Conversations with a kid: Ashton's philosophy on Santa Clause.

The other day while visiting at grandma's house, Ashton suddenly and randomly blurted out,

"You know, I can believe in Santa Clause because he makes perfect sense, but its the elves that I have a hard time believing in. I mean, all these little tiny people in funny hats and tights running around? It doesn't make any sense at all."

(Yes, and that makes perfect sense Ash.)

Ashton at her Christmas choir concert. 2010

Conversations with a kid: It's going to be a series!

I'm going to be starting a new series on my new and improved blog, hopefully to be written every Thursday, called "Conversations with a kid".  I've put a lot of thought into this little endeavor and I have to say that I am quite excited about it. I must be excited because as some of you know I never commit to anything unless I'm excited about it. So without further ado, the first entry in what will undoubtedly be a long series of blog entries.

Conversations with a kid:

Matthew's heart to heart moment

As the Roane family was just finishing up their dinner Matthew, who is five years old and still speaks with a pretty heavy lisp suddenly blurts out, "Daddy, you know how you will get old one day and then you'll die?"

Nate, steadies himself for what he thinks is sure to be a difficult conversation. When he feels prepared to address the topic and calm his little boy's fears about the inevitable he answers.

"Yes, Matthew. But you know that won't be for a very very long time. You will be a grown man with a family of your own when I finally die."

"Yeah daddy, I know, but you know how you will die one day?"

"Yes, I do know."

Matthew's expression is thoughtful. "Well, when you do get old and die, in a long long time, I'm going to take all your clothes and suits and wear them."

(I hope he puts that in the eulogy.)

I saw mommy kissing Santa Clause, then I went to therapy for five years after.

I was out shopping at the mall with my mother the other day when, while rummaging through my favorite store, the christmas song, "I saw mommy kissing Santa Clause", began to play over the system. This one wasn't the typical version of the song you are used to hearing; sung by a child, but rather done very rock-and-roll style and sung by a sultry sounding woman. It may have been Gwen Stephanie, but I'm not positive about that either. Anyway, fast forward to that evening, Nate and I were trying to get the dinner cleaned up and kids to bed, all the while "I saw mommy kissing santa clause" was still playing over and over in my head like an internal broken record. Then it got me thinking.

Everyone (myself included) always thinks that song is so cute and funny, but what if that really happened to some kid? that would not be cute or funny, it would be terribly tragic and disturbing to that poor youngster.

Imagine yourself at seven or eight years old and you still (spoiler alert) believe in the jolly Saint Nick. You sneak out of bed to catch a glimpse of the bringer of toys and happiness first hand only to find him totally macking on none other than your own mother! It would be terribly confusing. How would you know at such a tender age that it was your dad dressed in a costume?

Would Christmas ever be the same again? Would you ever be able to look at your mother the same again? I think not. You would probably despise Christmas. You would never care for any of the presents brought by that evil man who everyone believes to be so wonderful and giving, and only you know the awful truth; that he's nothing more than a fat red-suited home wrecker.

What about when your parents take you to see Santa the next year at the mall or whatever and tell you you're supposed to go sit on his lap? I think if it were me I'd probably sit on his lap and then scratch his twinkly little eyes out!

Maybe I've given all of us something to think about this year. I'm certainly not going to ask Nate to dress as Santa Clause just in case one of our kids decide to sneak out of bed and catch us in the living room together getting our mack on. Either that or I'll just not kiss him while he's wearing a santa suit, but I'm pretty sure Nate's not going to put a santa suit on at all in this life time so I just won't really worry about it.

Hopefully, the next time I go to the mall shopping at Christmas time I won't be overly analytic about the silly Christmas songs they play in the stores because thinking about this has been terribly exhausting.

The lazy housewife's black friday shame.

Brace yourselves. 

 This year, I actually put some serious thought  into joining the crazy group of people that go out at midnight after Thanksgiving to fight to the death for the last half-priced whatever at Wal-mart. I even almost made arrangements to meet my brother and sister-in-law so I'd have some buddies in the ring with me.

 This is so not like me. I'm the type that will pay more than I should for anything just to avoid the inconvenience of crowds or actual bargain hunting. I'm a store-window shopper. I see an outfit in the window then go to the store clerk and say,

"That outfit in the window there. I need that exact thing in about five sizes larger, ASAP."

But I guess after eight years of being married to the king of basement bargain shopping, the thrill of the deal is finally rubbing off on me too. In fact, Nate usually does the Black Friday shopping while I'm snuggled up cozy in our bed. This year, however he had to work in the morning and had to skip it, which is most likely the only reason I even thought about doing it myself. 

In the end I was, as with most of my endeavors, all talk and no action when it came to this middle of the night shopping crap.

 I chickened out. 

I don't like the cold! And last night in Utah it was really freaking cold!

 I also value sleep -- a lot! Being the mother of four young children, sleep is a precious comodity that you don't squander easily. It would be the equivalent of the US passing up some free oil drilling sites or something. It's just not done.

Of course now I'm thinking -- with deep regret-- about the deals I passed up for my laziness. I could have gotten a Kung-Zhu for only four dollars! Four dollars! There were other values I found in the newspapers that I don't remember entirely, but thats just because my short-term memory is shot. I'm pretty sure I had my eye on a Bakugan thing-a-ma-jig and some board games as well. 

To lessen my guilt, I'll just do what I attempt to do every year:

 Convince my children and myself that Christmas isn't about how many presents you get, but about the birth of baby Jesus. It's never really worked before--they're way too greedy for that crap, and I'm not spiritual enough to make them believe it, but if I really put my mind to it I'm sure I can ham it up pretty well. Maybe I'll pull out the old Ten Commandments movie from the storage shed and everything. 

If all that doesn't work, I'll just do what I usually move on to :

CHARGE IT!

All Humans Should Be Hibernating right now.

 My big brother once told me that humans had the same capacity for hibernation that bears do and that we are therefore meant for it. I don't know for sure if he is correct or not, but I've never questioned the logic of Troy because he's one of the smartest people I know. And even if I did question his logic about some things, I wouldn't question it on this particular subject because I rather like the idea. So, I did some research and discovered that bears don't hibernate in the same way that squirrels or hamsters do but that its more like denning or shutting themselves in for the long winter. Squirrels and hamsters however fall into a deep, almost comatose like state that other mammals are not designed for.

