Traversing the Town

Take a walk with us through our neighborhood....

First, I want to point out that a minor miracle has occurred.  In storms past, our neighborhood is 19,381st (or so) on the priority list for snowplowing and usually gets plowed about 3 days after the snow is melted. 

 

(looking right from our driveway)

This storm, however, we had a guy with a snowplow attached to his pick-up truck go through our neighborhood every hour or so during the storm.  Since we know several people around town who haven't seen a plow at all yet, we figure that it was somebody in our neighborhood who decided he wanted to be able to leave the neighborhood before Easter and bought his own plow.  Whoever he is, he is my new hero!  

  

(looking left from our driveway)

Walking on a little further we found several evergreen trees that had split or had large branches broken off.  Thankfully, none of them looked like they caused any damage to property.   

  

A little further on here and you'll find the main entrance to our neighborhood.  Normally, we use it several times a day, but whenever there is snow or ice of any kind we completely avoid it.   It's a rather steep incline right into a busy street and they rarely, if ever, plow or treat it.   As per usual, it is still a hazard. 

  

Then a little later on, if you happened to notice some giggly girls dangerously traversing a large snow mountain at a busy intersection today, that would be us (except I was taking pictures instead of giggling) with no sidewalk to stand on.

Cami and her friends were feeling pretty tall after being able to touch the crosswalk thingy (does it have a name?) before crossing the street.  After tomorrow's growth spurt, er,  storm they probably won't even have to lift their arms to reach it. 

 

It was shortly after crossing the street that we discovered that the minor miracle mentioned earlier was more monumental than originally thought.  Our little street is actually plowed better than this major local thoroughfare.  

  

After a little grocery shopping where people had once again emptied the shelves of basic necessities (like eggs and bananas) we went home and greeted Ashton Kutcher who had made more than $300 in the last few days shoveling driveways with his friend.  

 

What's that you say?   You didn't know that I gave birth to Ashton Kutcher.

  Truth be told, I didn't really know that either, but when I logged onto facebook this week I found this photo as my son's profile picture.   I was quite impressed with the fabulous genetics I seemed to pass that way and then figured having an in in Hollywood these days may not be such a bad thing. ;)

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Top Ten of Being Snowed In

10--The peaceful quiet of the outdoors. Except for the hum of traffic on a couple of nearby highways, our neighborhood is normally quiet, but with the sound muffling effects of two feet of snow and the almost nonexistent traffic volume, our neighborhood is now as silent as a day in the country

9--The sense of community.  A snowstorm of these epic proportions (we got about 24-inches) takes our diverse community and puts us all in the same boat.   Neighbors that we normally rarely see have no choice but to spend hours and hours digging out and somehow that experience binds us together.  The divorced mother next door, the widower across the street, the Asian family that barely speaks English, Mormon family with five kids...we're all in this together!

8--Forced winter exercise.   Normally exercising in the winter's cold is kind of a pain in the patootie, but when two feet of snow are on the ground merely walking across the yard becomes an aerobic workout.   Add in a good dose of shoveling and you've taken it to a major kick-butt routine.  Who needs the gym when you've got your own heavy, white, although somewhat cold, personal trainer in your front yard?

7--Hot chocolate.  We've been accused by a visiting five-year-old of making a wimpy hot chocolate, but there's still nothing that brings a smile faster to my kids' tear-stained faces after a sled crash than a steaming mug of our wimpy hot chocolate.

6--Christmas presents get a second chance.  Winter Break #2 is giving the kids a whole lot of free time to foster new interest in all their mostly forgotten Christmas loot.  Board games are getting a new life.   Lego sets are reappearing.  Craft kits are being tried.  It's every toy's dream come true!

5--Cooking.  It's cold, there's nowhere to go, trying new recipes seems like only a natural thing to do.   I've knocked off delicious buttermilk biscuits that rivaled my mom's, honey-lime enchiladas that the kids went gaga over, and an all-in-one hearty breakfast dish that filled us up until mid-afternoon.  Watch the recipe blog for a whole batch of snowy day recipes coming soon!

