Light Refreshments Served

I grew up in a bubble.  My life wasn’t perfect but I had good parents, nice brothers and sisters, and decent friends whose families were good to me.  Because of my innocent childhood I grew up rather naïve and was particularly sensitive to any bad news.  I remember one night my family was outside and we were standing in the driveway when the sirens of a fire truck came blazing by.  Where were they going?  Who was in trouble?  What had happened?  The sirens got louder and louder, piercing my innocent mind of all happy thoughts as it zoomed past our home and around the bend to reach the source of the emergency.  I was very worried, and I remember looking up at my mom and asking, “Mom?  Does Heavenly Father hear your prayers even if you don’t say them out loud?”  I wanted to pray for the people who needed that truck, but not out loud in my driveway with others around.  “Of course he does, sweetheart,” my mother answered.  And with that, I shot up a prayer to heaven that the recipients of those sirens would be all right. 

I’ve lived quite a few years since that day, long enough for more of my bubble to be burst.  Even in my adulthood my ears are often seared with horrific news of others’ lives that seem incomprehensible to me.  A lover of happy endings, a glutton for peace on earth I (we) am challenged every day to wade through the filth, the muck, and the ugliness in search of the good.  Lately, I’ve been feeling the need for sturdier boots and higher waders. 

Over time I have seen the mark of Satan’s main target, the family, hit the bulls eye on a number of occasions.  But for some reason, the recent news of a friend of mine has hit harder than normal.  The dissolution of her family is not her choice, and yet she will be the one left behind to sweep up the fragments of broken dreams.  She will be the one having to explain to her kids why Daddy left, why he chose someone else over them, why they will only be able to play ball together every other weekend, and why they have to move.  It all seems grossly unfair to me, that one person’s poor use of agency has that much power.  I have heard over and over again how Satan may win a few battles here, but Heavenly Father will win the war.  I believe that, but I guess what I’d like to know is, when the war is over will these kids get their dad back?  Will my friend meet up again with the man she married instead of the idiot who has possessed his body and now drives his truck? 

I don’t know.  Here’s what I DO know.  That’s why He died.  That’s why He suffered.  Not just to take away our sins, but to help us bear our sorrows and our grief.  If it didn’t hurt, it wouldn’t matter as much, right?  And if using the Atonement of our Savior can help us bear that pain, then all the sudden it’s not as horrible, true?  Which is why this following scripture caught my attention the other night: 

“But that ye have patience, and bear with those afflictions, with a firm hope that ye shall one day rest from all your afflictions.”  – Alma 34:41 

I love the use of the words “firm hope”.  Not a pansy-like desire, not a dream, a FIRM HOPE.  The kind of hope that loads up a family in a wagon and walks two thousand miles to the “right place”.  The kind of hope that allows you to buy your son a suit and a set of scriptures and send him away from home for two years.  The kind of hope that leads you to church every week even though you have nobody to sit next to.  The kind of hope that has you paying your tithing even though you’re not sure where your next meal is coming from.  And the kind of hope that allows a mother to wrap up her kids in a blanket, kiss them goodnight and say, “Daddy loves you even though he can’t be with you every day.” 

And with that we silence the sirens, send a prayer up to the heavens, and know that we will be all right.

I’m sick.  My daughter is sick.  My son is off track.  It’s a really fun combination if you think about it, but just for my sake let’s not get all crazy and think about it too much, alrighty?  The good news is that I am kicking tail at a scrabble game on facebook having recently played ALL MY LETTERS TWO TIMES IN A ROW.  I’m sorry, did you not know I was that awesome?  Well, now you have been enlightened. 

I am also tired.  I took something like a seventeen hour nap this afternoon and then woke up and thought, “Man, I sure could use a nap.”  So I went back to sleep.  I’m not sure if the boy who lives here has been fed today, but he’s got two hands that work so hopefully he has taken care of it.  If I had a liquor cabinet and a deviant child this would be a good day for him to get sloshed behind my back.  Not sure why my mind just went there but since it did, let’s just be grateful that he is a good kid and I don’t stash any booze. 

In between my naps and fetching ginger ale and barf bowls for my daughter, I decided to check my email where I found this clever little nugget and thought I’d share.  Happy Monday!

