Slimy Six

The world hasn't ended, but it's highly likely that hell has indeed frozen over.

2012-01-06T14:36:00.001-06:00

We got a dog.

Anyone who knows me knows how ridiculous that is. The girl you know and love is unreasonably afraid of dogs and kept having kids to avoid getting her child a pet. I understand the distress this may cause. But this isn't another Harold Camping prediction that people will never take seriously in the first place and then be immortalized into popular culture by an excellent Parks and Recreation episode.

This is real life people. And this is happening.

Dave and I made the decision to get a dog much like we decided to get married and have kids. It can be summed up with the phrase, "That seems awesome. Let's do it!" It's worked out so well for us so far, how can we ever learn our lesson?

Now that's not to say that we didn't try to be reasonable about it. First, we talked about it for a couple weeks. Then, our beloved pet rat Tofu died, and so we thought, "Let's really look seriously at this whole 'dog' thing." We googled dogs for like 27 whole minutes and planned to go to the Austin Animal Center (i.e. the Pound) after the kids went to school.

But then Otto stayed home sick. We couldn't very well wait until the next day. That's for smart people! Those internet dogs were super cute. So we told Otto we had a little errand to run, but that he had to keep it completely secret. (It should be noted that Otto is well known for his excellent memory as well as for his complete inability to keep a secret. In the end, it wouldn't matter.)

We drove to the Pound and took a tour. We (responsibly) spoke with a counselor about several of the small dogs we liked and wanted to get more information on. All of which were too new to interact with, except one. She had been in foster care for about a month, adopted two days ago and returned within 24 hours. Let's take a look, we say!

A nice kid took us back to the the cages and said, "Oh, you want to see that mean one?" Uh...yes? That's the one. Nothing doing. She backed into a corner and growled when he tried to coax her out. He suggested I approach the cage while it was closed. She came up sniffing and wagging. He asked if I wanted to try to take her out. Sure I do! She gave me a little lick. We took her out to a pen to play and she jumped around excitedly, rolling over to get pet, wagging her little tail. All remaining wisps of reason dissipated. We had imprinted.

We said we were interested, and so they gave us the low down on her: She was picked up as a stray on the street, knocked up and running with a pack of chihuahuas who had been menacing neighborhood children.

Perfect! We'll take her!

And that was that. One free leash and 10 minutes of paperwork later, we were walking out the door with Penny. (It's the name she came with, which suits her perfectly and happens to be the fortuitous namesake of one of our favorite Pee-Wee's Playhouse segments.)

She does growl at children; the smaller the better. (We imagine her saying, "I think I can take this one. I got this!") She doesn't like men, although she has been slowly warming to Dave who bribes her with bacon. (Smart boy.) Although she loves and plays with him, she sometimes sees Otto as her competition and doesn't like giving him space beside me on the couch. (Otto wins, incase there was any doubt.) She is house-trained but prefers to poop in the house, if given the choice. (It's nice and cozy in there!)

We all enjoy imagining what her life must have been like before and how wonderful it is now. When she's not begging for a belly rub or being fed an alarming amount of treats, she has long naps in whatever sunny spot she can find.

She perfectly fits our imperfect family. And we love each other!

The Chip Bag Diaper™ PSA

2011-11-01T19:53:00.000-05:00

Changing lives, people. One Bag Diaper fold at a time.

You know where to find me.

2011-10-04T08:51:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things to do is read through the google search terms used to lead a googler to my blog. Inevitably, one or two will be good for a laugh. But the current list a pretty fantastic collection.

I think "man portrait wrinkles" is my favorite, but it's a close second to "old woman doing a stretch." What I'd really love to know is what was the searcher actually trying to find? And did they find it here? I sincerely hope so.

I think the main take-home here is that if you're searching for my blog with google, just enter anything about a wrinkles. Specifying man, woman or bitch doesn't really matter; you'll make it here all the same.

Birth of a Fitness Instructor

2011-09-30T12:45:00.002-05:00

Boy, if there was one thing I thought I'd never do, it is become a fitness instructor. (That, along with living in Texas.) Firstly, because I was always skinny-fat, meaning I didn't really have to do anything to stay thin. Squishy, but small. Secondly, because those people are cuh-ray-ZEE! However, babies, years and the desire to be healthy turned me first into a runner and then into a gym rat.

About 10 months ago, I started taking a class called BodyPump. I'd taken many classes over the years, but something was different about it. The energy, the challenge, the people. It became an obsession. I was scheduling everything around it, including family members' airport departures (sorry about that, Erin and Trav!).

