Holiday Hangover

I have never been a drinker but over these last few days, I think I have figured out what a hangover must feel like. Mornings come to quickly and my eyes refuse to crack open no matter how much effort I put into it. My body is groggy and moving more robotic than fluid. My daily routine has become much harder although nothing has changed. I find myself looking at the clock and seeing that it is noon already and my house looks the same as it did the night before. I collapse in arm chairs and let out a loud sigh of exhaustion every hour, on the hour. I spend my time trying to deprogram Tylie from thinking there is a party every night or that every knock on our door is another friend bringing us a special treat. I talk myself breathless trying to convince her that treats are not a main food group and that Santa really had gone home for the year, no matter how many cookies she leaves out- he is not coming back. I had tried to snap myself out of it by taking down the tree, throwing the wrapping paper away, and restraining myself from making more wassail. I guess my body just knows that this is the hardest time of the year for me. The excitement is gone. There is nothing there to push off the depression of the miserable cold. This is the time of the year that I have to hunker down and be patient. I have to remind myself that the sun will come out again and this ice, outside and in my heart, will melt away. I don't know why we pack the holidays so close together, just to leave the other months left wanting for something to be known for. In 3 months we pack in Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's. Was this some kind of sick joke to make kids go into a sugar coma? Maybe it was the best thing the forefathers could come up with since they didn't have Benadryl yet. Who knows- All I know is that this time of year is rough. I just have to grit my teeth and bear it. Until then, I will sip on my hot chocolate and watch my gas bill rise. And while I am sitting there waiting for the ice to melt, I am going to think up a stupid holiday to put in January to give it a better name!

Family Ritual

I try really hard to create fun family activities so we can spend time together on the nights that Jake is home. I spend hours pouring over internet site looking at all the family night ideas. I look for recipes of fun little treats that we can make together. I am even willing to shrug off my "uncrafty" facade and break out the scissors and glue to make a fun board game so we can all gather around the table and giggle at one another. When I put in all this hard work, it is sometimes disappointing when my little ideas turn out to be a flop. It frustrates me so bad when Tylie won't pay attention, when Jake flops on the couch because he is tired and he makes Tylie roll the dice for him, or when Mason consistently attacks whatever we are doing and sends Tylie into a rage of frustration.
I learned a long time ago that sometimes no matter how much work I put into things, they are not always going to turn out like a picture taken right out of the Ensign. You know what I am talking about- the family that are dressed in their Sunday clothes for family night. The parents are perched on the couch holding a picture of the temple. The children are gathered around their feet, arms folded, smiling intently, soaking in every word that comes out of their parents mouths. The house is perfectly in order and the mom looks like she just got home from the salon and not a hair is out of place. I pray for these kind of moments but I also live in the real world. I learned to continue to strive for these moments but to take the moments that I am given and enjoy them. These moments have been quite prevalent in my home lately and they can all be attributed to one silly activity.
When Jake comes home at night, he always heads right up the stairs to change before we have dinner. I often follow him so he can tell me about his day and since we are both up there, we are sure to have two little ones right on our hills. It is very common to find the whole family gathered in our room every night. Jake usually turns on the stereo and cranks the music. This irritates me because I feel that I cannot talk to him while 70s rock ballads are screaming in my ear. The other night I walked over and turned it off so I could genuinely respond to the conversation we were having instead of looking like a bobble head on a dash board with a smile painted on her face bobbing her head as if she knows exactly what you are talking about. Mason immediately walked over to the stereo and tried to reach up. He turned and looked at me- the look that says "I want you to fix this mom- get over here!" I thought that he just wanted to push buttons, so I picked him up so he could punch at them for a minute. As we talked, he got more and more irritated. Then Jake turned the music back on. Mason immediately wiggled out of my arms and started dancing in circles. We thought this was funny which means Tylie needed to get in on the action and get some of the attention. The next thing we knew, we were all dancing around our room like fools. The music was cranked to epic proportions and we were pulling out moves I didn't know I had. All for the pleasure of two little beings that don't know the difference between elegance and clumsiness.
Every night since, Mason chases Jake up the stairs and resumes his position under the stereo until Jake turns it on and the dance contest begins. I love watching Mason's face light up when he hears the beat. I love watching Tylie jump on the bed with the excuse that it is dancing. I love watching Jake bop around the room with Mason in his arms. I love flinging myself around without a care in the world that someone will see me and laugh. I guess when Tylie and Mason grow up, they will not remember quite nights in the living room and sweet lemonade and cookies waiting on the table. They will have very different memories of their parents being quite crazy and obnoxious. But when we are dancing there is a feeling of love and unity. We are together. That is what they will remember and I couldn't ask for any more than that.

This is the cold

This is the cold.
This is the cold that makes your breath cut short when you walk outside.