Why LDS Women Stress 

As Latter-day Saint women, we are practically obsessed with anxiously engaging ourselves in good causes. Maybe it’s subliminal. 

Glancing through the hymnal last Sunday I noted that as sisters in Zion, we who are called to serve, are all enlisted to go marching, marching forward because the world has need of willing men, to all press on scattering sunshine. We wonder if we have done any good in the world today because we have been given much and want to do what is right, keep the commandments, press forward with the Saints, choose the right, and put our shoulders to the wheel going where He wants us to go. However, as the morning breaks high on the mountain top, truth reflects upon our senses, and while we still believe that sweet is  the work, we also realize that we have work enough to do ere the sun  goes down.  And thus we ask Thee ere we part, where can we turn for peace?

If I was in 5^th grade and said, “I love my brothers,” then some punk would undoubtedly pipe up and say, “Then why dontcha marry ‘em?”  And I’d say, “Because I’m not from Arkansas, I don’t want all my babies to be deformed and because I don’t want my husband to have strong decorating opinions.”  I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow my parents managed to raise FOUR boys who if you asked, “Is it ecru, beige or ivory?” they would have definitive views.  It is one of my favorite traits about Cory, that he doesn’t have opinions about how to spruce up the house.  I will never forget an experience we had when we first moved to Colorado – we had just transferred from a furnished apartment to a condo and so we needed a couch, and one of my brothers who also lived here at the time was in the process of redecorating their home and also needed a couch.  So we thought, “How fun!  Let’s go couch shopping together!”  We walked into a store and I said, “I want this one,” and Cory said, “Okay” and then my brother and his wife spent the next four months weighing the pros and cons of floral vs. plaid.  In our last house there were numerous occasions where Cory went to work in the morning with one color of kitchen and came home to an entirely different one.  If it wasn’t for the fact that paint smells so much I’m not even sure he would have noticed.  

Lately I have been itching for a project.  Adding to my restlessness I have become addicted to this blog where the ideas flow faster than Marion Jones on steroids.  I LOVE this chick and her handyman hubby!  Anyway, I had been contemplating what to do to add some color and texture to this room without breaking the bank: 

I naturally thought about doing window treatments, but that would involve hardware, fabric, and sewing which translated into a lot of money and a lot of work.  Then I went to The Lettered Cottage blog and saw this picture:

The bell is the main character in her post, but what I noticed were the shutters she had installed on either side of her mirror.  I thought they were a fabulous detail, and became inspired that this was how I could dress up my kitchen nook.  I began to shop around and found paintable shutters at Home Depot which were going to run me a little over a hundred dollars.  Not bad, but still more than I wanted to spend.  Finally I had a stroke of inspiration and discovered a package of cedar wood paneling – the individual pieces snapped together so I could make my shutters as tall or as wide as I wanted to, and I could also cut off a small piece to glue at the top and bottom for added character.  The whole package was something like $15 and it would be enough to make the four shutters that I needed.  Without access to a table saw at home I simply asked the Home Depot Guy (his official name on record) to cut them to the size I needed and I was in business.  

The project was diverted when I had my emergency medical situation so when my parents showed up to help me that week I put my Dad on it – he finished the easy assembly and then corralled Drew to come help him paint them black, per my request.  In the weeks since my surgery, however, I decided that I wanted them to be a distressed turquoise color.  So, yesterday I bought turquoise paint and some mocha glaze and went to the basement to finish my project.  Here is a shutter after two coats of Benjamin Moore’s “Florida Keys Blue”:

Then I whipped out my hand sander to sand the edges, revealing some of the black previously applied by my Dad:

I followed this up with a coat of Mocha colored glaze – the full bottle cost me $19.99 and I hardly used any of it, so if you can get a smaller can of glaze you could save even more because you don’t need very much of it to get the job done:

And here is what it looks like:

The wood I used was very light weight, so to attach them to the wall I simply nailed them in!  Here’s what they look like up in the room:

Total cost on the project was about $50 and it was all done before Cory and the kids got home from mutual/scouts – Cory is not in love with it but knowing how happy it makes me he is playing along.  It’s not chocolate and roses, but I think it’s his own special way of saying, “Happy Valentine’s Day”.  I’ll take it.