4--Sleeping in.  With no school, no church, and no work I see no earthly reason to set my alarm clock.  I love the distinctly satisfying feeling of waking up whenever I  feel like it for once, instead of being at the beck and call of a busy schedule.  

3--Snuggle time.   Kids come in from being outside, they need a snuggle.   We don't have to wake up early so my husband wants to snuggle late in front of a movie.  The kids wonder when I'm going to finally get out of bed, so they snuggle in next to me until I wake up.   I find myself secretly wishing for arms like Elastigirl's, so I could snuggle all day and get the laundry done too.

2--Comfort over fashion.  I am never one to miss an opportunity to remain in baggy sweats 24/7.

1--Beauty.   Our yard and house never look better than just after a snowstorm.  There's something about a  sparkling blanket of freshly fallen snow that makes even our 8-year-old Toyota Sienna look somehow romantic.

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Snowpocalypse 2010!

It's here.

Snowpocalypse.
   Snowmageddon.  
   Snowtastrophe.
       Snowtaclysm. 

                2010  

Since 1870, they say the DC area has only had 13 storms with a 12+ inch total and now with an expected 20-30 inches before tomorrow night it looks like we're in for a record breaker.

The fridge is full.   The DVD player is on standby.  The toilet paper stocked.  Shovels are poised for action.  

  BRING IT ON!

Our backyard on Friday night:  ~5:00pm (with 24 more hours of snow to go)

Our backyard on Saturday morning: ~9:00am

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Help, me. Pleas.

   I am a woman who prides myself in knowing the difference between there, their, and they're.  I scoff at stationery stores that hawk their wares as being immobile and I love to brag about the fact that I was the  school district spelling champion in fourth grade.

 There's no two ways about it:  I am a grammar snob.

I feel certain that if it weren't for my lucrative career as a prolific blogger, that I easily could have been a bigwig magazine editor.   Reader's Digest, Highlights, Ranger Rick.  I could take over the world.

But then, I got a reality check.

I was sitting in Emma's classroom sorting through piles of homework for her teacher, when the teacher began a lecture about the proper usage of commas.

I smiled smugly as he taught them about how to list objects in a sentence,  and to separate the city and state in addresses.  Dates, two adjectives in a row,  introductory words....got it.

But then he started babbling on about interrupters, weak clauses, and conjunctive phrases and I realized I don't know beans about commas.   Or grammar for that matter.

Good, buy Reader's Digest.  I'm going back two, third grade, too learn about, conjunctivitis.

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In One Ear, Out the Other...

Have I ever told you how much I like graphic violence and horror tales?    No?  That must be because I don't.  I'm so wimpy I have to leave the room during parts of the Princess Bride.  The whole six finger thing just kind of grosses me out.  

Of course, being a mother of five children means that there are times when I have to repress my over-active gagging reflex and pretend to be the mature one in the situation.   Take getting shots, for example, I can hold their hands, comfort them, and tell them it'll only hurt for a second, but don't expect me to watch while the nurse cuts off their circulation and pokes them with a needle.  No way.

With as squeamish as I am, it's actually quite a miracle that my girls ever get their ears pierced.  If the piercing process wasn't bad enough, the whole cleaning and teaching them how to insert and remove earrings takes quite the motherly sacrifice on my part.  Of course, I do it just to see their lollipop stained smiles of glee at officially joining the world of the bejeweled. 

But then something like THIS happens....

That would be her earring embedded into the middle of her ear, pushed there by a stray ball in gym class.  It was stuck as stuck gets, not budging  forward or backward even a tiny bit.   It didn't take long before I was well on my way to, um, for lack of a better phrase, freaking out.  

After even the pediatrician threw up her hands and sent us to an ENT (ear, nose, and throat specialist), I knew we were in for a rocky road.  Six long hours later (most of which were spent in the waiting room), after several numbing shots, a tiny little scalpel, and eventually giving a whole new meaning to the phrase, "In one ear and out the other..." or in this case "In one side of the ear and out the other side..." we have a couple of decisions to make. 

Do we wait for her ear to get all healed up and let her keep her pierced ears (outlawing earrings for any and all physical activities involving balls)?  Or should we just take this as a sign that it's not meant to be?    Or [gulp]  just let her choose herself?  