This is the cold that freezes your pipes in the morning so that your husband cannot take a warm shower in the morning before he leaves to work.
This is the cold that makes you day dream of the warm January days in California.

This is the cold that makes your mind go fuzzy enough to think that it is a good idea to go into in the miserable mess and stare at twinkling lights intricately woven through tree branches.

This is the cold that makes your nose hairs stick together and makes your ears turn shades of red you never thought possible.

This is the cold that makes you want to scream when you realize you forgot the cups for hot choclate that you hoped would warm everyone up.

This is the cold that makes you love your car more and more every day- not for the four wheel drive, not for the snow tires, but for the heated seats that cook your buns and make you feel that warm sensation that you never thought you could enjoy.

This is the cold that brings you to your knees in gratitude that you have a warm home, with a warm furnace and a glowing fireplace and warm beds to tuck the kids in bed at night.

This is the cold. It causes my nightmares. Thank goodness for seasons. This too shall pass.

Thanksgiving

Lots to be grateful for. Family, good food, happy kids, and a turkey bowl.

Once there was a snowman....

No, this was not Tylie's idea. It was Jake's and my mom's. Tylie just went along with the whole crazy idea. It is probably the biggest snowman I have ever seen. Just for the record, I did not participate in playing in that nasty white crap! I just stood by with a camera and tried to avoid flying snowballs. I am just glad that Jake is still a kid at heart so he can entertain Tylie with all the cold activities so I don't have to!

Burned Cardboard

Last night brought another late night at work for Jake so when he finally returned home at 10:00 he was famished because he had been in meetings all day and had no time to eat. I had been up to my mom's for dinner so I didn't have anything prepared but thank goodness to Kelsey who had bought a pizza and was offering her leftovers to Jake. Jake usually likes cold pizza but, for some reason, last night was different and he decided to warm it up. I was in the basement and was ready to go upstairs and heat it up for him but he calmly informed me that he had popped it in the oven already. For the next twenty minutes I listened about crazy meetings, unruly reporters, and the ins and outs of being an editor of a magazine. Jake was on floor acting as a jungle gym for Mason when I asked him about the pizza. He casually said that he would go check it in a few minutes. "What did you set the oven on?", I inquired. The reply I received was something I considered, at first, to be a joke. "Ummm... 400 degrees." Haha- very funny. "No really", I said "What did you put it on." He is looking at me trying to read my face to see if there is really a problem. "Really- 400 degrees. Is that bad?" I heard the last part of that sentence from the stairwell because he was already bounding up the stairs. I should not have been surprised by this but it did not change the fact that I wanted to bang me head against the wall, repeatedly, because my husband really does not understand that not everything has to be cooked at volcano heat speed. Midway up the stairs I knew it was not good. The house was filled with the rank smell of burned cardboard. Oh yeah- I left that part out. He put the entire pizza box in the oven. Smoke was billowing out of the oven. Doors and windows were wide open spilling in the freezing November night air. Kelsey immediately went to work fanning the fire detector trying to prevent it from going off and waking up Tylie. Through all the billowing smoke, Jake emerged with a Little Caesar's box that was completely unsinged, unharmed, unburned. The pizza inside was melty, crispy, and warm to perfection. This did not serve me in my lecture to Jake but I was happy that his meal was preserved and he was not going to go to bed hungry. So today my faith in Little Caesar's is renewed. If their pizza can hold up to Jake's ridiculous "cooking skills" and still be $5- they deserve all my business. And their cardboard boxes deserve a few props too. I do not want to give them 10 stars for taste but I will give them 10 stars for resilience!

Easter comes early!

I love the holidays for all that they offer. Caroling on cold winter nights, warm fires crackling in a decorated fireplace, bright lights lining the streets, and holiday music tinkling in the background of every store you enter. I love every holiday for different reasons but one common thread runs through them all for me. I love the treats that magically appear on the shelves. I hoard all the specific treat that I love for that holiday and then patiently wait for the next holiday to roll around so I can indulge on the next decadent little packaged sugar lump that is waiting for me. For Christmas it is chocolate oranges and marshmallow covered Santa clause; for Halloween it is the mixed bag of Butterfingers, Baby Ruth, and Almond Joy; for Valentines it is chocolate cinnamon bears and Juju hearts; and for Easter it is Reese's peanut butter eggs, Peeps, and Cadbury Mini Eggs. Easter has to be one of the best holidays by far for the candy. It is the holiday that I yearn for each year. I get so excited when Valentines Day is over because I know what is coming next- a world full of mouth watering creations that I often joke with Jake about that we need to put some in our food storage because I do consider them "food staples." I was wondering on through the store yesterday casually talking on the phone to Brittany. I turned the corner and BAM!!! I ran right into a little treat that I only get in April of every year. The were Cadbury Eggs Christmas version.