A couple months ago, I caught wind that they'd just done a training for BodyPump instructors at my gym, and I had a friend who went through it. She told me all about it, and while it sounded mildly insane, with her encouragement, I started looking into it further. She told me to talk to our instructor about it after class. That instructor said she herself was a master trainer and was running a training session starting Friday. She also said I needed to be sponsored (she'd work it out), that I'd need a ride to the location 3.5 hours away (she'd give me one) and that I probably needed a place to stay (I could stay in her hotel room). See what I mean about fitness people and their crazy? (Crazy awesome.)

Off I went with my instructor and a perfect stranger (the perfect part would stick, the stranger part lasted about 5 whole minutes) who would also be driving with us, sleeping with us, and attending the training.

I won't bother you with all the fascinating details Dave so graciously listened to me spill for about three hours straight. But I will say the following...

There was a bit of off-roading (literally). There was fear and anxiety (loads). There was vomit (thankfully, not my own). There were tears (of frustration, of gratitude, of relief). There was laughter (driven primarily by sleep deprivation). And there were lots and lots of unexpected triumphs.

Oh, and did I mention the acupuncture? Yes, there was that too.

It was one of the most physically, mentally and emotionally challenging things I've ever done. And if it wasn't for the following three people, it would have never happened...

My BodyPump trainer who, for no good reason, had all the faith in the world that I could do it.

My perfect stranger, who is now a perfect friend. (I heart you, Ingalls.)

And my sweet husband, who despite nearly 19 years of experience with me, still thinks I can do anything and will do absolutely anything to make it happen. (When will he ever learn?!)

Of course, it's not over. I still have to submit a video to be fully certified. In the meanwhile, and again thanks to my trainer, I have already picked up class to teach.

Sure, I always thought I'd end up being a teacher. I just thought I'd be teaching a forensics class in an anthropology department somewhere.

Maybe next year.

The Post In Which I'm Discovered By Tina Fey

2011-06-17T10:44:00.007-05:00

When I said I was going to post a pic a week for a year, we didn't think that would really happen, now did we? Remember that whole thing about me not doing what anyone tells me to? That also applies to myself. I told myself I would do that whole picture thing, and here I am a couple months behind. I knew I was in trouble when I had to backdate the post to show up in the correct week on two different occasions.

Let's reprise an old theme to give a clearer picture of my problem: books and obstinacy. I've been wanting to read Tina Fey's book Bossypants since the day it came out. Then Dave said he was going to buy it for me, when he realized that—duh—he gave me a Kindle. So he told me to just go ahead and buy it.

See how he just told me to do something as well as it having the implication I will read a certain book? Also, Sofie read it while I was avoiding it and told me to read it right away. It's like these people have never met me.

For reference, I am a HUGE Tina Fey fan. I'm talking pre-Sarah-Palin-head-writer-of-SNL Tina. I love what she is doing for women and doing for women in comedy. She proves that you can be sentimental and crass and funny AND a woman, but she isn't defined by her crassness, like so many other female comedians I can think of. I know you all like her now, but did you like 30 Rock since day one? I bet you started warming to it about the same time Tina was doing Sarah?

It's fine that you like her. I want everyone to like her. I'm just trying to give you context for me avoiding her book. It's completely unreasonable, bordering on insane**.

So I finally read it. It is pure genius.

Since turnabout is fair play, I told Dave that in order for us to stay married, he's going to have to read that book. He said he doesn't read books and that he already knows Tina Fey is hilarious. No, I said. To understand me, you must read her book. But, I do understand you, he says. And I don't read books.

I try to relay little nuggets of hilarity to entice him, but if there's one thing about me, it's that I'm really really bad at retelling jokes and anecdotes. If they are my own, fine. But if they are someone else's, it will always be like the last pfttt moment before all the air finally leaves a deflating balloon. Dave never laughs when I retell what was a funny story, except for the occasional strained I-really-don't-want-to-hurt-your-feelings-but-you-buchered-that laugh.

Just read the damn book, Dave.

As far as my pictures go, since I already busted up that whole thing, I'm going to just go ahead and keep posting, but without a set once-a-week thing.

Trust me, I know I'm literally the only person who cares about this. But along with being a little childish, I'm also full of misplaced integrity.

**What else is insane: As I was reading Bossypants on the elliptical at the gym, and laughing out loud every 3 minutes or so, I found myself subconsciously fantasizing a little about her reading the blog post that I was going to write about reading her book. After she recovered from laughing, she would invite Sofie and me to lunch. Amy Poehler would be meeting us there. We'd all be great friends. I realized at that moment that I have a long standing tradition of fantasizing about famous people recognizing my innate talent and winning personality. In the case of my 10-year-old self, it was about being pulled up on stage with El Debarge to sing a duet of Who's Johnny.