And what about Ellie you say?  I've already got her piercing date all set up for her birthday in 2035.  

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Ten Commandments of a Teen-age Boy

1.  Thou shalt not try to hide thy chips of corn from before mine eyes.  I needest them for my skin above and my bones beneath for I art a growing boy. 

2.  Thou shalt not make me to cleanest any part of thine house, insomuch that I likest it just the way it is.

3.  Thou shalt not make thy name upon my Facebook page in a wall post or it shall be stricken off before thou can blinkest.

4.  Remember the Saturday to keep it wholly for the purpose of mine rest.  For in five days I have laboured diligently with mine brain and to grant unto me sleep is to shew mercy unto me.

5.  Honour thy son's friends; that his days may be cool upon the land.  

6.  Thou shalt not kill my unlimited texting plan for it is the steadfast way of the rising generation.

7.  Thou shalt not commit  the unpardonable sin of leaving me to hunger for forty minutes, nay even forty seconds.  Yea, thou shalt lay a store of food up for  mine own purposes and none other.  

8.  Thou shalt not steal my playlist from upon the computer and try to makest me hear thy music.  For insomuch that thou thinkest my music is raucous, thine music smiteth mine ears from off mine face.  I ask thee is it good for mine ears to be smitten?  Nay, I say it is not good. 

9.  Thou shalt not bear me to rise up and putteth away mine cell phone. Not even while I sleepest, for in the day that I do shall surely be the day when a lady, most fair above all ladies, shall text mine phone. 

10.  Thou shalt not covet mine full dance card, neither my manly lacrosse gloves, neither my mother of questionable humor. 

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100% Awesome!

After....

• Hours and hours of intense drilling,

• Gallons of tears,

• A parent-teacher conference,

• Pop quizzes at school AND at home....

Emma the third grade multiplication queen has arrived!  

 Emma   +   Four minutes   +   Thirty-eight problems   =   100% AWESOME!

Way to go Emma!  We're so proud of your hard work and perserverance!
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So, I was just remembering that I didn't have to learn my multiplication facts until fourth grade.  Is this a nationwide trend to do it a year earlier?  Or is it just our school district?  Do you remember when you learned multiplication?  


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A Book a Month

Ever since my earliest days of elementary school I have been a book worm.  In my youth I eagerly devoured entire books in one sitting,  a book a day.   In my adulthood though, reading books has become a sort of guilty indulgence to be taken in small doses.  It's too easy for me to get into my reading zone and neglect kids, housework, and cooking in favor of "just finishing this one more page".  As a result, for most of my adult life I have usually read a book or two a year, usually while on vacation and the rest of my reading would come in little 15 minute increments when I would read newspaper and magazine articles.   

A few years ago I attended an Enrichment meeting where the speaker taught about the joy of reading and how important it is to broaden our minds.  Although what she said wasn't necessarily earth shatteringly different, it made a deep impression on me.  I realized then that in fear of becoming a distracted mother, that I had completely neglected my deep-seated love for reading for years and I missed it terribly.  That's when I decided to join our ward's book group.

I soon found that a book a month was just about perfect for me.  I could get lost in my own world for a day or two while I read books I never would have picked out of my own accord.  In the last few years, I have read old classics, fun teen novels, and everything in between and my life has been richer for it.

At over 1000 pages with tiny typeset to boot, our January selection of, "Atlas Shrugged," by Ayn Rand was daunting to say the least.  

Instead of a couple days of being in another world, this one has taken an entire week and the state of my house reflects that fact with perfect clarity.  Although a somewhat depressing book, it held so many parallels to the political and economic woes of today, that I was enraptured.

As the societies of the world began to demonize and punish business owners and their wealth, the innovative and intelligent producers of the world simply went on strike refusing to be coerced by the government and the non-thinkers of the world.  Although fatalistic, I found it one of the most thought provoking books I have ever read.  I recognize that many of those same early signs are happening right here in our own society and I wonder if we are the frogs in a pot of slowly boiling water, not recognizing the warning signs all around us.  While I did not agree with her views on morality or religion, her views on politics,  economics, and government were eye-opening to me.