I couldn't help but stop in my tracks and immediately interrupt britt to tell her what I just found. If anyone could understand my excitement, it would be Brittany. She loves these things more than I do I think. I clearly remember when we were younger she would buy about 6 bags right after Easter and hide them away for a later date. I guess you could say that she had the "food storage" mentality. I would always be so jealous of her when in July later that year we would be packing up to head out on a family reunion. She and I would be in the back seat of our massive beast of a suburban making our beds and staking claim to which side of the seat was ours. She would then whip out a fresh unopened bag of "mini eggs" and I would salivate watching her eat them. I would have to bargain away quite a few average treats of mine to just get a few of her delicacies. So when I ran into these at the store I happened to be on the phone with just the perfect person. She didn't believe that it could be the "real" thing so I bought a bag and rushed home to see if my dreams really could come true. Sure enough- it was the real thing. Just disguised in Christmas colors. When I close my eyes and let them melt in my mouth, I can almost smell the spring time flowers and hear Easter Egg Hunt squeals in the background. I know that it is snowing outside and winter has just begun but a little bit of spring is warming my heart today. So "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Clause" and might I add; an Easter Bunny too! They have teamed up and are spreading joy and sunshine around the world one Christmas mini egg at a time!

Halloween!!!

To the craft gods,

To the craft gods in the sky that like to sit on their clouds and mock us unsuspecting little humans that cannot complete a craft if our lives depended on it. I would like to announce that while you were up there being fed grapes and artisan breads, I went to Walmart. I was on a mission and nobody would deter me! I marched right to the aisle that I have been a virgin to for quite some time. I took a deep breath and shoved my cart down the aisle like I knew just what I was looking for. I grabbed a paint brush, paint, and a small bottle of "modge podge." I felt empowered. I felt that this was the day- the day that I would actually finish a project on my own. I shook my fist at the sky and could almost hear you mocking me. I knew that you thought I would fail as I had every time before. I had lost battle after battle but yesterday was different. I had strapped on my armor for battle and was not going to return empty handed. When I got home, I quickly put the little ones down for a nap so nothing would distract me. It is hard for a warrior to fight a good fight with a toddler tugging at her leg. I set it up and, by the looks of it, you would have guessed I had done it 100 times before. But you knew I hadn't, didn't you? You knew the insecurity I was feeling as I started to stroke the wood with the paint color that I was still questioning. You chuckled as I tried to put on the vinyl letters and it started to pull away in all the wrong places. I could almost hear you roar with laughter as I huffed in frustration when the my blocks were sticking together and I had to go back and do touch up paint. BUT- all of your mocking and laughter was in vain.

That's right succas! I did it! I completed my projects. And they are even presentable enough to placed on some cute little shelf made by one of your crafty servants. So go eat rocks. I proved you wrong. I am no Hercules that is striving to join you in the craft paradise where the acrylic paint flows like wine and scrapbook paper adorns the fruited trees. I simply set out to prove you wrong. I set out to prove to myself that I could finish a craft project within the walls of my own home all by myself. Mission accomplished. I think this calls for a celebration dance around the island with Tylie in tow!

Note to self:

Dear Self,

You really need to understand that you are not a crafty person. You were not born with the innate ability to create darling little items to delicately place on the mantle. Please stop trying! Leave it to others who's natural calling in life is to create. It is your calling to support them in their talents and purchase their overpriced painted 2x4's for a ridiculous price. Every year when "Super Saturday" comes around you make the same mistake. You grab the pen nestled so neatly on that clipboard and start signing up as if you were simply placing an order at a fast food window. You ALWAYS forget that you have to actually do something to get the product that is pictured on the page. It never fails that when you show up on the morning of the activity, you are inevitably overwhelmed when the reality of what you signed up for hits you. Beads of sweat start to pour down your face when they place the stack of raw lumber in front of you, hand you a paint brush, smile sympathetically at you (because they know your crafting ability) and shake their head as they walk away. Your friends can't help but laugh as you sit there with paint from your head to your toenails and fresh splots of "modge podge" on your brand new pants. You know that your husband is expecting you home within about an hour but there you sit, four hours later, with only one project done and three to go! You cringe everytime your cell phone starts to sing because you know there is a baby at home waiting for you but the option of taking your things home and finishing there simply does not exist for you. You do not own one bottle of paint and the only tools or sandpaper around are the ones resting in Jake's large tool box in the garage. You begin to feel like a real fool when you look around and realize you are the only one left at the table surrounded by cute little finished blocks waiting to dry so they can be taken home and set next to all the other adorable frames that your friends have on their shelves. You look at your own unfinished blocks and wonder to yourself how it is possible that you could botch up something that was precut, prestamped, and vinyl lettering. You know that you will eventually give up, make up some excuse that your husband will kill you if you don't hurry home, and then slump out of the cultural hall with and armload of unfinished wood that will be set on a sad shelf of unfinished projects to laugh about at a later date. Why do you do this to yourself? Why can't you just go and eat and socialize while the rest of the talented women do what they are best at? This can't be good for your self esteem. So next year, when that cute little clipboards ends up in your lap, leave the pen alone and pass it on! It will save at tree, save others for feeling sorry for you, save you money, and save yourself a whole lot of shelf room because that spot designated for unfinished projects is just about filled!