Are you getting married this year?  Do you live near Pocatello, Idaho or close enough that you can get there?  My niece is a photographer in that area and is currently doing a giveaway for a free engagement session.  Here is a picture she took a couple of weeks ago of my niece (a different one!  I have a lot of them and not a single one that I don’t like) on her wedding day:

How cute is that?!  Click here for details if you’re interested.  If this giveaway doesn’t apply to you or anyone you know then I suppose all I have to offer is a little eye candy of this lovely family on the beach that she took this summer.  The dad is my brother – featured once on ESPN highlights for storming the field at a Padres game and stealing 2nd base, and a couple of years later on CBS when he won over $40K on The Price Is Right, he’s not just another pretty face:

Here’s a closer one of his two older kids, still too innocent to know that their father was once arrested for said Padre game debacle (but baffled the security upon proving his sobriety at the time).  Hey bro, is this too much information to be sharing with the internet?  Because I still haven’t told them about that picture I have of you in the dress.

Now as a little weekend bonus I’ll share one more, because it just so happens that I know this really hot blond chick (and the mom ain’t so bad either…I guess) who also had pictures taken by BHI with her family last summer:

I’m not going to twist your arm or anything, but it might be worth it!

“Of all the warning sounds that animals make, I think the one that’s the least effective on me is a kind of clicking noise.”  – Jack Handey, “Deep Thoughts” as seen on Saturday Night Live 

The last home we lived in was almost 20 years old and had two smoke detectors – one on the main floor and one upstairs.  The only reason we had one on the main floor was because I saw a Dateline NBC episode once where a firefighter had been to visit a lady’s house for a random incident, noticed she didn’t have a smoke detector and felt so strongly about it that he brought her one the next day as a gift.  (You know what happens next, right?)  A couple of days later her house caught on fire and if it hadn’t been for that smoke detector on the main floor her baby would have died.  I went out and bought an additional alarm that day.  It was easy to install – I threw a battery in it and stick it through my awesome popcorn ceiling which resulted in my carpet looking like it needed some quality time with Head & Shoulders shampoo. 

A lot of things have changed in our new home, beginning with the fact that we now have eight, EIGHT! smoke alarms.  At first you might think, “Oh how nice, now if little Johnny ever tried to sneak some reefer into his room, or light ants on fire with his magnifying glass through the sun shining through his window, or if little Jane lights a candle while using nail polish remover or tries to burn her trash instead of taking it to the garbage WE WILL KNOW ABOUT IT.”  But what you are NOT thinking about as you survey and admire the safety feature of EIGHT! smoke alarms in your house is, “Hey, I can hardly wait until it’s 2:30 in the morning and one of those bad boys decides that it is DONE with those batteries.”  Done!  With a capital ‘D’.  And for the love, why is it always 2:30 in the morning when they decide this? 

It was indeed 2:30 a.m. when I was awakened by this incessant beeping sound.  The thing is, however, it only beeps ONCE in ridiculously ineffective increments of a minute apart making it virtually impossible to locate the origin of the problem.  *Beep!*  I thought it was coming from the guest room so I walked in there, stood under it and waited that crucial minute to be sure.  *Beep!*  Crap.  Wrong room.  Maybe it’s the one in the hallway.  Move.  Stand.  Wait.  *Beep!*  Nope.  It’s definitely coming from downstairs.  Move.  Stand.  Wait.  *Beep!*  Definitely NOT coming from downstairs.  Back upstairs I go to Samantha’s room.   *Beep!*  Not Samantha’s room.  Cory may have heard me say something bad and he was roused from his slumber.  “What are you doing?”  I quietly articulated in whispers my genteel strategy for trying to locate the offending &$%!*$# alarm.  *Beep!*  A-HA!  I am pretty sure the sound is coming from Drew’s room.  Move.  Stand.  Wait.  *Beep!*  Bingo!  That was it.  All I had to do now was yank the battery out – then I would deal with it tomorrow and go back to sleep.  Open.  Yank.  Close.  *Beep!*  “What the…?!”  I had the right alarm, but it was not enough to remove the battery because the blasted piece of crap was hooked up ELECTRONICALLY.  The battery is just a backup for the electricity!!  Very well, I’ll just replace it with one of the 87 batteries we keep stashed in the drawer downstairs.  Let’s see…what do we need here…a NINE VOLT?  Interesting.  We don’t seem to have ANY of those.  Double AA’s?  Triple AAA’s?  I have a plethora.  Nine volts?  Our lightsabers don’t require 9-V’s so we don’t happen to have a drawer full.  It was now three o’clock in the morning and Cory said, after putting on his red cape, “I’ll just run to Wal-Mart and get one.”  Now that the whole family was alert and would not be sleeping until the alarm was officially SHUT UP, we decided to use our time wisely and read the scriptures.  Just kidding.  Who does that?  I have to be honest though, I DID go in the other room and say a prayer – I specifically asked that the battery would fix the problem after Cory got back because, and I am not exaggerating when I confess that I said, “If this doesn’t work then somebody is going to die, and I don’t want to go to jail.”  Call me sacrilegious, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do. 