Spring in Thomasville

2011-06-02T18:03:00.012-05:00

We've done a lot. The good part is that I have a ton of blog material. The bad part is, I've had no time to blog. But the lazy days of summer are here.

In April we went to Port Aransas with our best friends, Val and Mer.

The beach had so much seaweed that there were backhoes loading it into dump trucks. Also, there were sea lice. Ever heard of them? They are crazy. Crazy horrible. And they live in seaweed. See where I'm going with this?

Also, the sand was so fine that it couldn't really be brushed off of anything, and I was nervous to use my camera on the beach.

So here's one of the few pictures I took during our vacation...

I think it's a fair representation of the trip. I know with the sea lice/seaweed situation, it sounds like it was a disaster. So wrong. Because any trip with Val and Mer is full of pants-peeing laughter. In other words, it doesn't matter where we go together, it's always going to be the best vacation ever.

Shortly after the trip, this happened...

Which compelled me to turn this...

Into this...

That was followed by many hours of wondering how in the world we got here so fast.

But there wasn't much time before I had to do this...

Which turned into a huge fire hazard, much to Otto's delight...

I wanted to stop and wonder some more.

But we decided this needed to happen on the last day of school...

Moves were busted...

Groves were gotten on...

And I realized too late that we never taught Sofie you should always be friends with ugly girls.

So you can be the cutest.

I realized the teens at my party were the least of my worries...

And even when loads of important, crazy, loud and frantic things are happening...

Important things like this still can...

Life is good.

#11-Guest Photographer: Sofie

2011-05-18T23:54:00.000-05:00

I've been busy the past several weeks. And I'm ready to get back at this blog thang in a minute.

I'll debrief you with a rundown in the next week or so.

But as I was dumping the memory card on my camera, I came across these photos taken by my dear Sofie. And I swear to you, I am posting these in a series, just as they appear on my camera. Unedited and in a complete sequence.

Budding artist?
Brilliant photographer?
Darling daughter?

Yes to all of the above.

#10-N/A: Picture of a Picture (self-portrait lite)

2011-04-16T22:23:00.000-05:00

This is SO not art.

Dave and I were at our new favorite restaurant, Justine's, tonight. I've eaten there twice. Yesterday and today. I was there last night with some new friends and liked it so much that I was more than happy to take Dave back the very next night so he could try it too. I think he liked it even more than I did, which is ridiculous.

I won't bore you with food descriptions, except to say it was just so so SO delish. But this is a boring photography post, not a boring food post. So, I will bore you with the picture instead.

This is a picture of a picture I wanted to take. I didn't have my camera with me. I actually don't carry it wherever I go, because sometimes I just don't want to be in photography mode. Sometimes I want to be connected and engaged, and that's just not easy with a camera distracting me. Tonight, I wanted a nice little quite dinner, in a nice little east side restaurant, with my nice little spouse. The camera was not a part of that scenario. But, while there, I saw two pictures that I really really wanted to take, but couldn't. C'est la vie, I say. (And I say it in my best French accent, because we're at a French brasserie!)

However, sometimes I will still take a picture of the picture I wanted to take. The vision is utterly mutilated by my camera phone, but it reminds me, and sometimes I want the reminder.

Here's my picture of my picture:

This was taken in the bathroom stall of the restaurant. It was lit with candles and had a scratchy, broken mirror on the wall. I think it could have made a really great picture.

But who knows? Maybe it would've sucked.

On Creativity

2011-04-13T17:49:00.003-05:00

How's that for a gripping title? If you clicked through to read this, I must assume you are super bored today, and so I'm not going to worry so much about entertaining you. Clearly, you've got nothing better to do.

I haven't posted a written blog post in a couple weeks. All day I've been thinking, "It's Wednesday, and I haven't updated the blog. I really should. What is there to write about?" And then I get distracted by my taco and mentally wander away. It was a really good taco.

When I finally wander back with my full belly, I try hard to think of something. And of course nothing comes. And I wonder why I can't ever think of something on demand. Seriously, I NEVER can.

Whatever. Wander wander.

In school when I was growing up and was asked to do some creative writing assignment or art thingy, I sincerely thought I was the least creative person in the world. I couldn't even effectively be fed a starting idea. It's just as bad as starting with no idea at all. Maybe worse.

I sometimes feel so discouraged and uncreative when I go around looking for something to take a picture of, or try to think of an idea to blog about. Why can't I just see the world creatively when I want to? It's why I hated the assignments in my photography class. I can mechanically produce what's being required, but it just was never going to be something I like. I hated having them critiqued, not because I was afraid of people saying bad things, but because I knew they were nothing. It was very worthwhile in terms of technical execution. And I needed that. But it was, for me, totally creatively worthless.

