Killing Me Softly with Her Blog

I made the mistake of perusing through my favorite blogs the other evening while I was suffering from a persistent malady I'm often cursed with...food cravings.  And not just any food cravings mind you, the worst of its kind, the sort of craving that can't be resolved without hopping on a plane.  I was craving REAL Italian food.  So I got online to distract myself.  When what to my hungering eyes should appear?  My niece Danielle and her preposterous post on Italian food!  Bad timing!  I died!  Then I went into my kitchen and made the bruchetta you see pictured above.  Nice, but thanks to Danielle, who blogged all of the deliciously fresh and mouth-watering ingredients of Italy that you just can't find in the states, like bufala mozzerlla and gelato, I was still left with more cravings!  Shame on you Danielle, it's not nice to tease!  Sono Affamato!

There's a Grampa in My Bed!

I should have known it was bad karma to make fun of the aged.  Somewhere deep down inside I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway.

It all started a few years back when Mark and I were somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, me happily reading,  and Mark intensely studying navigational charts in preparation for a test.  Across the table sat our friends Keith and Kathy Williams who, ahem, are our "older" friends (they're grandparents even, but in case they're reading this, I should add they're also hip and cool for being so old).  Kathy was reading too and Keith was studying his own charts preparing for the same test.

Suddenly, a very annoyed Mark looks up from his charts and says, "Can you read this?!!  How do they expect people to read this when they make these chart notations so small?"

His big mistake was that he handed the chart over to me, the youngest crew member on board with the keenest of eyes.  I took the chart, and read off the small notations without any hesitation whatsoever and handed it back to him.

Puzzled, he looked up and said, "Why can't I see that?"

Both Keith and Kathy simultaneously looked at each other, knowingly grinned, then silently answered him by each pulling off their reading glasses  (I call them "grandpa glasses")  and offered them to him.  He grabbed at Kathy's pair with extreme skepticism and put them on.  He looked at the chart and he immediately bore that giddy expression you see so often on a child's face on Christmas morning.  Then, ever so slowly, the cheer began to fade, replaced by the grim horror of a man who realized he had just crossed a threshold that would soon promise a decrepit future full of discounts.

Over two years later, Mark now sports a pair of grampa readers in every room of the house.  He could care less about what I refer to as his "recent handicap".  If he's gotta read, there they are, perched right at the tip of his nose.  I, on the other-hand, am a bit more alarmed at the situation.  At the onset of his alarming discovery, I was a youthful and spry 37.  This is way too young to be married to a man proudly sporting grampa glasses.  Way, waaaaaay too young.

Then, one horrible evening (which has scarred me for life)  while I innocently sat up in bed cheerfully reading something or other, I looked up to speak to my beloved husband and to my alarm, when I looked up I beheld a grampa-looking figure with spectacles perched on the tip of his nose laying in my bed!  "Ahhhhhhh!"  I hollered, "What are you doing?"

He looked up totally puzzled, "What?"  

"What do you mean what?" I say.  "Your old man glasses!  I am WAY too young to have a grampa in my bed!" 

He just looks at me and shakes his head.  "Ridiculous."

This is an every night occurrence now which means I've had to re-invent my insults.  Sometimes I kid him by saying in a low and sultry tone, "Man you look so sexy in those."  Occasionally, this gets him to trade his glasses in for the remote.  Other times he just says, "Listen girlfriend, your day is coming," and he returns to his book.

About six months after that jarring episode, apparently the whole grampa gig became so second nature to him that he unabashedly decided to take the big leap.  There I was, again, minding my own business, this time sitting on a church pew.  I look over at my dear husband and there he is, reading the program with those dang glasses perched on his nose!

I leaned over, wide-eyed, and whispered in a not-so-very reverent tone,  "When did WE decide to take this public??" I gave him the look of extreme dissatisfaction.

He simply rolled his eyes and returned to reading.

Seriously.  Now EVERYONE knows I married to an old guy!