 Anyway, the point to all of this is that I want to start a petition, based on the evidence that I've both read about online and learned from my big brother (because those are both scientific methods!) about the human's capacity for hibernation-like sleep, to have a world-wide human hibernation during winter. I propose that we, humans of the world start hibernating New Year's day. (That way we can all enjoy Christmas and drink ourselves into comatose-like states on new year's eve. Plus, the Christmas dinners are the perfect way to stock up on the body fat we need to get us through a long winter's sleep).

I'm practically a genius.

The reason for the proposal? Well, I have plenty. In fact below is a list of the reasons I think humans should hibernate.

awe. don't you want to be cute like him?

Reasons Humans Should Hibernate:

Its too damned cold to be awake

Its dark outside way more than is mentally healthy

There would be no snow-related accidents

We all get crabby in the winter anyway

January and February are extremely depressing and ugly months.

Couldn't we all use a good nap anyway?

bundling up in coats and hats and scarves and gloves is a huge pain in the ass.

No one likes Valentine's day anyway - its stupid.

If any of us don't want to hibernate we should be issued government winter homes in places like Florida

and that would only be good for boosting the economy in those places, right?

I'm sure I'll think of more reasons humans should hibernate and if anyone else thinks of some good ones that I have missed you may leave it in the comment box below. 

Lets start this thing!

Uncle Paul and Char: The tragedy that didn't need to be

I've been hesitating to write this blog because the subject material is touchy. However, after some good thought, I've decided its what needs to be said then, perhaps we can move on to sunnier stories.

This week I attended my uncle's funeral. Funerals are never happy occasions but this one was tinged with an extra dose of tragedy considering that his death was both untimely as well as unnecessary.

I got the call on the evening of Friday, November 5th. My mother was on the other end, she was obviously upset.

"My little brother, Paul, (his wife), Shirlene, their son Cameron and his fiance were just in a terrible accident in Wendover. Some of them were life-flighted to the University of Utah hospital. I don't know any other details yet."

I told her to call me the minute she heard more. Anxiously I awaited her call, all the while hoping and praying that everyone in the car would be alright.

"Don't let them die this way, please. It's just not right." I thought aloud.

several hours later, as Nate and I were just crawling into bed, the call came. My mother could hardly talk through her sobs.

"Paul didn't make it." She finally uttered. And I didn't know how to react, or what to say, so I just didn't say anything.

The next morning I drove my mother and father to the hospital in Salt Lake to see my aunt Shirlene who was badly injured in the accident. Once we talked to her and her other two sons we learned that the accident was a result of a faulty gas petal.

Remember the Toyota recalls a few months ago? Well, Paul and his wife owned a Toyota Carolla. Once the recalls came out they did their due diligence and took their carolla in to be inspected. Apparently, Toyota cared enough to fix half the problem and leave the other half to chance. Telling my Uncle that yeah, the entire problem isn't going to be fixed at Toyota's expense, but that the chances of the other part of the problem actually being a problem was slim to none.

Unfortunately, Toyota's half-assed job at fixing their mistake caused my Uncle, and as we were soon to discover, his future daughter-in-law's life. Soon after my Uncle was pronounced dead in the ambulance, my cousin's fiance, Char, was also pronounced brain dead due to severe head trauma and the choice was made to take her off life support. Char was thirty-eight years old she leaves behind two teenaged children, parents, and of course my cousin, her future husband.

My Uncle Paul was sixty-six years old and full of fun-loving life. He leaves behind his wife of forty years, three sons, two daughters-in-law, four grandchildren, and two older siblings, one of them being my mom.

I suppose I've hesitated writing this blog because my sadness is equally matched with anger. And anger won't do anything to bring back the lives that were tragically lost. However, I finally decided that people should know the truth. That despite their claims to care so deeply about their customers' safety, when all is said and done, Toyota is just a very large, very successful and very insincere business that cares about one thing; The bottom line.

Buyer beware.

Eve's autumn time description.

My friend, Eve, is a gifted comedian. Its not that she tries to be funny, she's just naturally gifted in wit. It is

 Eve's description of my favorite season, autumn, that I find to be both, humorous as well as very accurate at the same time. I wanted to share it with all of you today.

"I like fall, but I almost don't like it at the same time. Fall time is like a bad boyfriend, seducing you with the cool, crisp weather and beautiful colors then just when you start to really like him, bam! He changes and here's winter!"

Halloween night 2010

I'm pretty sure I get more into Halloween than my own children, maybe with the exception of Matthew. This is Utah so, of course we celebrated the pagan holiday on Saturday instead of Sunday in order to keep our sabbath day holy and all. Is that kind of an oxymoron, that we mormons celebrate our pagan holiday and then go to church the next morning? Oh well, I guess Halloween lost any real meaning a long time ago. Anyway, as I was saying I get pretty into the festivities. I wanted to dress up as either wonder woman or Lady Gaga, but neither of those were suitable to don while taking my kids trick or treating so I ended up as a witch again.

Matthew decided to be a dinosaur way back in September when he saw a dinosaur costume hanging in a store window. I bought it for him right then, excited to finally steer him in a direction away from super heros genre. Well guess what? Yep, you guessed it, a few weeks ago he decided that he just had to be Captain America. After much argument I lost and bought him a Captain America costume. Well, yesterday at about 3:00 in the afternoon Matthew decided that he just couldn't live without going trick or treating as a were wolf. Apparently he'd been watching some kind of were wolf show on Disney. I would say that I'm a sucker for Matthew, but I prefer to justify it by saying I'm merely encouraging his creativity. I have to say, he really does get into his characters. He did the best impression of a were wolf I'd ever seen!

I spent about three hours getting myself and all my children ready for trick or treating. Then we went outside to light the jack-o-lanterens on the front porch. Thats when the rain started. What a bummer. but, being the die-hard Halloween lover that I am, we braved it. well, sort of. I drove the kids around the neighborhood in my minivan. I wish I could have video taped their faces when I pulled up to the first house and told them to get out. They looked at me like I was nuts or something.

"You want candy or not? geeze."

Kids have no concept of work and reward these days.

After last night and the school party on Friday, I'm worn out completely. Nate is too, but I really don't know what his excuse is. He made it home for like the last half hour of trick-or-treating and he never bothers to wear a costume. At least he didn't miss the house with the "Naughty nurse" handing out candy. Gee, I was glad for that! ( I guess you could say she was handing out all kinds of treats last night.) Anyway, as I was saying, after all that fun last night celebrating my favorite pagan holiday I'm afraid I just didn't have the energy to get up and go to church this morning. Oops.