And then I read this article that Dave sent me a few days ago. (I don't know why it took me a couple days to get around to it, except for that old knee-jerk never wanting to do what someone tells me to. Let me tell you, it is fantastic being married to me.) And I was like, holy wow! I so get this and it is SO inspiring. Now I have to tell everyone I know!

And it also made me think about how I create things. Inspiration comes to me completely involuntarily. And I must absolutely start with that spark before creating something. That goes for writing, photography and whatever else. When I find inspiration, I can barely contain myself! I feel like I might explode from excitement! For real. I have a physical reaction to it. My heart races, I breathe a little faster, and I want to tell Dave all about it in exhaustive detail. (You're thinking: I really wish I could be married to her! She sounds like a dream! I know. Please. Contain yourselves.)

It doesn't even have to be something that's inspiring me to do something for me to get all nutty. I can be (and often am) inspired by food and want to enthusiastically share every detail of a particular meal with any hapless victim to fall into my web of enthusiasm. For instance, my friend's bread recipe. Everyone should have it. (I really really love food, in case you didn't know.)

I'm just now starting to understand and embrace my own way of being creative. I'm such a non-spontaneous person in regular life. I literally can't buy a gallon of milk without price comparing every brand, every... single... time. Statistics is one of my favorite subjects, because I like formulas so much. Formulas are predictable, orderly and safe. When I load the dishwasher, my goal is not to make it all fit. It's to make it all look orderly. Not to suggest that I live an orderly life, because anyone who's been to my house would strenuously contest that. But mentally, I'm quite orderly, and it has many external manifestations.

So, I suppose it makes sense that my creative self would utterly rebel against that.

When I read that article, I felt that explosive, adrenalin-filled excitement. I'm starting to recognize it better, and I like it that way.

So go create something! (Or don't, you know, if you don't feel like it.)

#9 N/A: Mr. Pinewood Derby 2011

2011-04-09T23:17:00.002-05:00

Waiting for weigh in.

Our little African-American princess had to wait on the sidelines. We don't want to call her fat, but she was three ounces too many. Which is to say, she weighed three ounces.

The competition.

The distance.

Bring it.

A nail-biter for Otto. A bitter pill for Gus.

"Most imaginative?"

You'd better believe it.

But seriously, which car do you think everyone was talking about?

Hint: not the "winner."

P.S. Gus said the best part of the design was that the guy looked just like him. I like a kid with a healthy self-esteem.

#8-N/A or maybe A: Sarah and Robbie's Engagement

2011-04-02T21:39:00.006-05:00

This post has been delayed due to technical difficulties. Difficulties that have yet to be resolved. So here they are. Sorry about the gray block at the bottom of the pics. Apparently, there was some corruption of these files, but to fix it would have taken a ridiculous amount of time. I will do it eventually but couldn't do it in time to get this post up. Please, forgive the imperfections.

I wanted to post these pics in honor of my sister Sarah's visit to Austin this weekend. She foolishly entrusted me with the sacred job of taking her engagement photos. I'm eternally grateful she gave me the opportunity. I love how they turned out and give her lots of credit for creative collaboration. (She picked the locations and then gave me free reign.) And I just sincerely love her and her husband, and I hope that came through.

Here's the one they chose for their announcement...

Congrats, Sarah and Robbie. Love you forever.

Slimy Six? Gross!

2011-03-28T22:03:00.001-05:00

Ever wondered about this blog name? No? Well I'm-a gonna tell you anyhow!

In addition to the obvious family-of-six part, and the fact that we are gross, it's also in reference to our babies.

When our kids were infants, they were major barfers. You couldn't even call it spit-up, because that implies a quantity near the size of a spit-wad or something. Spit-up sounds almost sweet. Like a burp gone slightly awry. It's what babies do, and everything they do is adorable.

No way, my kids did not spit-up. They barfed. Sometimes, on a very special day, they projectile vomited. And not because they were ill. Oh no, that was on the good days.

First there was Soaf. She barfed a lot. Then there was Simon. He totally barfed more, though we didn't think it was possible. Then there was Gus. I have no idea how that kid gained weight. He was practically bulimic. Then there was Otto, who wasn't quite so bad as Gus, but still kept up a healthy level, so as not to be outdone. (Surprisingly, my kids—with the exception of Soaf—were all pretty chubby. Pure breast milk, baby.)

So after we moved from Sofie to Simon with the vomiting unabated, we took to calling him "slimeball." Because if you were holding him, you would absolutely get slimed.