The fact that I just wrote that last paragraph about one of the ten longest novels of the English language is a testament to how far I've come in the last few years.  Not only was I not scared off by the length or subject matter, but I enjoyed it completely without guilt.  (Okay maybe there was that one time when I picked up Spencer 30 minutes late from lacrosse, so I could squeeze in a few more pages where I felt a *tad* guilty.)


Are you a read-all-at-once kind of person or are you better at breaking into bite-size chunks than I am?  What is your favorite novel? 

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Flashback Friday: Rambling Note to Sixth Grade Self

Dear Sixth Grade Self,

  Don't write notes to yourself late at night.  

Love, 
Your Future Self

Which one do you think I am? (Click on picture to enlarge)

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Yay Me!

Every once in a while I bravely climb the wooden pull-down stairs leading to the dusty  no-man's land of our attic.  In addition to our bins filled with holiday decor, a whole lot of dust, and a random smattering of STUFF, you will find the box of unfinished projects.

You know, the cross-stitching project from 1995 that was meant for Glen's brother's wedding.  The cut fabric with patterns still pinned to it for some size 2T pajamas for Cami.  Then there's the stack of papers for scrapbooks I never made and the box of tangled up ribbons meant for cute bows to match Ellie's every outfit.

The box is a sad symptom of my inexplicable tendency to lose focus in the middle of projects.  Never mind that my blog is now my scrapbook and Ellie's hair is way too short for bows, I used to truly believe that the day would come that I would find the time to finish them up.  Lately though with the increased busyness of my life, combined with the decreased sleep amounts, I've arrived to a point in my life that I'm hereby writing them off as a lost cause.  What are the chances anyway that I could find the same shade of embroidery floss 15 whole years later?  And what on earth would I do with size 2T homemade pajamas now that my baby wears size 5?

But then knowing it's a lost cause and actually arriving to a mental state where I can let go of it enough to say "Let's throw this in the trash," (or donate it) is a whole new step for another day. 

One thing THE BOX lying idly in my attic does do for me though, is that it has made me much more cautious about endeavoring into new projects.   Is this project really going to be worth my time and money?  Can I finish it?  And most importantly if I do finish it, will I really be happy with it?

This new, mature way of thinking is the reason why I rarely clean my oven.  The hours of effort it would take to scrape up the blackened surface, just doesn't seem worth it to me.  My oven has a door that closes, so no one can see inside of it and blackened, dried food chunks don't make me gag or anything, so I'd rather just let it be.  Me and my oven in perfect zen.  

Despite my best efforts to simplify and not add to my guilt-inducing box in the attic, every once in a while though I get an idea in my head for a project that won't go away.  I saw this blogpost in February and got it so stuck in my head that I immediately tracked down the kit she used, started pulling out my genealogy, and excitedly planned the place on the wall where it would reside.  

Fast forward  almost an entire year and I am proud to announce that it is not a forgotten cadaver tossed into THE BOX in the attic.  It's all done, framed, and even hanging on my wall. 

 

Yay me!

Am I the only one who starts projects and never finishes?  What's in  your unfinished project box?  Will you ever finish them?

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Idiot of the Day

This year has been a cold and snowy winter for us.  In our 12+ years in the East we've never seen snow stay on the ground this long and it's getting kind of old.  The snow has been on the ground so long now that it has ceased to be novel or lovely anymore.  It's blackened with dirt and hardened into solid ice--it is the snow of my Minnesotan childhood.

 So when Glen and I were married in the dead of winter16 years ago, Glen was convinced that the rumors of Minnesota winters were all exaggeration.  He was a Colorado boy and he knew all about cold.  Or so he thought.  The week we were in Minnesota for our wedding reception the temps dipped down to the -20°s, which is just about cold enough that we Minnesotans start wearing gloves.  He was snow balled into humility in just 2 short minutes out in that bitter cold.  Of course I used this experience a mere week into our marriage as an opportunity to introduce Glen to the wife knows all way of thinking. 