No matter how much shame I try and bring upon the man, nothing works anymore.  He's fully embraced the situation.  Apparently that's what happens to old people.  They don't care.  What's next? Suspenders?  Comfortable shoes?  Senior Discounts?  If I'm married to an old guy, what does that make me?  My youth is spiraling.

Unknown to me, while I've been recklessly making fun of the old man for over a year or two now, there must be some Greek God called "Speck-ti-cles" that my professors failed to mention in my Greek Mythology classes.  This would have been very important information to be forewarned about to be sure.  This is one greek god you don't want to upset, and apparently I did.  This is the only explanation I can reasonably come up with to explain the following event.

Just two short weeks after turning 40 the worst thing imaginable happened.  "Speck-ti-cles" went on a rampage.  I went, as I do everyday, to read the carbohydrate count on the side of a box so that Chloe could calculate her insulin shot, and darn if my arm didn't pull the box away from my eyes!  This happened THREE times in ONE DAY.  Suddenly my heart sank.  My eyes!  My eyes!  Seriously, my eyes quit working OVERNIGHT.

Quickly I ran to grab a pair of Mark's readers (we're not calling them grampa glasses anymore!) and put them on, hoping to confirm that they didn't do a thing to remedy my problem.

Oh crap.

I could see.  See the clear, bold letters and see my youth clearly and boldly fading.  After a month in denial, I got tired of pulling nutritional facts away from my face so I could read them (when it comes to insulin, you've got to get your numbers exactly right).  I surrendered and went out and bought a pair of, well you know.  But, just to read nutritional facts.  Okay, and maybe a few other things I am suddenly not seeing so well.

And now, in a meeger attempt to console myself into thinking that I haven't crossed that threshold of youth I'm clinging so dearly to, I solemnly promise before the Greek god Speck-ti-cles that I will not grant him the satisfaction of catching me doing any of the following:

• Perching them on the tip of my nose
• Going public with them 'till I'm 50
• Ever, ever, wearing them with a chain!
• Claim they are missing when they are on top of my head
  
• Make fun of my husband again (at least for a while)

You Call That a Love Note?

Years ago I got tired of our rushed morning routine of getting the kids out the door and off to school on time.  It was a real miracle when there wasn't at least one kid who left for the bus half-naked or shoeless because we couldn't get our act together.  The craziness reached its apex the year I was getting the kids out the door, properly dressed, homework signed, hair combed-all off to FOUR different schools...I think I could have gotten through a NASA launch sequence with less glitches.

Smartly, I realized with a little pre-planning, we could get most things ready the night before (yes, I know, most of you have been doing this for years, I'm a little slow at this mom-game).  With this new routine, the kids were ready every morning on time and out the door with no cursing on my part.  The only problem was that now the cursing happened each night as I would growl at the kids over each and every thing they needed to do before bed.   It didn't take long for this routine to earn me the prestigious title of

"The Night Nag".

So  I turned to my trusty ol' mac and came up with a solution-call it neurotic and even fastidious but it works!   I had notepads made with a checklist and gave them to each of the kids.  Now, for the last few years, each night I just tell them to do their list and off they go...no more nagging.  This quirky, and yes, admittedly obsessive-and-control-freakish checklist of mine has liberated me from most of the general parental tantrums and cursings I am famous for.

It has also created a few interesting rituals around our house that Mark and I have found quite amusing.

The Check-Off:

Notice that Chloe likes to self-congratulate her finished list by embellishing it with a sticker before she hands it over.  She also likes to make notes on the side such as, "smell breath" as if to insure and guarantee the accuracy of teeth brushing.  She'll even list her blood sugar number and note which book she is currently reading.  Connor on the other hand, will do the minimal mark-off as required and usually skip parts of the check list he'd rather avoid.  You really have to check the list for room cleaning, sox getting, and teeth brushing, he is not particularly fond of these.

