Clearly I Am The One Who's Confused

So before swimming lessons this afternoon, Lilly was struggling to get ready in time to leave.

Couldn't find her swimsuit. {Had it on yesterday.}

Couldn't find her flops. {I could see them while she declared them missing.}

Kept stopping to read instead of actually changing into clothes. {Not to discourage reading or anything, but there's a time and a place.}

So my blood pressure skyrocketed and my veins bulged.

Sometimes instead of actually losing my temper, I talk about hypothetically losing my temper and it seems to calm me down.

Eh-hem.

"Lilly, if you are not in the car with Jackson and me in two minutes, I will be IRATE and that is the most serious form of anger I can think of and I guarantee you will not be pleased with the consequences."

{Doesn't that sound calming?}

Well somehow, she got into the car and it didn't end up to be a very big deal.

Five seconds of silence.

"Mom, do you have some flour and a balloon? Not the kind of flowers you plant but the kind of flour you make cookies with?"

"'Yes' on the flour, 'no' on the balloon."

"Because today at show-and-tell, Siena, a girl in my class, said you can put flour inside the balloon and make a cool ball that you can squeeze whenever you get irate or even just really mad."

"What about if my darling kids just obey the first time so then I don't have to get irate?"

Taking no time to consider that idea: "I think you'd really like the balloon."

Guess I'll be stopping by the party store.

Don't Ask

When was the last time you accidentally spilled a large glob of dijon mustard on your skateboard?

Happens around here all the time.

I assume this is normal behavior.

I'd Even Do it Again

Last week I faced one of my most hated foes: THE ZOO.

Even people who have accidentally brushed past me in a Starbucks can immediately sense that I am not a zoo lover.

My intense dislike of animals, coupled with their poop, heat, small children, gigantic strollers, and an obscenely long commute make the zoo somewhere I only go under duress. Picture me bound and gagged in the back of a white industrial van and you'll get the idea.

Last year, I took one for the preschoolers, thinking it would be my chance to bid a permanent farewell to the zoo and it's inhabitants. Perhaps I was even cheerful for a moment or two, thinking I'd never again have to pretend to be enthralled by sleeping zebras.

{Just so you don't think I'm totally heartless, I DO love to ride the carousel while secretly pretending to be Mary Poppins.}

Well, as you can tell from the peacock that cornered me and forced me to take his picture, I had to go to the zoo. Again. There is a lot of pressure as a kindergarten parent to be excited(!) and involved(!) and there is pretty much a 1:1 ratio of kids to parents at every.single.event.

So here's where I can be honest and say that it was unverbalized kindergarten parent peer pressure that forced me to go.

Plus, this is where I should probably confess some recent parental neglect in the last two weeks.

Act 1: Egg Drop Day Apparently every child had a lovingly packaged egg to drop off the roof except Lilly.

Act 2: Pajama Day Apparently every child wore their pajamas to school except Lilly.

(And her friend, Audrey. It's important to pick other neglectful parents for friends.)

At this point you can probably determine that going to the zoo was non-negotiable if I didn't want to be black listed this early in her school career.

So I went.

Praise God they give parents an option where you can get a nice grande Starbucks and meet the bus down there instead of actually riding on it. That would've taken a whole different level of commitment and medication.

And as you can imagine, the zoo was very zoo-like. Smelly, crowded, sticky, 15-minute lines for bathrooms, eating hot sack lunches while geese wander at your feet...the whole bit.

But fast-forward to bedtime.

"Lilly, what was your favorite thing at the zoo?"

"I don't know..." (She was clearly exhausted from the final sprint where I raced 6 little girls through the reptile house in five minutes so we wouldn't miss the bus.)

"Was it Cranberry, that polar bear who just had surgery and we could see the scar where all of his fur was shaved?"

"No."

"Was it the rhino with bed sores from laying down twenty hours a day in his old age?"

"No."

"Was it the snakes? The baby giraffe? The cookies?"

"No."

Honestly, despite her slow recall of zoo-amazingness, I wasn't even bitter since I took care to notice and express thanks that I wasn't pushing a stroller or changing diapers during the visit. The conversation with a tableful of kindergarten girls was actually fun and we only had one hair-related emergency.

"Mama?"

"Yes, baby."

"My favorite part of the zoo was just wandering around with you."

Gulp. Sigh. Wince. Flinch. STAB. (Did I leave any out?)

It's one thing for me to know that the only reason I'm went on this field trip was for Lilly.

It's an entirely different thing for her to realize already that what she really loves is spending time together.