Dave's grandma heard us call him slimeball and (with humor) expressed her concern for our choice of nickname. We explained why we called him that, and she said something to the effect of, "Well at least if he gets called names in school, he'll already be used to it, so it won't bother him." And then she had a hearty laugh. She's a practical woman.

This is the same grandma, incidentally, who was asking Dave's sister to help her name all the grand kids. When they came to Gus, who was four months old at the time, she said, "Are they still calling him that?" To which Dave's sister replied, "Yeah, Grandma. Because that's his name." And she said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to think of all the people I like named Gus." She began naming them, and reporting whether or not they were still alive. They were all dead. I don't like to play favorites with grandparents, but if I had to pick one, she'd be serious contender. And her name is Oda. Come ON! That is the raddest name ever.

Anywho, while you may have thought my blog name was at best confusing and at worst unsavory, you now know it is far far grosser than you could have ever imagined.

You're welcome.

#7-N/A: More kites?

2011-03-26T16:28:00.001-05:00

You asked for it! You got it!*

*Technically, no one asked for this.

(What can I say? It's been windy around here.)

Love Letter From A Secular Mormon

2011-03-22T01:08:00.001-05:00

AKA: The Bastard Child. (Mom: It's a joke! Ha ha!)

As I've said before: I don't like to talk serious-like. What is my problem? Dude. I need more funny. But honestly, this is a subject I spend time thinking about everyday. Literally...every...effing...day.

Dave and I were both raised devout Mormon and come from families who, with very few exceptions, are still devout. I think in many ways, Dave and I were drawn together through our questions of Mormonism rather than through our belief in it. Our marriage and belief have evolved over the last 17+ (!) years. So here we are, non-believers living a secular life (and when I say secular, there are margaritas involved). Not without faith, not without spirituality, not without belief. (And yes, I realize the whole "spiritual but not religious" thing is flake-city.) Certainly, Dave and I don't have all the same exact feelings or beliefs. But we sure are supportive of one another.

I often think I want to talk more openly about it. And certainly I don't feel like I shouldn't. It's just more like it is incredibly hard to help believers and non-believers alike understand where I'm coming from.

It's sort of like trying to explain to a man exactly what it's like to be a woman (or vice versa), and having them actually understand. (I think we can all agree how ridiculous that is.) But, in general, non-believers tend to be more accepting. Like, "What's the big deal? It's not like you're a drug addict or something."

Ah, but that's where you're wrong. I'm addicted to talking about Mormons.

What makes things even more interesting: one of our kids is pretty into Mormonism. And she is also super smart, liberal, kind, compassionate and seriously hilarious. Ultimately, I think our goal is to raise our kids to be people who respect other people's choices, and also feel their choices are equally worthy of respect. So when she gives a talk in church, I am going to freaking be there every time, tearing up with pride. Just like when my other kid is in a musical. Or when the other's in a choir singing on Veteran's Day. Or the other one who says he's not going to eat peanut butter sandwiches anymore, because otherwise he can't touch noses with his best friend who's allergic.

Here comes the really super important part: I respect and love lots of Mormons (and their beliefs!) deeply and without reservation. I don't feel like I need to qualify that. I accept them and they accept me. And that's why they are my friends and my family. Frankly, that fact has made my religious choices that much more difficult. It's a lot easier to walk away when you don't care about or respect the people you feel like you might be letting down. And I would be devastated if they ever felt like they couldn't share with me their feelings and experiences regarding their spiritual life without fear of judgement.

For the most part, I've actually been pretty amazed at the reactions of our family and close friends. Amazed in a good way. I'm sincerely proud to be part of them.

At the end of the day, (cliché time!) I have to be true to myself! And to what I think is right for me and my family. (*cliché induced dry-heave*) But just because it makes me gag a little, doesn't make it any less true.

#6-N/A: Austin Kite Festival 2011

2011-03-19T23:05:00.016-05:00

Austin has a kite festival every year. We tried to go last year, but it was so nuts, we literally turned the car around and went back to our neighborhood park to fly our kites.

This year, we made a plan.

First, Taco Deli. We were going to need our strength to battle that crowd and make the 1.2 mile walk from there to Zilker park. (It also happens that Taco Deli has the most ah-mazing tacos on the whole freaking planet, and frankly, any excuse will do.)

A couple pics...

It was a spectacularly perfect day. 66 degrees. Just crowded enough to be festive but not suffocating.

And no one even seemed to care that there wasn't quite enough wind to keep most of the kites up.

#5-A: Fetus Tree

2011-03-12T23:37:00.000-06:00

I was going to go with some profound title on this one like "Life in Death," but then I just opted for the ridiculous.

I'll tell you one thing that helps define a piece as art versus not art for me: whether or not it haunts me. Haunting goes squarely into the art category.

