap, and says loudly, "Mommy! Did you see me waving?? DID YOU?!"