Even though we didn't lock arms and do the Wizard of Oz skip through the zoo or hold hands while determining if the boa constrictor could, in fact, eat a 6 year-old, it mattered.

Luckily Lilly had forgiven me for the egg drop fiasco and hadn't taken pajama day too hard.

But I spent some extra time thanking Jesus that I could go to the zoo. I selfishly forgot that I am blessed beyond words to have the most precious gift of all...time. The days and years are flying by faster than ever, and my time is the best gift I can give.

Because these are the golden years.

Campout(in) Birthday Hoopla

Probably the most exciting news of 2010 that I'm pleased beyond words to share with you, is that I've held both of the kids' birthday parties in the EXACT SAME MONTH as their actual birthdays!

99% of moms don't consider this a big accomplishment, but I have never been accused of being prompt.

So, without further nonsense, here are far more pictures than you ever wanted to see of Jackson's 8th Camp Out(In) Party.

A month ago, when I planned J's birthday, I had the "brilliant" idea to have a campout in the backyard. While I knew it might be cold, I figured mid-May would be free of, you know, SNOW FALL.

I was wrong. It snowed, it rained, it froze, it mudded, it was NOT appropriate weather to ask other people's children to sleep outdoors in tents.

(It is NEVER appropriate for me to sleep outdoors in a tent, but this seemed really extreme for even hard core boys.)

So, we camped indoors.

Here's the cake:

And this next photo is for Jackson's future wife, because I want to be up front early on about how much this man-child eats.

Not sure about the Tom Foolery going on here, but there was some general silliness directed towards blowing out the candles.

Of which, I might add, there were way too many for my comfort.

Reminded me of the old days when the Red Robin Singers would come out and Jackson started crying before they got one "Happy Birthday" out.

(***please notice my amazing brick backsplash that I regard with deeper affection then either of the hamsters I owned as a child. Brad's blood, toil, sweat, & tears are grafted in with our home forever***)

(Any responsible blogger would do an entire feature on her amazing backsplash with the great accompanying story, but I am not that blogger.)

But he handled it like a seasoned champ.

Next, the boys worked on toasting the evening with orange Gatorade.

One of them helpfully taught everyone how to say "cheers" in German.

Good stuff.

After watching a movie and playing the most violent version of foosball I've ever witnessed, it was time for a midnight snack.

(Picture the boys around a warm, raging fire in the backyard. That was my original dream. UNTIL IT SNOWED IN MAY.)

There was a slight problem with the s'mores.

The ingredients were stolen and a scavenger hunt unfolded.

They found some marshmallows under the table.

Brad masterfully planned the clues so that they were incredibly challenging and only Jackson would know where things were. Hey, if your kid can't be the hero at their own birthday party, when can they?

Some flashlights were hiding outside in the rain...along with the candles to roast our goodies over an open flame.

As you can tell by Jackson's lackluster roasting technique, we don't camp that much.

Or, more accurately, ever.

But he worked it out.

I'm sorry, but can we check out the cheeks below:

They didn't even have marshmallows in them!

Ok, here is our sweet friend, Zach. He and Jackson have been celebrating birthdays together for a looong time.

Can you believe this? THREE.

Arrrr...Matey! They have been pirates, cowboys, soccer teammates, Jedi Knights, Wiggles fans, and Wii compadres together. That is a lot of livin'.

There are some gaping photographic holes in this journalistic recap, but I didn't capture the 10 minutes of sleep on camera.

Probably because I was downstairs making these. For the boys. (Because I am unselfish.)

After hot dogs, chips, cake, ice cream, s'mores, and gummy Army men, you can imagine they were famished.

Plus, 10 minutes of sleep will give you more energy than you ever thought.

Sometimes I think I missed my calling to open an orphanage. I love the conversation, energy, and personalities gathered around the breakfast table. Plus, I never turn down an opportunity to re-enact "It's a Hard Knock Life."

Now, I know Lilly doesn't look her best here, but I thought you'd want another opportunity to admire my backsplash. I lose hours each day just gazing at it.
(And do you see how laid back I've become? Mario napkins from last year's party! I didn't freak out and create my own camping-themed napkins when I couldn't find the right ones for this blessed event. I MISMATCHED THEMES. This is serious growth.)

Now, back to my boy.

Jackson, I think you are amazing. Not because of anything you've done, said, or accomplished, but because you're mine.
And every birthday, YOU are the best gift of all.

I Just Ate Your Valentine's Day Gift

If you are like me, you have a junk drawer filled with actual JUNK.