I'd like to say that in the 18 years I've lived away from the frozen tundra that I've kept my penchant for cold weather tolerance, but for anyone who's seen the way I shiver through church on Sundays they would know that it's a lie.  There is one exception to my complete reversion to winter weather wimpiness though--driving! Normally intelligent people turn into complete idiots when they drive in the snow.  I, however, pride myself on my non-idiocy and love to harshly criticize anyone less skilled than myself.   Everyone. 

Two feet of snow falls and I don't bat an eyelash.  I know how to use the appropriate amount of caution and other than the 10 seconds I got stuck in the post office parking lot when one of the idiot sorts pulled out in front of me and caused me to swerve, I never got stuck once. 

So then almost an entire month after the last significant snowfall,   I come around a tight corner to turn onto a major highway and this happens....

Yep.  I've lost my driving skills too.  And in a BIG way.  There I was stuck as stuck gets jutting out onto oncoming traffic on a busy highway.   Cars were swerving.  Trucks blaring their horns.  People yelling out the windows.

I was scared out of my mind.     

Thankfully, Good Samaritans were out in force that day.  Three carfuls of people immediately stopped to lend their assistance.  Five guys were standing on the highway risking their own safety to push me back onto solid  ground and when I didn't budge, one of them ran home and got their truck to pull me out.  In all, the whole experience took a mere ten minutes, but it was ten minutes that renewed my faith in the good-heartedness of people. 

Turns out the only idiot around here is the one typing this post.  

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OOPS!

Disregard this post. 

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Only a Little OCD: Christmas Cards 2009

Every year my love affair with the good old-fashioned Christmas card begins the day we take the Christmas boxes down from the attic and I uncover the old shoebox filled with photos and letters from Christmases past.  I usually spend a good hour or so every Black Friday ogling over how cute everyone's kids are, reviewing what was new in everyone's lives in previous years, and reminiscing about our friendship with each of them.

Facebook and blogging have made keeping connected with long-lost friends easier than ever, but there's just something so irreplaceably thrilling about walking out to the mailbox and bringing in a handful of ♥love♥  in the form of smiling faces, interesting updates, and the occasional hand-written note.   I devour each letter with eager anticipation and secretly make brazen plans to pay a visit to each one of our friends wherever they are in the world to renew our friendships again (don't start panicking about us dropping by unexpectedly...my plans rarely come to fruition).   

I'm one of those crazy slightly neurotic people who wishes people would keep in touch forever.  I just love seeing how their families have grown.  I love hearing about their yearly adventures, however awe-inspiring or boring they may be.  And I'm always a little teary eyed and protective when it's time to take the cards down off the wall.  No one is allowed to tell me that it's time to take them down, nor is anyone allowed to help me take them off the wall.  I barely took them down a couple of days ago and already I find myself staring at the blank wall with a touch of longing for the familiar faces of friendships past.      

Okay. Okay.  Maybe I'm getting a little overly sentimental here, but if you think I'm a little OCD about getting Christmas cards, you should see the space in my brain that is consumed by the creation of our own Christmas cards each year.  It's a wonder I have enough brain left to type this blog post.

Not only do I mentally check off our activities during the year as being Christmas letter worthy or not, but wherever we go during the year random strangers are accosted and rallied into taking family photos of us.   Every year except this year one of those nameless photographers has taken the photo that is sent out to friends and family to be the face of our family for the next 12 months.   Little do they realize what power they wield when I hand my camera over to their bewildered hands.


This year we opted for our Blue Lily photo which we had taken in April.  It was the only time we've ever used a professional photo and the first time we haven't ordered our cards from Costco.   I figured we would never get a shot with such gorgeously brilliant lighting again, so we may as well go all the way with it.  After all it is the face of our family for the next 12 months....

The newsletter is a trifold in the exact design of one of my sacrament programs.  :)

PS   I'm curious. I have several friends who just don't like to send Christmas cards and since this viewpoint is such a foreign concept to me,  I'm interested in understanding better why people feel this way.   What it is that you like or don't like about sending and receiving cards?   

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No Internet=No Blogging

...or commenting, or reading emails, or answering emails, or checking facebook....

except of course when I stop at the library for 10 minutes on my way to Enrichment Night to get reacquainted with modern technology again.

On the bright side, I'm almost caught up on laundry now and I'm considering mopping my kitchen tonight during my normal blogging time.

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