Cory returned, prayers were answered, and we finally went back to bed.  Thanks to Costco I now have a sleeve of nine volt batteries in the drawer just waiting, and I am DARING for them to do this to me again.

In the last few weeks I’ve been surrounded by a lot of Mormons.  First I went to Utah, and last night I got back from a few sunny days at my sister’s house in Mesa, Arizona – the kind of place where your dentist is your stake president and the kid working behind the counter at the movie theater is the same kid who will pass you the sacrament the next day.  Friday night we ate Mexican food at a place called Tia Rosa’s and as soon as we walked in we spotted more than one group where the men wore suits and ties and the women were in their Sunday best, seemingly fresh out of a temple session and basking in the joy of fresh chips and salsa.  Anyway, here are a few trip highlights: 

-          When I was going through security at the Denver Airport I think the TSA guy developed a crush on me because the metal detector kept going off and he kept asking me to take eliminate more clothes.  *beep*beep* “Sorry ma’am you’re going to have to remove your jacket.” My “jacket” was a sweater – good thing I was wearing a full t-shirt underneath.  Try again.  *beep*beep* “Sorry ma’am you’re going to have to take off your belt.”  Try again.  *beep*beep*  I was getting frustrated and said, “I don’t have anything more metal on me!”  “Try your earrings,” he suggested.  I removed my earrings and stuck them in the dish and tried to go through again, but as I approached the threshold the TSA guy said, “Ma’am, I’m sorry but you still have your pants on.”  I’ve been told not to mess with those TSA people because let’s face it, with the authority to frisk you and revoke flying privileges I really want to be their friend.  So I looked at the guy blankly and then he started to laugh, “I’m just kidding ma’am, you’re good to go.”  I guess it was the earrings because I finally made it through without any beeping.  And then the TSA guy asked for my phone number.  Just kidding. 

-          When we finally got on the plane the guy sitting behind my teenage daughter almost got arrested.  He called the flight attendant a bad word, then when she tried to kick him off he refused.  They called the supervisor, threatened to call police, and eventually he complied.  Exciting!

-          I want to be sure that the reference to fresh chips and salsa gets proper attention (heaven forbid it be overshadowed by the suggestion of temple worship – priorities!).  Thin, crispy, salty, and hot off the press, the chips made me very happy.  And I bet that group had a very spiritually uplifting temple session.

-          Two movies in two days.  I love movies.  Some people think they are a waste of money but these people have obviously never watched Josh Duhamel for two hours on the big screen.  Hi Josh.  In a couple of months I will need someone to mow my lawn.  Are you free? 

-          Freshly picked oranges EVERY. DAY.  My sister has several orange trees on her property and it just so happens that they are all in season.  I don’t know, there’s just something about picking fresh food off a tree that makes me want to wear Birkenstocks and sunbathe in the nude to Bob Marley.

-          So far in this post I have made two nude references and ogled over a male celebrity.  I’m blaming hormone replacement therapy.