I saw this cut trunk on the way to Sime's school. But the thing is, I saw it a month ago. I couldn't stop thinking about it. And then I would look for it every couple days to see if it was still there. I was so worried it wouldn't be, it was keeping me up at night. I needed to photograph this trunk, or it was going to make me go just a little crazy. (Crazier than normal, that is.)

Another thing: I hate to pick just one photograph. Not because I think they're so amazing, it's just that each one has different qualities that are significant to me. I was only going to pick one. But then when I showed them to Dave, and explained to him what I like about them, he emphatically supported a multi post. That Dave...he's one of the good ones.

So here they are and the differences I find significant...

#1: I like the light fall off, texture and looming feel of the "fetus."

#2: This angle was a bit of an afterthought; I had actually started to pack up my equipment. But it turned out to be a favorite. It doesn't feature the "fetus" as much as I thought I wanted. But the vibrance of the sky cut by dark trees, plus the detail of the rotted trunk and low wide angle, make this an interesting perspective to me. It felt reminiscent of a Hayao Miyazaki creature.

These were shot with the camera hand-held and a tripod mounted flash.

Five Pounds of Candy

2011-03-08T17:58:00.002-06:00

Being a vegetarian and being healthy are two completely unrelated things. I sincerely wish that restaurants would get the memo and stop offering vegetarian items that are low-fat and on whole wheat tortillas. I don't eat animals, but I'm not anorexic. Let me say it another way...I love fat!! Fat equals flavor. (I like whole wheat, incidentally. But I'd never order it in a restaurant, because no one else does, which means it will undoubtably be dry and stale.)

You know what else I love? Candy. I was describing to a friend how much I love candy. She was like, "Yeah, so do I." As I went on, and she started to grasp the extent of my love, she said, "Oh, so you've got a candy problem." Yes. Yes I do. For example, sometimes, I eat candy instead of lunch. On purpose. Because I'm not hungry enough for both.

A month or so ago, my cousin asked what kind I liked best. How can I pick a favorite? It's like picking a favorite child. (Simon). So, I tried to list a few. Cinnamon bears, Big Hunk, sour watermelons, Hot Tamales, banana Runts? And then there's chocolate. Mmmmmm...chocolate. It also depends on the season. Christmas's peppermint bark or Easter's SweeTarts gummy bunnies? I mean, it can change depending on my mood and the weather.

So, a couple months ago, Gus and I decided to go on a candy-free diet. I've quit candy before. Maybe for a month. It's always tough, but I can usually make it. Gus and I decided on two weeks. (He didn't even eat desserts and had me put Kiefer and spinach salad in his lunch instead of juice and apples, because he thought it was healthier. Yes, he's pretty awesome.)

We did it, but my cravings were still so intense that I decided it needed to be longer. I found myself reflexively going to the candy bowl over and over and over. I was having cold sweats and the shakes. (I'm only slightly exaggerating here.)

I decided to hold out. I was going to break myself of this addiction if it killed me.

During this process, I noticed my clothes were fitting a little looser. I don't weigh myself often, because it plays tricks on the old brain. But I'd been to the docs office in January, so I knew about what I weigh. I hopped on the scale to find I was roughly five pounds lighter.

That's how much candy I was eating.

I'm not saying I'll never eat candy again. But I'm past the night sweats and the slobbering Pavlovian response. And it took like fully eight weeks to get that way. So, I'm not exactly anxious to fall off this wagon again.

(P.S. I promise I'm not one of those insufferable skinny-people-who-thinks-they're-fat. But I did gain about five pounds when I moved to Texas (re: queso). So now—I figure—me and Texas are even. Also, I don't really have a favorite child. Or if I did, I'd never tell. (Gus.))

#4-A: F is for Delightful

2011-03-02T22:24:00.001-06:00

Firstly, I decided I'm going to start labeling my photography posts with N/A (Not Art) and A (Art). There will be far fewer As than N/As, because the As take a lot more concepting, planning, time and stress induced hair pulling.

Secondly, this week's busy. I got roped into managing the middle school musical (Sime's in it) when I found the director in tears one morning. My heart isn't made of stone people. What that means is that I've been going all day working on stuff that should have been done by someone else weeks ago.

So, I'm cheating this week and posting a couple older pictures. One is from quite awhile ago and one is a few months. But they're similar exposures and illustrate an effect that I L...O...V...E. I think the technical term is "flaring," but don't quote me on that. Because then you might look stupid.

The first was a slightly more candid picture I took while shooting some holiday pics for a fantastic friend (more Fs!). The second was obviously more staged, taken last summer.

Flaring and flash. Two great tastes that taste great together.

#3 Self Portrait: Now when I smile, this happens...