The Delivery
The delivery of the finished checklist is another interesting ritual.  Connor, who often turns in what we call an "incomplete", likes to deliver his through devious methods which require as little human contact as possible.  Then he will wait for an hour after its submission before he dares to come and give us a good night hug in hopes that we've forgotten any violations on the list.  Two of his favorite modes of delivery are:

...via airway:

...or by remote control car which has a camera built-in, this enables him to drive the car while safely tucked several rooms away:

The Love Note?

The next curious development is Chloe's nightly ritual of flipping her checklist over and writing what she calls "love notes" on the back.  A few of the love notes are really nice (keep reading, I saved the weird ones for last!):

Even Connor sometimes writes a love note (granted, this is usually when he is trying to distract a parent from the lack of check-marks on the other side.  Whether he gets away with it or not all depends on how genuine and nice his remarks are.).  Notice the lovely addition of hand-drawn of hearts which he thinks will earn him bonus points.

Sometimes Chloe's notes amuse us with her rather bizarre confessions of love:

uh...does that mean you love us a little or a lot?

Oddly, she likes brushing her teeth and the nightly checklist, so we'll take that as an endearing profession of love.

cockroaches?  Why thank you.   Oh, and ewwww, whatever does cockroaches have to do with movies and popcorn?

Not sure here either.

uh...thanks for that mental image. ewww!

On this day, Connor  must have been feeling especially amorous to take the time to make this lengthy list:

wow...more than a tick and snail??  Why that's love.

And The Occasional Complaint:

And then other times Chloe uses the backside to jot down household complaints, as if it were to be stuffed inside one of those comment boxes:

I look forward to our nightly routine these days because we never know how it'll get delivered or what kind of professed love it's gonna bring.   The Night Nag is resting comfortably most evenings, totally retired and busy reading silly love notes.

Halloween Round Up

This was our first Halloween without Chey around, pretty creepy.  Our family loves holidays because it gives us a chance to throw another party (we'll celebrate practically anything!).  Mark loves coming up with strange costume ideas, but he is not too fond of carving pumpkins, he groans about it every year, we think it's because he hates the slime inside of them.

This year we tried to do a little pumpkin Skype-carving with Chey so we felt like she was hanging around with us while we carved pumpkins.  Not really the same as having her here, but it was fun to give it a try.

We missed her so much that we got out the photo albums and took a stroll down Halloween past.  Some years we get into costumes and it was fun to look back on all the weird and silly costumes we've painted and hot glued in the past.  So this one's for Chey, a fun look down memory lane!

Cheyenne...

Mitchell...

Connor...

and Chloe!

Ever since Mark went crazy putting together the legendary shower costume, folks have started to expect crazy original costumes from us each year, this is a lot of pressure!  You know things get out of hand when at the end of August your thinking about Halloween Costumes.  One day I'm gonna throw the whole town off by turning back to the dark side like we used to do and scaring people by going store bought!

Until then, kids and parents alike are having fun with a little costume madness.  This year Chloe went as the Travelosity Knome (she even trick-or-treated doors by telling all the candy-givers, "Thank you, and remember, never roam alone."   Connor's been begging to take scuba classes so he wanted to be a scuba diver this year.  Our cousin's Madi and Janelle came over and got into the fun too.  We painted a box up for Madi so she could be WALL-E, complete with a working fan that Mitchell had wired up inside her box so it would really work when you pushed a cardboard button (go figure), and Janelle found an old costume of Chloe's and wanted to be a pretty pirate.

Mitch, who may never outgrown Halloween, got out the duct tape and made his own costume...


It had working parts and somehow he got it to ooze smoke.

Halloween was fun but not the same without Chey home!  One of our favorites is a vintage picture of she and Mitch dressed as a Cowboy and an Indian.  Mitch looks totally cross-eyed in this photo!

Happy Halloween Chey!

Devious Drizzle Dodgers

A fall mystery presented itself.  The kids were coming home from school, fresh off the bus, with little or no signs of being wet from the rain...and not just any rain, Oregon rain.  It took me a few days of consecutive afternoon showers to notice they were arriving home bone dry.  I was originally trying to gauge how sorry to feel for my poor helpless kids, whom I was forcing to fend for themselves under the harsh aquatic assaults of mother nature each afternoon as they dashed the length of our driveway to the warm shelter of home.