Will Robots win out over Humanity?

Today I was watching Dylan Ratigan on MSNBC prattle on with some other know-it-all about the threat robotics presents to the human job market. Now, this is not an issue I would normally concern myself with. My ears did, however, perk up a bit more when Ratigan and his guest clarified that these robots are not only threatening to take the place of assembly line workers, but advancing on more middle class jobs as well.

 Healthcare, for example, is one industry that scientists have already been working on making robot replacements for. Of course, they aren't saying that in the future we'll be visiting the local radio shack to get a diagnosis on an illness, but there are many analyzing areas of healthcare that can quite easily be replaced by robots. Developers have even began discussing a possible robot replacement for in home healthcare nurses.

"I don't know how these robots could give the warmth and nurturing that a human could, but then again I haven't met the robot." Said Ratigan.

When I was done laughing, I realized, once again, just how out of control this electronic society of ours is getting. And how there is a lot more at stake here than jobs. Think about it, if scientists are creating a robotic nurse to take care of home-bound patients what could be next? A robot to raise our children for us? We're already half way there.I could go to the local Wal-Mart right now and buy an electronic device from Leap-Frog that reads books to my children for me. How far off are they from developing a robot that can change a diaper, or prepare a lunch?

Robotic gadgets could be very convenient yes, but what about a human's other needs? What about our need for human companionship? A child's need for his mother's comforting touch when bathing him or changing him, his father's reassuring voice reading him a bed time story? These are the basic human needs that are so vital to all of our lives, but that may very well be cast aside in the name of convenience.

 A few months ago I remember being disgusted over a headline out of Japan where a couple neglected their six month old baby unto death in order to care for their electronic baby! Some may say this was a ridiculously extreme, isolated incident, and they would be right but how many times have we seen an isolated incident repeat itself again and again until it became common place in every day life? How many people in this nation or world for that matter spend more quality time on their computers than they do their spouses? Was this a common problem as recent as fifteen years ago?

Dylan Ratigan and his expert  have a right to be concerned for the security of American jobs. As a healthcare worker, I'm concerned too. The last thing I want is for some robot to come in and draw blood from my patients. But as a mother and a human, I'm even more concerned for the security of the Americans' psyche.

Because I love Halloween and Candy Corn!

I only bought the candy corns to fill the little pumpkin candy jar in the kitchen, thus creating a festive center piece. Now, after only three days, I have eaten over half the jar all on my own. I love candy corn. I love candy corn almost as much as I love Halloween itself. Unlike my love for the dark holiday, my love for candy corn goes completely unrecognized all year long then all of a sudden the leaves change color and bam! I'm craving orange cone-shaped candies. But, awe, Halloween itself could last all year long and I would never tire of it.

My love for Halloween started back when I was just a little girl. My brothers adored the holiday and started preparing for it months in advance. I remember spending hours letting Kirt practice his garish makeup applications to my face, transforming me from a little girl to a dead victorian-aged ghost. The look didn't fit  well with the summer time, which made parading around outside in ghoulish makeup and costume even more fun for me.

When Halloween night itself finally arrived, I felt like a movie star about to hit the red carpet. Usually, my brothers had me (in full costume and scary makeup) standing in my parent's long windows upstairs, a green light luminating my eerie figure from behind. I would pantomime a desperate scream and slide my hands down the window as if trying to escape my  evil captor. It was always a big attraction. Children who came trick-or-treating in their rainbow bright and he-man costumes would stand under the window for extended amounts of time staring up at me in horror. It was all I could do to keep from cracking a smile and killing the whole effect.

Sometimes my brother, Troy, would dress as a mad-scientist and bring some real science "accessories" from his laboratory into the fun. One year, my brother, Kirt made my brother Ryan's face look as though it had been hacked to pieces by a meat cleaver then told him to hide in the irrigation ditch out in front of our house and slither up out of it whenever kids came trotting by. That one actually got us all in a little trouble later.

Halloween always had this way of bringing me and my family closer in a way that no other holiday could. Some families bond while sipping egg-nog and singing christmas carols, but a family as strange as mine, well, we bond over the screams of small children.

I love Halloween. I love the crisp air, the brightly colored leaves littering the walk ways outside. I love the spooky decorations and eerie black lights. I love the dusty old costumes and smell of pancake makeup. And, most of all I love being able to be someone else for a night. Someone uninhibited, who dares to be dark or strange or mysterious. I love the memories I have that  shaped my perception of this magical holiday. Memories I have of my brothers and I collaborating ideas to make a haunted house that could put any Hitchcock film to shame. Halloween reminds me of these things, and of us being together and happy and uncomplicated. And, of course I love it for the candy corn.

Silly Bandz and other annoying trends.

Are we done with these silly things yet?

What started out as a semi-cute little trend for kids, Silly Bandz are now driving me batty! I find these little rubber bracelets everywhere. They're all over the car, my living room, bathroom, I've even found some hiding at the bottom of my purse. And thats the least of the problems I have with  Silly Bandz.

I can't even tell you how many times my seven-year old has come home bawling over an unfair Silly Bandz  trade or whining that so and so has the glow-in-the-dark ones and why can't she have them. Feuds between my girls have ended in the mutilation of many of these bands. Personally, I can't wait until this trend is completely extinct. Luckily, for me,  extinction doesn't seem too far from the brink.

Many schools across the nation have already banned Silly Bandz from the grounds for being disruptive. With any luck the rest of the elementary schools won't be too far behind that ban-wagon. In the mean time, popularity of these stupid things does seem to be diminishing rapidly. I've only seen Brooke wearing a band once this month and that was because a friend at school gave it to her in exchange for a fruit snack. And my older child has completely grown out of them all together. This fact does much to ease my conscience every time I suck one of these bracelets up in the vacuum cleaner. 

So, I can't say I'll be very unhappy to see these things take their place in the book of one-minute trends along side the "M.C. Hammer happy pants" and slap bracelets of the early nineties. The only draw-back: What annoying, messy trend will be next?

The strange people I meet while working!

I work part-time as a phlebotomist, (I'm the one who draws your blood) So I see a lot of the same people when they come to get their blood levels checked for medications or whatever. Anyway, there is this one guy who comes in about once a month or so. He's quite tall, quite thin and very bald. He always wears scrubs, so I assumed he was coming straight from his job in something medical. His scrubs, however, are never just the typical solid colors you see most men wear, but have cartoon characters or race cars on them.