2011-02-24T16:50:00.000-06:00

I'm starting to get used to it. But I have to say, those eye wrinkles really snuck up on me. I remember a few years ago, a friend emailed me a pic he had taken of me and Otto, and I was like, "Wait. Huh? Bad lighting." But in my heart, I knew I was full of it.

I had a similar experience when I was dying my hair last summer. As I looked carefully at the un-dyed regrowth over my ears, holy wow. An alarming number of gray hairs.

You have to understand, neither one of my parents started to gray until they were in their 50s (at least, that's the story). Man, was I ever smug about that, thinking I was home free. I've always said that I'd never dye to cover gray. I dye because I like my hair a couple shades darker than my natural color. When the time comes, I will take the aging high road.

Seriously, what an idiot.

I will dye you, gray hair...oh yes, for years to come.

I chose this picture because it shows my wrinkles the clearest. If you click on it you really get the good stuff. Let's just get it out there and be done with it.

36. Wrinkled and gray. And somebody get that old lady some Chapstick!

Next self portrait? Who knows. Stretch marks. Saggy butt. The possibilities are endless!

The Terrible Thirty-Sixes

2011-02-22T12:59:00.000-06:00

I love to read. I was once telling my mom that I feel guilty for reading, in the same way I feel guilty about watching television. She said that she never feels guilty for reading. Of course she doesn't, because the books she reads are usually scholarly publications. Fer reals. It would be like feeling guilty for working out. My reading is often like eating candy. So yummy. Empty calories.

I also don't like reading books that other people recommend to me. I don't mind the, "I really loved this book" recommendation. I'll even ask around when I'm looking for something new. It's the "YOU should really read this book; you'd love it!" that gets me.

Here's why:

First, it's sort of like someone recommending I wear a certain outfit. Please, don't buy me clothes for birthdays or Christmas. I will pretend to like them. I might even think I like them. But I will never wear them. My style is not open for interpretation, and I am unreasonably picky.

Second, it's the best way to make the defiant child in me come out. I've been invited to participate in many a book club. But I never will. Because whatever book is being read, I will not want to read for the simple fact that I'm being asked to. I hate feeling like I am required to read something.

Yesterday, Dave came in the bedroom, saw me reading and rightly demanded to know why I was reading a "real" book. (He gave me a Kindle for Christmas. It's the greatest thing ever. I love it. And I definitely prefer it to the old school way. I carry it everywhere and thrill at the knowledge that I have literally thousands of books at my fingertips.) But the book I was reading happened to be one that my daughter has been trying to get me to read forever. The Help. He let it slide.

The three-year-old in me has been avoiding it for months. (Sofie would say well over a year. But don't listen to her. I'm the adult, and she's chock-full of unreliable teen angst.) Yes, yes, the rules should be different with my own sweet kid. My kid who's like, "Mom, really, this is like my favorite book. I cried, Mom. Twice!" And I know she's really serious, because there is no eye-rolling or talk of boys. But I'm fighting my nature here, and this fight is huge.

Now that I'm reading it, I know I should have read it a long time ago. It's really great. And it gives me such a lovely insight into my darling kiddo. But will that make me change my ways? Not a chance. Except when it comes to Soaf's recommendations.

I really should have realized we would like the same books. We practically share a closet. And she's is the one person in the whole wide world that I will ask for an opinion on my outfit. She's a cool kid, and she's got a cool style. And don't you know where she got it.

**My horn...toot! toot!**

#2 Egg Cream (Skip it if you don't care about photography.)

2011-02-17T13:31:00.004-06:00

Among the many books I've read about photography, The Moment It Clicks was one that helped me understand the importance of being observant, flexible and patient. I've learned to wait and watch for something unexpected. Certainly, I miss things all the time by a split second. And being in photographer-mode really changes how you interact with the world. You become an observer versus a participator, which is not always ideal. But it becomes worthwhile if I'm lucky, I'm ready, and I capture something meaningful to me. And sometimes I don't even care that the shutter speed was just slightly too slow to capture a perfectly crisp image. The third pic is one of those.

The focus of the last photo isn't perfect. But it perfectly captures the moment for me. We happened to be at a soda fountain in Austin called "Big Top" on the perpetually popular South Congress, where there's a penny scale in the back that also answers questions and gives fortunes. And it really does cost just a penny. What could be awesomer?! (Nothing.) The question Otto had was something like, "Where do you find happiness?" Answer, "Under 'H' in the dictionary." He could not have been more delighted. And a great thing about him is that he will always turn to share a laugh with whomever will join in. Just like his mom. (Ask Dave. I do it frequently in movies. He's a patient husband.)