I've heard tell of crazy tribal rituals where people organize their junk drawers, but mine is truly a holding tank for the Insanely Miscellaneous.

Like, you know. panties.

Around our house, I am known for throwing things out.

(I am also known for re-buying things I've thrown out at garage sales. See: George Foreman grill and topiaries. But, DANG, they were cheap!)

I hate clutter, stuff, things, and my kids' schoolwork that hasn't been touched in 24 hours. But of course, some things slip through the cracks.

Like matchboxes that are approximately 11 years old.

I think it's safe to say that fire will be obsolete by the time we get around to using these.

Heck, our fireplace isn't even a real fire. Or a real fireplace. So I guess we should call it a "fireplace."

Well anyway, every crafty blog on this entire planet has been featuring these adorable matchboxes covered with cute scrapbook paper.

And then of course, they offer a tutorial on how to do it.

I, however, will just show the finished product:

They are fantastic M&M holders. They hold 12 dark chocolate M&Ms for emergency purse usage. And let me tell you, I've had a LOT of chocolate/purse emergencies.

One of my favorite parts of going to lunch with my mom is that before the food is even cleared, we can pull out an entire course of chocolate from our purses to finish the meal.

My grand plan was to mail these little puppies to all of our family around the country. However, when I realized that TODAY is Valentine's Day and I was going to miss all mailing deadlines, I just ate the M&Ms.

It was the responsible thing to do.

All They Need Is A Cup of Coffee and Some Oatmeal

For those of you that have wondered, either through email, facebook, or in person...we are great.

Since the new year, (and YES, I survived the hated "New Year! New You!" season without breaking any TVs or shredding magazine covers) life has been quieter, simpler, and less hurried.

Take, for example, Saturday mornings:

I walked into the kitchen and found my two favorite offspring busily working at their laptops.

And by "their" laptops, I mean Brad's and my mobile command centers.

There are a lot of important games to play and carefully chosen settings to mess with when you are six and seven years old.

But at least they look cute doing it...in a just-rolled-out-of bed sort of way.

Well Good Morning

It goes without saying that life is more fun with The Incredibles, a Power Ranger, a wookie, some stormtroopers, and of course, Han & Leia.

They all have weapons, super powers, and amazing costumes.

And they were waiting for me in the shower.

Hopefully they'll watch my back while I close my eyes to rinse out the conditioner.

Giant Pound Cake in the Sky

It's taken me awhile to compose this post because of the tremendous amount of emotion that comes when it's time to say good-bye to someone you love.

Yes, that would be my beloved Kitchen-Aid, whose gears spontaneously stopped spinning right in the middle of a batch of whole wheat dinner rolls.

My relationship with her pre-dates my kids and even my marriage.

After getting engaged, it's the very first gift I remember my parents buying for me us.

Because a marriage without lots of warm baked goods is really no marriage at all.

Spring Break '04

As you can observe from the above photo, we've had lots of good times together.

In fact, I did some simple math in my head and realized I've used it at least 12,000 times. And NO, I'm not exaggerating or making up that ridiculously high number.

If anything, it is a low estimate, due to a few years of commercial baking in which I made enough brownies to stretch from here to Russia.

And my 250 watt Lady of Steel is not exactly a commercial grade mixer.

But she was excellent at mixing things. With whisk! With paddle! With dough hook!

There had been signs of it's demise...the large bolt in the back that regularly had to be hammered back in with a mallet...

...the enamel flaking off the paddle attachment and occasionally making it's way into the cookie dough for an extra crunch.
But mostly, it was the noises. Even a child can discern the difference between a well-oiled motor and a revving jet engine that occasionally throws in a high-pitched squeal like a dying seagull caught in the turbine.

Tons of people (like my mom and aunts) have had Kitchen-Aids for decades. Decades. In case the delightful 1980's almond color ever makes an appearance on the fashion scene again, Mom will be retro-chic.

But they have probably not beat theirs into submission like I did.

So anyway, I've been checking on eHarmony and I'm pretty sure I've found a new lady of the house, but I'm pretty commitment-shy at this point.

It's just so soon.

I've also had a few (um, ONE) very generous donation to the Mixer Relief Fund. But I'm urging the rest of you to place whatever change you find in your couches in my urn with the dead flowers out front. Every little bit counts!

Perhaps the most alarming aspect of this whole drama is that Jackson didn't bat one single eyelash when I asked him to pause the Wii and take pictures of me cradling a dead kitchen appliance.

p.s. Would you believe my hand-mixer (the red-headed step-child back-up) died two weeks ago? I'm trying not to interpret that as a righteous judgment on my eating habits.