I never put much thought into this gentleman other than to mentally write him off as a weirdo, based on his choice of scrub tops, and eery habit of staring me in the eyes.  The other day, however I must have been in an unusually charitable mood because I actually engaged in friendly conversation with the man. What I discovered during our conversation was a whole new way of looking at life.

As I gloved up and prepared to poke Mr. Cartoon scrubs, he told me about the motorcycle accident he was in a few years ago.

"Yeah, the other guy got the ticket and I got life support." He said. "Since I woke up from the coma, I've just been so happy to be alive that nothing really gets me down."

Geeze, I was totally bummed out for an hour today because the pharmacy was out of peanut butter m&m's.

The gentleman went on to tell me that once he recovered well enough to leave the hospital he never took another moment for granted. After discussing it with his wife, he went back to college to work on a nursing degree. He now works at a Veterans hospital helping soldiers recover from their war injuries. I'm betting that his inspiring recovery story and genuine sunny disposition is better than any medicine he can dole out to these guys.

I asked him what the secret to being happy is and he told me to "love life". "Get out there and enjoy every moment. Play with your kids, take them on trips and experience new things together. Create that bond with them and raise them right because they are our future."

His words really made me think about how much time is wasted every day with mundane activities that really don't matter and all the moments that could matter slipping past me. How much time do I waste for instance, fussing over the toys on the living room floor when baby and I could be playing on the living room floor. How many times have I raised my voice to one of my older children when a soft tone would have been just as effective.

Mr. Cartoon scrub man will probably never know how much his words affected my mentality. He'll probably never know that because of him I was happier today and really enjoyed just being home with the children, cleaning off the inch of dust that collects on the top of the refrigerator. Mr. cartoon scrub guy will never know that its because of him that I remembered to love life.

I will leave you with the last thing Mr. cartoon scrub guy said as he left my lab and I arbitrarily told him to have a good day.

"They're all good!" He said, with a smile.

They're all good.

"Mockingjay" My thoughts. (spoilers)

So I finally finished "Mockingjay" last week.  This week, I worked tirelessly in an attempt to catch up on all the housekeeping that went neglected while I was sucked into the book last week. Today, though I should be cooking or whatever, I will instead use my time to jot down my thoughts on this national addiction that is the "Hunger Games" series and more specifically "Mockingjay".

I'm going to start by being brutally honest. I wasn't really into "Mockingjay" until the last half of the book when Katniss and Gale travel to district eight. Other than a few intriguing snippets of life underground in thirteen, nothing really happened up to that point. I'm sure Collins was merely using the first half to convey the feeling of sadness and loss as well as the uncertainty of starting over, I just think it dragged on a bit too long.

One of the most disheartening parts of "Mockingjay", for me, was Peeta's torture and mental hijacking. I could feel Katniss' heartbreak over what had happened to Peeta and the realization that he may never recover. Then, Collins masterfully twists this knife when Katniss is forced to recall her fond memories of Peeta in an attempt to help him separate his true memories from those that were hijacked. It was sad and horrific and very well done.

I thought it was interesting that Katniss had reservations about being the rebels' face of the rebellion. Wasn't this what she had been hoping for all along, a rebellion? I understood, better when she finally decided to go through with it and the leaders like Coin and Plutarch brought in the make-over team. It was a sickening deja-vu feeling. Here these people are trying to change the horrors the capitol had been reigning down on them for so long, then showing no better character.

Another very disheartening part for me, was the slow digression of Gale from spirited warrior to calloused killer. I had expected more from Gale and I was deeply disappointed.

One thing that didn't hurt as much as I think, Collins wanted, was the death of Prim. It was ironic and fitting that she end the series killing off the one person Katniss wanted to protect more than anyone else. She just didn't make me love Prim and so her death wasn't as jolting as it could have been.

Overall, the one feeling that stood out more than any other,  despite the supposed "happy ending" was sadness. Sad for the fact that in war there is no completely happy ending for anyone. Sad that this story was so true to the nature of human beings. That there is no end to what horrible things people will do to one another all in the name of money, or power, or entertainment. It makes you think, and wonder if a real life hunger game is not really that far off.

When Back to school is no longer fun.

So the first couple weeks of school went surprisingly smooth. I was even starting to have fantasies that my children were maturing out of their childish behaviors. Then, today happened and all my fantasies were horribly crushed. Okay, that was a bit of an over-kill. It was more like today happened and I thought, "Okay, now those are the children I know."

I think by the second or third week of going back to school the excitement of it all has worn off and nothing is left for the little darlings but the harsh realities.

Summer is officially over.
I do have to do my homework.
My teacher isn't as sweet and mild as I had thought, especially when I am doing obnoxious things.
I'm already bored of all my new clothes (and)
"Hey, my mom doesn't clean my room now that I'm at school working sooo hard all day?!"

Whatever the reason, my three school-aged children are no longer the little angels that were jumping from their beds before the alarm even sounded, eager to get to the bus stop, and helping each other find socks or whatever. No, today I woke up to retro-children, the Ash, Brooke and Matthew I have come to know so well.

Brooke couldn't find anything to wear despite the closet of clean clothes, some of which haven't even lost their price tags yet.

"But I don't like those jeans or those shirts!" She wailed.

"Well, I guess that's because when we went school shopping, you were more interested in playing tag through the store rather than to settle down and pick out some bloody clothes." I spat through clenched teeth.

After wasting most of the morning, Brooke finally settled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, ( never mind the rain). But the effort was too little too late, all three had missed the bus and Ashton was bawling about not getting star student for never being late or something ridiculous like that. But I stayed cool. I packed the baby up, handed out back-packs and herded everyone out to the car. Almost. We were halfway to the car when Matthew reminded me about his peanut butter and honey sandwich. Some how I have managed to raise a boy who insists on getting the majority of his nutrition via peanut butter, honey and chocolate milk.  Ashton bawled even louder as I headed back inside to whip up his lunch.

When we arrived at the elementary school, the "pull through and drop off lane" was packed with SUV's and mini-vans, undoubtedly other parents who are having the exact same crisis with their own children. I waited patiently for my turn in the drop off lane and almost breathed a deep sigh of relief as I slid the mini-van door open. Until....Matthew decided he needed a bottle of water.