-          Met up with a friend and reminded her who is boss when it comes to Nurts.  To her credit she holds all the cards when playing Disney Scene It and dominated in Canasta, but only because she changed the rules when she found out she was losing.  Oh well, what else do you expect from an adult who prefers Ring Pops to Reese’s peanut butter cups? 

-          Watched my daughter zip around the house on my nephew’s plasma car.  Have you seen these things?  If you have a lot of hard wood or tile in your house and little kids (or not so little kids – the things handle up to 250 lbs) these toys are hilarious.  My nephew zipped around like Dale Earnhardt on crack cocaine and the only thing he ever hit was his stride.

-          January.  72 degrees.  Short sleeves.  Windows down.  The End.

Samantha came home from school today with a permission slip for me to sign – the middle school wants to show my daughter two PG-13 movies and one rated R movie during class.  One of the movies was fine with me, the other one I knew nothing about, and the rated R one was an easy “No” right off the bat.  It’s not part of my agenda to dissect how you might handle this situation, but I wanted to let you know about a resource that helped me handle mine in case you find yourself in a similar predicament.   

Basically, I had one “yes”, one “no”, and one “maybe”.  It’s the “maybe” that sometimes trips me up because I don’t know how to judge it.  The movie in question was from twelve years ago and I had not seen it, and if I had I probably wouldn’t have remembered it anyway.  Even now when I watch movies that I loved as a teenager I am a little shocked because now I actually get all the references!  So what is a girl to do?  Call all her friends and say, “Did you see this movie twelve years ago?  Was it bad?  Would you let your adolescent daughter watch it?”  First of all, I DID call all my friends but she wasn’t home.  So instead I turned to this awesome website that I have become a huge fan of and if you are not aware of it, you should be.  It helps me be a better parent.  It’s called “Kids In Mind”, and what it does is break down the movie into three categories – Sex/Nudity, Violence/Gore, and Profanity.  It not only rates the three groups but it goes explains just about everything that happens in the movie that persuaded them to arrive at that rating.  

I suppose the only thing I would warn is that it sometimes makes things sound worse than they are.  Either that or I have been so desensitized that I have turned into a shell of the woman who once told a boy in 5^th grade that she could not go steady with him because she was afraid that one day he might hold her hand and she would become pregnant.  ANYway.  To illustrate my point I typed an inquiry on the movie, “Alvin & The Chipmunks:  The Squeakuel.”  May I just say that if you have seen this movie I am very, very sorry.  I know it’s your children’s fault.  At any rate, this movie received a 2 rating for Sex and Nudity.  I know!  How does Alvin walk away with anything but a zero here?  Here is a little of how they explain it: 

> Three female chipmunks dance and sing using suggestive hip gestures. Three female and three male chipmunks look at each other longingly and moan.

> A man sings a song to a woman about “Being my girl.” A chipmunk says that a woman is “Practicing her pole dancing.” A remark is made about a chipmunk having “Junk in the trunk.” A chipmunk calls to a crowd, “Shake what your mama gave you.” A chipmunk says, “Call me” to a teen girl. 

Who knew you could make three furry creatures who have never gone through puberty sound like pervs?  Still, I find this website incredibly helpful.  “Can we watch this movie at the birthday party?  Can I go see this with my friends?”  Now I have a resource to look to, and I don’t have to sit through it first to find out.  Some might call it lazy parenting, I call it…well they’re probably right.

For the last several days I’ve wanted to get on here and tell you about my big, spiritual experience I had last weekend.  It was big!  It was spiritual!  It involved waffles and an apostle, but to be honest I’m not sure which one I feel most strongly about.  Here’s what happened.  

First, I got on a plane and made a pilgrimage to Utah to see my darling niece and her adorable fiancé get married.  Let’s talk about Utah for a second.  First of all, one thing I love about the place is that no matter where you go there seems to be homemade bread.  There is so much homemade bread, in fact, that I worry about the Utahns realizing how good they have it because they might take it for granted.  I imagine it’s kind of how Donald Trump’s kids feel about gold plated faucets.   