Stinking Pigs!!!

I swore off bacon, banned all ham from my fridge, and turned my nose up as I passed the pork chops in the grocery store. I have stayed away from farms and we purposefully avoided the pig barn at the state fair. Even with all my precautions my own poor little pigs got the swine flu this week. It started out with a small sore throat and blew into a raging fever last weekend. I was sitting in the germ infested instacare early saturday morning fully equipped with face masks only to have my worst fear realized. How is it possible that I avoided it when I was out of the home working with the general public but now that I am home more than ever- we got it? I will tell you how- stinking Thanksgiving Point and their cutesy little fair Cornbelly's. As much as I want to blame it on those grimy little sty living creatures we saw, I have a feeling that it was all the other little pigs running around coughing on everything and kindly leaving the germs to attack their next victim. I really want to get on a soap box and lecture on how stupid parents should not take their kids out (especially to a place that is crawling with immuno-deficient toddlers) if they are sick. BUT- I have to admit that I did not know that Tylie was getting sick and I am afraid that I passed it on to one of our cute neighbors. I have been so paranoid that poor Tylie has not left the house since Saturday until just yesterday I let her out for a walk. And now my little Mason has it. I am watching him closely but it seems to be a very mild case. So- I think that now since I have traveled this road and realized that I am not going to be losing my children any time soon, I will allow bacon back in the house. But if I hear of one more pig causing an uproar, I am going to issue and extermination order on all snot nosed, slop eating mongers!

Good intentions

I was having one of my catch up chats with my sister the other night when some how the conversation turned to being grateful. As I talked to her I realized how truly terrible I am at letting those around me know how grateful I am for what they do for me. My sister is nothing short of amazing when it comes to remembering those in her life. She remembers every event from birthdays to weddings and you are almost guaranteed to get a card in the mail so you know that she is thinking of you. I am just waiting for the day when I get a card from her celebrating the day my first baby tooth came in. She is just that good. She is impeccable when it comes to Christmas cards and her birthday gifts are rarely a day late. (This is really saying something since she lives in Vegas and probably has the best excuse out of all of us to forget.) If you have met her in the grocery store or ran into her at a gas station- you will probably get a Christmas card from her. Everytime I get one of these special little envelopes in the mail, I quietly wish that I could be more like her. I often think about people in my life and wonder how they are doing but I never take that next step to find out. I hear of stories about people getting a little note and how much it means to them. I know that this is true because it really does mean a lot when britt and rick take the time to write a little message and send it off. I have all the best intentions in the world but rarely follow through on those thoughts.And you know what they say about good intentions and the road to hell. It is a talent that I long for. I am on a quest right now to try to become a better person, a nicer person, a more thoughtful person. I am trying desperately to find the good in all people but the more I do this, the more I realize how truly insignificant I am. I start to look at my neighbors and I see these beautiful talented women. I look down the street and recognize that I am surrounded with amazing people. They are buisness women, pastry chefs, professional photographers, crafty extrodinaires, food storage gurus,singers, dancers, and pagent queens. I swear that you cannot live in my neighborhood until you have passed the bar of greatness that comes with our subdivision. Maybe it is in the HOA and I missed that part when I signed my loan docs. Please do not think that I am fishing for compliments by writing all of this. I do not expect to look on here tomorrow and find a slew of comments trying to buoy me and and convince me that I have talents. I know that I have a lot of talents. I am really good at dancing around the island with Tylie while primary songs play in the backround. I am awesome and making a huge pot of soup for Jake so he can eat until he is sick. I make really good breadsticks and I can master about any puzzle that you put in front of me. But I like to reognize others for the talents I wished I had and strive to be better in hopes that one day I will affect someone the way that others have affected me. I do wish I could be a pastry chef, a crafty genius, or a master photographer. I will just continue to enjoy from others what I cannot do myself. And whenever I get another card in the mail and the guilt begins to set in again, I will grab a breadstick, get out my 2000 piece puzzle, and go to work until I begin to feel good about myself again.

Mason's modeling agent has asked us to work on his "distant" look. I think that he has got it down.