"Sorry bud, I don't have one handy, but people are waiting in line behind us, so I need you to get out of the van now and go to class."

He adamantly refused. Reciting the phrase, " I want a water bottle", over and over like some kind of little robot.  So I just reached inside the van, grabbed hold of his waist and tugged him out. I didn't however, take into account the sheer size of the kids will or his strength. As I pulled him out, he grabbed on with all his might to the side of the van door and held on tight. I even heard a little snicker from the patrol woman standing near the entrance as she beheld the cartoon-like scene.

It wasn't a pretty morning, but at least everyone got to school. Matthew was a few minutes late to his class, and I'm ashamed to say that its because I gave up on the fight. After two or three minutes of embarrassment in the drop off lane, I stuffed him back in the van, drove to the store, bought him a bottled water and drove a smiling Matthew back to school.

Harrison and I then went home and took a long nap!

Happy Birthday Kiddo!

 Has it really been seven years  since I first held you in my arms? 

It feels like yesterday, and a million years ago all at the same time.

You were so tiny and delicate...and purple.

We couldn't believe all your red hair.

I'd never seen your father cry, not until that day when he first laid eyes on you.

He said he'd never seen such a beautiful sight.

Seeing how much he loves you 

how you enchanted him from the beginning. 

That is the most beautiful sight for me.

Screaming and healthy, you knew what you wanted from day one. 

"Careful," said the nurse, "This one's got an attitude!"

We laughed then, but soon discovered she was sort of right. 

And now you are still you, spunky and full of heart. Just the way I like you to be.

You are The best part of me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROOKIE!

Summer chronicles: escape to the deep blue

With our central air being out of service for the moment, and possibly all summer long, the kids and I often find refuge from the heat at the pool. It takes a lot of sunscreen to cover all my little albinos, but it sure is a nice little retreat. 

Of course Matthew has to be all decked out.

We're still trying to convince Matthew that he doesn't need three or four different flotation devices in order to keep his head above water, but with little luck. 

underwater eyes

Some days we pack a picnic lunch and stay for hours! Not a lot of laundry or dishes have been getting done on our "pool escape" days, as we call them, but the kids have sure developed a healthier relationship with aquatics. 

All four have learned quite a few different swimming techniques. Even little Harrison will dip his face in the water, blow bubbles and kick around like a fish.

sea monster!

I'm especially proud of Ashton. At the beginning of the summer she was afraid to even put her face in the water, but now she's swimming very well and just keeps getting better.

Hawwison and his witto water weenie.

The best part of mixing kids with sun and water is that it pretty much always results in exhaustion! This means that once we've spent a good few hours horsing around in the pool all are ready to crash for a couple hours, leaving mom some time of her own...to do laundry, of course. ha ha!

Warning: Spouse may not always be as they appear.

 So, Nate and I had a little argument the other day. (For those of you who don't know this, husbands and wives often have disagreements, sometimes those disagreements escalate to raised voices.) (That is a snippet of an example of my sarcasm.) The argument started, as a lot of arguments do, with a conversation that seems to be a hot button issue between us these days; A family dog.

I've been trying very hard lately to persuade Nate to let the kids and I have a puppy, a choice that I may later regret, but a choice I feel quite certain and passionate about at the present time all the same. After a few minutes of listening to his side of things, I realized something that sort of bothered me. Nate is not an animal lover. Before we were married I had assumed Nate was something of an animal lover. The fact that he isn't sort of bothers me. I decided to change the course of the discussion.

"Hey, you know what? I should sue you for false advertising or something." I said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Before we were married I thought you were an animal lover. As soon as the honeymoon was over you started to show your true colors. I just didn't exactly get what I paid for if you catch my drift. Now I think I deserve some kind of...restitution."

"Well, you should learn not to assume things. I never said I was an animal lover. I told you I loved the golden retriever my family had when I was younger that does not mean I love all animals."

"I think my case will hold up. I was lead." I retorted.

Suddenly Nate's face changed from thoughtful to smug. "Yeah well, you know you aren't the only one who was lead to believe something different than the total truth about your spouse. You played the old bait and switch on me too." He said.

Oh great. He's got something on me.

Or he's bluffing.

I decide to call him on it.

"Oh yeah? So what is it then? What did you think I was that I didn't live up to?"

Nate's grin turns to a full-on smile and he shakes his head, retreating. "I can't say."

"I figured you were bluffing."

"I'm not bluffing. I just don't feel it would be...gentlemanly of me to say."

Horar fills me. I realize exactly what he's talking about. Damn, I hate to be wrong. The look of sudden realization must be apparent on my expression, because he gives a cocky nod and says, "Yeah, that's right, you know you lead me to believe we'd be spending a LOT more time in the bed than we do."

I hold my ground.

"You should really learn not to assume things."

Summer chronicles: Popcycles.

Popcycles on the front porch

Its the simple pleasures of summer time that are the most memorable.

The many faces of Matthew Roane

MATTHEW ROANE

IS

THE INCREDIBLE...

BAT-FROG!

(at least for today)

Matthew is doing it again...delighting me! Yesterday, while dressed as bat-frog, Matthew asked me to do a puzzle with him. As we arranged fragments of shapes colors into the face of Buzz Light-year, Matthew chattered on about all his favorite parts of Toy Story 3. Ordinarily I would have loved to sit there and listen to him as he explained a movie in his adorable five-year-old lisp, but he wouldn't talk in his own voice, instead he used his new-found "baby" voice picked up at the baby-sitter's. I'm sure I don't have to tell anyone how grating that voice gets after weeks of listening to nothing else. 

"Gee, I sure miss my big boy Matthew. I liked the way he talked. I don't really like this baby-talk Matthew at all." I said, matter-of-fact.

Matthew looked up from his puzzle, and stared at me for a moment, pondering, then replied, "I miss my other mommy, the pretty one who wears her hair down, not pulled up in a ball."

tu-che'. 

The Aftermath

So, Its been two weeks now since my surgery and, though I'm still feeling the effects, i.e. soreness, I am very happy to have it all behind me. It took only one day to get the pathology results back. The biopsy came back benign- no cancer! Big sigh of relief, not only for me but for the medical professionals who now no longer have to deal with me.