Secondly, the billboards.  You can learn a lot about a place by reading its sky high advertising along the freeways.  On a drive through Arizona once we saw a lot of plugs for meteorites and beer.  Cactus!  Meteorites!  Alcohol!  Welcome to Arizona.  If you were to drive through the Rocky Mountains on your way to Colorado you would see signs for Buffalo Bill’s resting place, yellow, shiny warnings to alert you of wildlife, and ads for hot springs.  Cowboys!  Deer!  Swimming in pools that smell like rotting broccoli!  Welcome to Colorado.  What fascinates me about Utah is that you can be driving down I-15 and see one billboard dedicated to modest wedding dresses, then drive another 50 feet and spot the advertising for breast augmentation surgery.  Huh?  Skiing!  Long skirts!  Plastic surgery so when your husband runs into his ex-girlfriend at Temple Square you’ll feel worthy of his love!  Welcome to Utah.  (Don’t hate – you know I love you guys.) 

At any rate, on Thursday I watched one of the 12 apostles marry my niece to her beloved for time and all eternity in the SLC Temple.  His advice was sound and I committed a couple of things to memory, not the least of which went something like this:  “The music of a marriage isn’t meant to be sung in unison but rather in harmony.”  In other words, accept each other’s differences and make it work instead of trying to change the other person to think and be more like you.  Brilliant.  That was spiritual experience number one. 

Spiritual experience number two was initiated while we waited on the temple grounds for the bride and groom to emerge – my brother pulled me aside and said, “As soon as we’re done taking our pictures I need to take you to a waffle house about three blocks from here.  Best waffle you will EVER. EAT.”

I wasn’t sold.  “I had waffles for breakfast at the hotel breakfast bar,” I replied.

“You don’t understand,” he pushed.  “This is a very special waffle.  It’s yeast based and has sugar pearls in it and…and…and….”

I was enjoying watching my brother share his enthusiasm for the waffle, but I still resisted just a bit.  “I make pretty good waffles at home with a homemade syrup that is to die for.”

My brother likes a challenge and didn’t back down.  “Kris, I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying.  We NEED to go there, and you NEED to have one of these waffles.”

Seeing as the alternative was standing in 20 degree temperatures to follow the wedding party around and watch them take pictures, he didn’t really have to twist my arm.  Off we went, and this is where my writing will show its weakness because ladies and gentlemen, there are no words to adequately describe what happened to me next. 

As I walked into the quaint establishment, now crowded by 13 of my closest family members, I surveyed the menu when the instigator of this field trip pulled me aside to deliver precise instructions.  “Here’s what you’re getting,” he said.  I had a cinnamon liege waffle with fresh strawberries, whipped crème fraiche, and the whole thing was drizzled with dark Belgian chocolate.  I took a bite and went weak in the knees – you have got to be kidding me.  Turns out my brother did not exaggerate about the sanctity of this experience.  With all of the ingredients being imported from Belgium, my first taste revealed a texture that was crispy on the outside, but chewy and sweet on the inside.  The Europeans have a special gift for this kind of thing.  The tartness of the berries combined with the richness of the chocolate and decadence of the crème fraiche made it so I hardly even noticed the replica of the Mannekin Pis taking a leak over my head.  In that instant I wanted all of my friends and family to be there so we could share in the beautiful moment together.  I confessed to those who were there that I wasn’t sure which spiritual experience of the day to regard more highly – it’s more complicated when one is addicted to food. 

All I know is that if you live in any kind of reasonable vicinity to Salt Lake City (Guam, for instance), you owe it to yourself to pay a visit to Bruges Waffles & Frites.  Next time I’ll invite the apostle to come with us and maybe we’ll be translated.

I heard her tell the story a couple of times.  As the new president of the Young Women’s organization she was sharing an experience with them about the beginnings of her testimony of the gospel. “I had a teacher once who told me the gospel was true, and I knew she wouldn’t lie to me.”  She continued, “I want you to know that I wouldn’t lie to you either.”  It reminded me of the scripture that says, “To some it is given…to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God….To others it is given to believe on their words.” (D&C 46:13-14) 

Mormons.  There are a lot of us, and we grow in numbers every day.  We’re in the mainstream media, we’re in sports, we’re blogging all over the place, and we’ve even shown up as contestants on reality TV.  However we got here, it’s my belief that what KEEPS us here – participating in Sunday worship, paying our tithing, helping to move a friend, bringing a meal to someone in need, accepting the assignment to serve in a calling – is the critical element.  Kind of like a marriage – it’s easy to fall in love and get married, it’s working on the marriage and staying focused on the prize that keeps us checked in.  So what is it that keeps your testimony going?  What is the hope that begs you to stay plugged in? 