They were so dry in fact, that I wondered if they'd smuggled umbrellas with them.  Umbrellas are the sort of sissy contraptions true Oregonians shun.  We leave them to the folks in California or back on the East Coast...and other places around the globe where apparently it's not fashionable to look like a drowned dog. (though I've seen a rash of these contraptions infecting southern Oregon as more people move here from the aforementioned fashion-conscious areas.)  The thought of my children using an umbrella, well, this was an alarming activity that would have to be purged as a bad habit, should it be true.

Fearing the worst, I asked them one day, just how they were threading the gauntlet of droplets and getting home so unscathed...turned out, it was not umbrellas after all.  Whew!  Though the truth may actually be worse.  No surprise, it's that my kids are major scheme-ers.

They explained to me that they are the last kids to be dropped off in the afternoon, and after they get dropped off, the bus driver waves them across the road and continues on down the highway until he reaches an old weigh station for trucks where he can turn the bus around and head back into town.  Seeing opportunity, Connor and Chloe convinced the driver to save himself some time and just head up our driveway and see if the giant bus could turn around on our circle.  He fell for it!!  And now, they get dropped off right at the front walkway every stinkin' day.

I waited to confirm their story and sat out on the porch the following day and waited.  Sure enough, these dang lazy kids are getting dropped off right in front of the house!  Bunch of country kids livin' it up like they're city folk!  Devious Devils.  Mystery solved.

Cooler Coasting??

My kids kill me.  They've got all kinds of outside toys: bikes, skateboards, scooters, and even gas powered go-karts.  So today, when I look outside to see what they're up to, this is what I see:

They're coasting around the driveway on our coolers!  And apparently there's more than one way to coast a cooler; lid up and lid down:

all depending upon the amount of danger you are seeking.  This goes to show; you give a kid a gift, they play with the box.  I think I'll be shopping in cardboard dumpsters for their Christmas gifts this year.  We'll both be thrilled!

All Pumped Up!

No more shots!

Chole got hooked up to her brand-new PINK insulin pump yesterday. The pink pumps are a brand-new color, hot off the presses. Chloe says the blue ones and the teal ones, and even the clear ones just wouldn't do. Whatever the color, we're all pretty excited.

Insulin pumps are simply AMAZING. I call them "A Mom in a Box" 'cause these little pager-looking things practically do everything I'm used to doing, including all the math and calculations on how much insulin to give. Ahhhhhhhh!

In the meantime, while we're getting doses dialed in, we're checking her bloodsugars every couple of hours throughout the day and night...which makes me thankful the days of having a newborn baby around the house are LONG GONE.  Ahhhhhhhhh...times two!

What Mothers Shouldn't Know

Mitchell’s scout troop just got back from climbing Mt. Thielsen and all the leaders seemed pretty impressed that Mitchell scaled to the top of it bare handed. They even showed me photos to prove it. I wasn’t really sure what all the hubbub was about really.  Admittedly, I thought he was a little too close to the edge in the photos and the rocky top of the mountain seemed a tad steep.  But Mitchell likes to hike and climb, no story there.

It wasn’t until last weekend, while driving to Sun River, that I looked out of the car window into the distance and saw a familiar shape on top of a large mountain.  I realized it was from the photos of Mitchell.  To my horror, the tip of the mountain top in the zoomed-in photo wasn't just a rocky craig jutting up from a gentle sloping mountain.  The entire mountain was one big ‘trip and you’re dead’ steep.

“Oh my gosh! He climbed to the top of that?!”

Everyone in the car looked at me with that, ‘well, duh!  Why’d you think everyone was making a big deal about it’  sort of look.

So, I guess that would also explain why everyone was so amused by the photo of Mitchell's cousin Bryce who is afraid of heights:

 

Isn’t there an official Scout Leaders Handbook??

And if there is, this sort of tale with its accompanying photographs should be the sort of subject found under the heading: “What Mothers Shouldn’t Know”.