 I discovered along with all those medical persons, two weeks ago, that I am a really awful patient. I arrived at the hospital at 7:45 am, virtually exhausted from not being able to sleep the night before. The poor Nursing assistant that was assigned to me was met with a very big attitude when she instructed me on what it was I had to do before the procedure could begin. She told me to change into the hospital gown and to make sure that I took my underwear off as well as my bra, to which I simply and firmly asked why I should have to take my underwear off when its the top part they'd be operating on. She had no real good answer to that except to say that if they should need access to that part of my body quickly, the underwear would be in the way. To that I gave an even nastier reply,

"Why the hell do they need access to my butt!"

Fortunately she laughed it off. But she left and never returned.

Next, I terrorized the nurse, who happened to be male. I told him I would not give him a urine sample until someone cleaned the bathroom in my room. He was very sweet. He came in with a bottle of bleach and a rag and scrubbed my toilet himself. I kind of felt guilty at that point, but not guilty enough. I demanded to see my surgeon before signing any release forms.

 I was a sobbing, anxiety ridden mess by the time the surgeon finally came in. She was not much comfort. I asked her to tell me what I would look like when all this was said and done. She told me I would have a scar but no visible indentation. I told her I didn't really buy that and asked if I could just have the needle biopsy done instead. She told me I could, but that she strongly advised getting the lumpectomy. That just turned my fear away from my vanity and toward the possibility of cancer, which I think was her intention. The surgeon explained the procedure again, this time, adding that she would remove a chunk of tissue the size of a golf ball.   A GOLF BALL.

"Lady, have you seen my boobs?" I cried. "They pretty much are golf balls!"

She laughed.

I was unamused.

In the end, with the surgeon's strong advice and extensive knowledge of these breast tumors, and my poor husband, distraught with the idea of me not doing the surgery and possibly leaving a malignant tumor in my body, I accepted what I had to do and allowed them to take me off to the OR.

Nate's last word's to me were, that he loved me more than anything and that if I'm not at all happy with the outcome of this surgery, that he would see to it that I get plastic surgery right away. He then added,

"Hey this could be your excuse to get those C cups you've always wanted."

The outcome is livable. I no longer have a lump in my breast that could grow or cause pain or turn into something weird. I have a small scar and no visible dimpling. I'm glad to be done with it, and I thank God it was nothing more than a lump.

I have a much larger appreciation for the kind of emotional and physical pain a cancer patient must go through. I feel blessed and a little guilty I made it out without cancer. I just think God knows I'm not brave enough to suffer that kind of thing and took pity on me. I am in awe of those who are brave and battle their illness full on.  God bless you all.

Attack of the killer boobies.

I'm not sleeping. Many emotions are running, wild and unwanted, through my head.

Tomorrow I go under the knife to remove a lump found in my left breast.

I'm feeling angry mostly. Sure, my boobies and I have always had a tumultuous relationship, (They've always been a too small and never produced enough milk for nursing my babies.) So they've actually proved to be quite useless on all accounts, but I never thought they'd threaten to outright kill me! This is just beyond reproach. But they're also mine. And I don't want to lose any part of them.

I've tried to be brave, or perhaps I've just been in denial. I didn't even allow myself to think about this surgery at all. But this afternoon, I talked to my mother-in-law, who had this surgery performed on her several years ago. Before our conversation I didn't realize that this lumpectomy procedure left a very noticeable crevice in the breast. I suppose everyone's turns out different, but there is going to be some kind of deformation from the cut.

The weight of this little realization, once hit, hit hard. I've since been bauling and mouring the loss of my little wedge of boob even before its gone. I know its stupid and vain of me to even shed one tear over this, but I am. I want to stay whole and I feel so powerless over that.

It angers me, too, that my surgeon didn't tell me this specific detail of the procedure. Perhaps she felt it wasn't important to me, the appearance of my breast, and if that is the case then she has highly over-estimated my self esteem. Perhaps she figures she'll talk to me about it in the morning when I'm already gowned-up and tied to the bed with IV's. Perhaps she'll breeze into my room, armed with her felt-tipped pen, start drawing smiley faces or some shit like that all over my chest then casually mention, as she's running out the door, "Oh yeah, by the way, you'll look really funny after this surgery. I sure hope your husband has a real vested interest in you, and hasn't married you for your looks!" Perhaps she figures the details of cosmetics don't really matter when it comes down to living or dying. Perhaps this is just absolutely necessary and I can't accept that.

I hate feeling such strong emotions, anger especially, but it is preferable above despair, which is probably the reason I choose it most often in times like these. They're out now. I have successfully purged all of them onto this screen and feel quite tired now. Hopefully I can sleep.

Wish me luck. I'll need it.

Rude Awakenings!

I was interrupted from a very deep and enjoyable sleep several times last night. The first was at a mere 2am, and I'm not going to go into details on what that was about. The second, was at 7:30 am, which is technically morning but after having my sleep interrupted once already, 7:30 felt a little more like the middle of the night to me. Anyway, to proceed with the story, Brooke woke me at 7:30 this morning bauling that Ashton smacked her in the head.

 
"Why did Ashton smack you in the head?" I asked, still groggy
   "I don't know, I was just trying to wake her up for school." Brooke says in the sweetest voice she can muster.

Knowing Brooke, there has got to be more to this story. I don't want to say that  Brooke is a bad kid, but she certainly isn't winning any awards for good behavior any time soon.
  "Brooke," I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes, "how, exactly is it that you went about waking your sister up?"
Brooke gives me the doe-eyed innocence look.
   "I just shook her a little and said, 'its time to get up and get ready for school Ashton.' And then she smacked me in the head!"
  "hmmm." Theres definately more to this story .
Just as Brookie is about to snuggle into my lap and really milk me for sympathy, Ashton comes bouncing into the room, leaps up onto the bed and says,
  "Mom, Brooke woke me up this morning by sticking her finger in my butt!"

And...There's the rest of the story.

When I finally did get to the bottom of the whole thing, (no pun intended.) I discovered that Brooke didn't exactly intend to penetrate Ashton's crevice with her finger, but instead was going for the more mild offense of pinching and her fingers slipped. Considering Ashton was not blessed with ample booty, this possibility is quite plausable and I choose to accept it.

As for my choice in discipline, well what could I do really? If it were me waking up to anal probing I think I would have done more than just smacking the culprit.

Lesson learned: choices and consequences.

Probing another's ass = a smack in the head.
Good enough for me.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming,

Life. Already in progress.

The baskets are put away.

The grass in vacuumed up.