There’s a new blog that just launched at the beginning of the year that is asking this very question, and they are asking US to answer in a very creative manner.  The blog is “Hopefully Mormon”, and the idea is to share in a more visual way how we keep our hope alive.  To illustrate, the first story I shared with you might look something like this:

I love this idea!  I love that it’s short and sweet, I love that it’s visual, and I love how you can say so much with so little.  You have to check this website out and consider sending in your own submission.  Hopefully Mormon.  You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, it will become a part of you.

It’s just one question that I have.  How is it, when it is PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE for me to ever experience PMS again, that this happened? Read the rest of this entry »

Back in my dating years one of the qualities I looked for in a husband was that I wanted somebody who knew how to work hard, but also knew how to play; I didn’t want to marry a workaholic who couldn’t define himself outside of his job.  Well, I found him.  Cory strikes a very good balance between work and play –  his golf game is almost as respectable as his work ethic and I don’t have to worry about what he’ll do after retirement.  Sometimes though, sometimes I worry that he might be more in tune with his inner child than might be healthy. 

A few days ago Drew was playing at a friend’s house when he called and asked if they could come back to play at OUR house.  Cory was confused.  After all, Drew’s friend had a Wii and a full basement and two little brothers who idolize him.  Our house had indoor plumbing, a fireplace, a few fake plants and a Play Station that boasts two broken Guitar Hero instruments.   

Aaaaaand…the clues to the whereabouts of the dragon.  You heard me, DRAGON CLUES. 

Drew got this book series for Christmas, and he and his best cul-de-sac buddy spent the better part of Christmas break looking for dragon clues in the empty field behind our house.  That’s all I had to explain to Cory before he was in the garage searching for parts he could assemble together so he could make dragon tracks in the snow, strengthening the boys’ theoretical evidence.  The next day I ran into my neighbor at our clubhouse and she motioned me over and asked, “What were your husband and daughter doing yesterday out back?”  Only then did I realize that there are no suitable words for explaining that your spouse and offspring were using duct tape and wood fragments to simulate a dragon footprint, but somehow I feel like it improved my credibility to be dressed in spandex, sweating to U2 and testing my relationship with the elliptical. 

Something you should know about “Dragonology” is that inside the book they have a translation for the Dragon alphabet.  For the last several days Cory has been slipping out of the house to write messages in the snow using the Dragon alphabet, thus introducing a fantastical conversation between boy and beast:

Who are you?

I am Thorn.

Where do you live?

Under the Flat Iron Mountain.

Can we meet?

This question has since been dumped on by a fresh layer of snow so the boys will have to wait for the answer, but the weekend tested Cory’s commitment when the boys announced their plan: at 7:00 pm on Saturday night they were going to take the neighbor’s night vision goggles and go out on the deck to see if they could spot the dragon.  Suffice it to say, Cory’s commitment level is strong.

Minutes before seven o’clock, donned in a black turtleneck, a ski hat and his bagged accessories including a homemade torch, gasoline, and flammable hornet’s spray, Cory headed for the outdoors with instructions that if Drew asked his whereabouts that we tell him he had gone to get some gas for the car.  Several moments later my front door burst open with two very animated boys yelling that, “THEY HAD SEEN THE DRAGON!!!”  Apparently, Cory’s plan worked.   Having situated himself a safe distance away he dipped the torch into some gasoline,  sprayed it with the flammable hornet’s spray, and successfully convinced my son and his friend that they had witnessed a dragon exhaling his fiery breath into the chill of the night air.  Retrieving the book, they furiously flipped through the pages of Dragonology to study the various species so they could accurately identify the specific dragon that they saw. 

Am I married? 

Yes.

Do I have children?

Yes.

How many?

Depends.  On weekdays from 7am – 6:30pm I have one husband and two children.  Weeknights and weekends, I am a single parent with three kids.