 And the girls are back in school! (ahhhh! sigh of relief.)

Its not that I'm some kind of easter scrooge,

but I'm just glad to be back into the normal routine.

Well...almost.

 I'm so worn out from all the sugar rushes

 and little girl cat fights that it is now 12:00 pm

on Tuesday afternoon and

I  AM

STILL IN

MY PAJAMAS!

I know. Gross right?

below are some pictures highlighting the high points of our eratic easter day.

(with four kids, two jobs and a cat. Life is pretty much always eratic.)

ENJOY.

Consumed by wonderlands and games of hunger

I've pretty much been wrapped up in my life lately to the point that I've thrown writing out to the wind. I would apologize except that I don't think anyone really gives a damn weather I write my weekly trifles down and post them for anyone to see or not. Its pretty clear this blog is a blog for me alone to read and reflect on.

Anyhoo, The last couple of weeks have been absorbed by the problems Ashton's having with bullies at school and fights between Ash and Brooke. In the time away from those two things I've got my own dispute I've been working out. Lets just say, I deal with some OCD ridden, narciccistic, persons, but really who doesn't? Then there's the book I've completely fallen into in any spare time. In fact I've even made spare time just to absorb myself into it and out from reality. I encourage anyone to read it. The Hunger Games it is called and its magnificent! It was this month's book club choice. I have to say, I never thought I would enjoy it so much. I read it because it was the book of choice. I am now more than half-way through the sequel. Read it, you'll love it.

Ashton asked if we could go out for a little mommy-daughter night last night. I obliged. We dropped the other kids off at grandma's and went to see Alice in wonderland .  I liked it and I don't care what the critics say. It is not the Alice that we all are used to, and that is probably the best part about it. Its bold and fun and totally thought-provoking. Plus Jonny Depp. Need I say more. He's absolutely terrific in this film, as always.

My only regret about the evening is buying a much larger-than-necessary tub of popcorn because a lot of it went to waste.

On the way back I told Ash that we'd been gone too long and that I bet grandma turns into the red queen when we get back.

Of course she didn't dissapoint and we had a good laugh about it later.

In short, Alice was very entertaining and I would definately recommend seeing it. I'm no critic, but i'm an average house-wife and my opinion should count for more based on the fact that most people are like me-looking for entertainment not a lot of artsy hooplah! I also recommend reading The hunger games if you haven't already.

The Yuckas

For the past two weeks my family and I have had what I call "the yuckas", which really is as accurate a name as any other for this particular ailment. The yuckas start with a little dribbly nose that can easily be dismissed as seasonal allergies.

Maybe spring is beginning to bud, I always think.

But then by day three or four everyone starts feeling pretty run down and fever's begin to spike. Then before you know it we're spending half the day in our jammies watching Spongebob and nursing bottles of Robitussin like its liquid candy.

And It's not like I'm a big baby or something. I can handle a cold like any other normal person,

but this junk doesn't want to go away!

By day six and seven I'm so sick of wiping thick snot from the kids' faces and listening to their raspy little whines I could just strangle myself.

But alas, there does seem to be an end in sight. We're going on day twelve or something like that and the runny noses seem to be slowing down, coughs are settling, and we're all slowly emerging from our cave little by little.

If you do come into your own case of the yuckas I suggest Mucinex. Its a life saver.The humidifier's seem to be helping the cough's a lot too. The kids went from those dry "croopy" sounding coughs a week ago to a nice wet cough within one day. (Wet cough's are better than dry. I'm not being sarcastic here).

And hang in there spring is almost here!!

Good Human!

A friend of mine, while taking classes at the university for journalism/writing, was required to write a profile of herself as seen through the eyes of her pet.

This sounded like a deliciously interesting writing assignment and I wanted to attempt it myself. The following is an attempt to describe myself from the view point of my cat, Mr. Kitty.

I bounded up the stairs to see what the humans were doing up there today.

The humans keep strange hours, awake and wandering through the house while I'm trying to sleep on one of my many beds. And when I am feeling active, they wish to sleep.

The gate was closed again so I sat on the top step and stared through the bars.

The smaller, red haired one was making that noise again. The one that sounds like desperate meowing.

I believe he wishes for food.

He was in strange disguise again. This time he wore a green covering over his body and his head as well. Only a small amount of red fur could be seen peeking out from under the covering on his head.

The female, the one the other's call mommy, is carrying the smallest one on her hip.

She carries the small one a lot, even though he can now walk on his own.

Humans tend to over-care for their young.

The large female does not see me staring at first. Her back is turned and she is busy preparing something for the littlest one to suckle.

The female turns around and sees me, we make eye contact.

"What do you want, stupid?" She mutters to me.

She does not seem to think I understand that she is insulting my intellegence.

I meow an insult back to her and she doesn't seem to understand that either, because she opens the gate and lets me through to the upstairs portion of the house.

I like it up here, its much warmer than the downstairs.

I follow the female human to the large bed where she lays down with the small one. He is now suckling on the container that has a sort of teet attached to its top.I jump up to snuggle in close to her, but she pushes me, and I tumble to the floor despite my attempt to claw in to the soft cushion.

She makes no sense, this female, petting me and giving me food one moment then pushing me off the bed the next. I would throw her out of my house all together if she weren't the only one to clean out my litter box.

Later, I think I shall hide around the corner of the downstairs, wait until I hear her coming, then jump out at her suddenly, and give her my nastiest yowl.

She will probably jump back and yelp like she has done in the past.

This will be my revenge.

For now, I think I'll wander to my favorite spot in the hallway and stretch out on the floor. This way, the female will have to step around me to pass to the other parts of the house and she will then know that I am dominant in this territory.

Ahh, yes she comes. She bows down closer to me and rubs my head.

It seems I have finally made her understand who is master here.

She is a good human. Not so bright, but she is good.

I'M BACK!

And feeling like my self again.
Sunday night I was a mess. But this is my recipe for a quick self rejuvination:

Sunday, after work, I had a good long cry followed by a good long chat with my incredibly supportive and caring husband, Nate in which he assured me that I am not a terrible person, mother, wife etc. etc.
I then endulged myself in a good long cuddle session with said awesome husband.

Monday I did some self reflection and discovered that my biggest problem is the feeling of being lost. Lost from what I should be doing in life, as a mother, in my career, etc. etc. I concluded after some soul searching and some recall from all the fabulous lessons I've learned over the many years of going to church that I needed to get myself back in touch with God.
I had a good prayer session with Heavenly father on Tuesday and read some scripture. I opened my Book of Mormon randomly and ended up in 3rd Nephi. I've never really read 3rd Nephi much, usually I start reading at the beginning of the book and get lazy by about 2nd Nephi. (I know, I'm terrible at being spiritual.) But I feel I was inspired to read these verses of 3rd Nephi yesterday for good reason.

"Ask and ye shall recieve, knock and it shall be opened unto you..."

The faithful Nephites asked for immortality. What did I ask for?

I asked for a way to be made that I can stop working on Sunday. I asked to be closer again to Heavenly father.
But mostly I was reminded of how much I am blessed. I am very blessed. Right now I am mostly grateful for healthy, happy, kids. I also am very greatful for such a good husband.

Today, I got back to my workout routine. The Firm. I also read my scriptures again. Its amazing how much the word of God helps. Everything just seems less overwhelming. I can see a clear path to better our situation.
Why do I ever drift?

God is great.

Remember

I recall, quite clearly the last time I felt lost, probably a lot more lost than I feel now. It was almost ten years ago-almost to this day actually. I had been given a second chance at life, to do it right. (Okay, who am I kidding, this was like my one-hundredth chance). God gives me lots of chances, because I guess its important that I get it right. The path was there. I saw it clearly. I knew what I needed to do. Then, instead of doing it, I ran the other way and right into my wake-up call.

Jonah had his big blue whale. I had my big huge car crash.

It was past mid-night. I was too tired to drive. I was visiting a friend in Salt Lake City. A friend I met in an unsavory club. He had cooked me dinner that night and we went for a walk in the park with my baby. It wasn't like I was hanging out with the devil himself, just a boy, who didn't have the values I knew I should have had.

He could tell, as I packed my diaper bag and bundled my baby, that I was much too tired to drive. He asked me to stay the night. I knew I couldn't. I knew I shouldn't have been there to begin with and I couldn't stay another minute longer. I didn't make it very far.

I remember seeing the stop light and I remember seeing that it was red, but in my dazed condition I couldn't remember what red meant. Was is go or stop?  I sailed through the State street intersection. Four lanes on each side.I don't know why I remember that the radio was set to classical music, soothing so Ashton could sleep. I vaguely remember seeing the lights of the other car coming right at my window on the drivers' side, and hearing the loud blare of its horn. Then there was impact.

When I opened my eyes only minutes, maybe seconds later, I was laying with my head on the passenger's seat. The driver's side window was completely shattered. I could hear my baby crying hysterically in the back. A good sound, because at least it meant she was alright. I tried frantically to get out of the car, but the door was smashed in too far. I scrambled over to the passenger's side and jumped out. Within seconds, Ashton was in my arms and I was telling her it would all be okay.

A young hispanic boy and his father came up to where I stood next to my smashed car, eyes wide with horror. The man looked into the car and asked where the driver was. He thought I was a bystander, who had come to help the baby in the back. When I told him I was the driver, he couldn't believe it. He wasn't the only one to find it impossible. An ambulance showed up a minute later, and the paramedics asked the same question. They had expected to have to cut the victim out of the vehicle.

The cop who was on the scene motioned to where the driver of the other car stood on the corner. He looked to be a young boy, probably a teenager. He was alright, but very angry about his banged up car.

I felt fortunate to make it through that crash, and completely unscathed. I felt extremely relieved and grateful to Heavenly father for my baby being completley fine.  I felt God had given me another chance to stay on this earth and to be a mother to my child. I saw things in a different light after that.

Writing this, helps me to remember that second chance. Now I have four children and a loving husband. Why has God chosen to bless me so? I am not worthy of it, but I need to do the best I can with what I have been given.

Thank you God, for reminding me of my responsibilites. Thank you Natalie Norton and the Staker family for reminding me of what is truly important in life and the here-after. If only my faith and stead-fast could be like yours.

Keepin' it real

Believe it or not, most of the time I am quite aware of how blessed I am. But then every once in a while, I get a visit from the big ugly green monster, and suddenly I'm like a toddler throwing a fit on the floor, (figuratively... most of the time.)

"Why me?!" (sobb sobb)
"Why wasn't I smarter when I was younger and finished my college ed?"
"Why do I always have to struggle with my relationships, money, career etc?"
"Why is my car always breaking down?"

The why's never did anybody any good. Self-pity is for the weak. I know all of this, but the ugly green monster that is my evil alter ego does not seem to get it. And in an attempt to distract myself from thinking in such negative, nonproductive ways, I turn off my feelings and go on auto-pilot. I am for all intents and purposes, useless. I'm as alive as a robot, programmed to follow a course of steps throughout each day. Eat, clean, feed, clean, fold, change, shop, clean, sleep. Do it again. At least the self-loathing is on hold...for a while.

Then, I get a wake up call.

Lately, my wake-up call has come in the form of the experiences of others. (see my readers list. Pics and Kicks. and Stakerz xposed) and I am deeply ashamed at how ungrateful I've been. I am aware, once again that I have lost focus. I forgot what is important, what is real.

I need to center, or find my chi, or whatever the buddhists call it. I need to do some serious self-exploration before my life gets so far off track that I can't even find the track.

Motherhood comes with occupational hazards. Losing yourself is one of the biggest. Somewhere between caring for the ones I love, I have forgotten to love myself. Perhaps I never learned.

This is me announcing my change. The answers are in me. I'll find them.

Nothing is without its consiquence

The After-math of our fabulous fun at Chuck E  Cheese's

Pink eye.

Another cheesey Roane birthday!

Happy Birthday Matthew!

Feb. 17 2010

My silly boy is 5!

Yes! We were brave and took him and his friend, Erika to the dreaded Chuck E Cheese.

(Dreaded for parents)

After much persuation, Nate and I were finnally able to convince Matthew to wear regular clothes...

over his spider-man costume.

As shown above, the shirt didn't stay on long.

Her look should say all you need to know about how the food was.

Me and My dad doing a cheesey promotion.

blowing out the candles on his spider-man/power rangers/turtles cupcakes

Of all his super heros and trucks, Matthew's favorite present was by far these red Converse shoes.

(go-figure)

All the kids had a blast with the games

Most of the kids enjoyed the rides as well.

All in all I think Chuck E throws a pretty decent party!

And I didn't have to clean up the mess!