Like I said, I love flash. And it's easy to get great images indoors when you can bounce the flash. But not only is a good flash bulky, you draw far too much attention when you're in—say—a restaurant trying to bounce a super bright flash in low light while people are dining. Surprisingly, this annoys people. (So weird, I know!) So I normally save flash for my creative photography or as a bright light outdoor fill flash, and try to be as inconspicuous as possible by going wide-open, upping the ISO, and tolerating a less-than-ideal shudder speed.

Obviously, no big surprises there. It's not hard to get pretty great images in low light with no flash (though a decent lens is required), but you do need to go fully manual, or at the very least, to a priority mode. You can get great images in fully automatic mode under certain circumstances, if you don't mind sacrificing some creative control, but a full auto setting is consistently horrible in low-light. The first time I got decent images in a low-light, no-flash situation, it was seriously thrilling. And I continue to be delighted. (Yes, I'm a nerd. But you already knew that.)

What does this post have to do with egg cream? About as much as eggs or cream have to do with an egg cream. (An egg cream contains neither eggs nor cream.) But they do happen to sell them at Big Top. And I think that's pretty rad.

Snow Day

2011-02-16T10:53:00.000-06:00

It happened again. A snow day in Austin. When it happened last year (literally only a skiff), the children poured out from their classrooms and started throwing "snowballs" (read: snow/dirt/leaves/grass-balls). And since the teachers didn't know better, nobody stopped them.

My first reaction was to say, "You're not allowed to throw snowballs at school!" A kid looked at me like I had gone completely crazy. I had, really. There were no need for such silly rules in Texas, because there's no snow. Believe me, if they'd thought it was a possibility, our school district would have surely banned it.

So when it happened AGAIN this year in the wee hours of the morning, schools everywhere were cancelled. We got an inch and a half at best. You might be laughing to yourself as you look out the window at the snow corridor you have carved from your door to your child's bus stop. But if you live in a place where it never snows with a bunch of drivers who have never driven in the snow...and then it snows...and then you drive in it, you understand why they cancel school. You're taking your life in your hands. I had a doctor's appointment, and it was quite possibly the most frightening snow driving experience of my life. And I drove in snow for 20 years.

You'd think I'd have a high tolerance for cold, living in a cold climate all those years. Truth is, I really hate the cold. Mostly because I've always had a really hard time staying warm. If the temp drops below 60, I pull out the wool socks. No joke. So, I was momentarily annoyed by the snow. (I was freezing!) But since my kids are old enough to go out in it alone, all I had to do was bundled them up, and send them on their way. Soaf met a troop of teens for sledding and Starbucks. And the boys went out in the yard, to see what they could make of this paltry offering.

We happened to get a trampoline about a week before, and the kids have been jumping non-stop from the moment they get home, 'til the moment they are tricked into bed. Would a snow day stop them?

Whatever, snow day.

Here are the only pictures I captured (from the safety of my bedroom window) of their come-snow-or-shine trampoline obsession.

My favorite are the "snowmen" (much like the "snowballs") that come out of these meager storms. This year's were particularly delightful.You can imagine how hard they had to work to get that much snow.

Snow-Rex and blueberry eyes. Naturally.

At the end of the day, I was glad it snowed. You know...for kids. (Does it helps that, only one week later, it's now in the high seventies? Yer darn tootin'.)

Tomorrow will bring #2 in the photo series. It's nothing special. Except to me it is.

52 Weeks

2011-02-09T16:38:00.000-06:00

I really love photography. At times I think I'm good at it. At times I think I suck. Most the time I just think I'm just OK.

I've taken loads of pictures that I hate. It's so frustrating to have an idea in your head and not be able to execute it they way you see it.

Among the pics I like, I've shown a couple to a few people and gotten that unmistakeable don't-quit-your-day-job look. (I'm a SAHM, by the way. So I can't quit. And I can't be fired, no matter how bad I am at it. Ha.) And a SAHM plus digital SLR photography is beyond cliché. In fact, I had a friend once refer to them as "mama-razzis." It's a perfect description, right? But I like taking pictures. And I think I'm beginning to believe that's what's most important.

So, yeah. I'm doing it. One favorite pic (or series) of the week, every week, for a year. Sometimes they might be what I think of as "art" and some might just be something I like that I happened to capture. Either way, I'm committed. (This was inspired by a friend who's doing a self-portrait every week for a year. Although I might post a picture of myself, I don't really want do to it every week. Or at all, really. But maybe I'll force myself occasionally.)

I'm currently shooting on a Canon XSi body with a 24-70 f/2.8L lens. That's right, a mickey mouse body with a pro lens. I tried a 7D out for a few months, and while I love the features like...a ton (especially the higher ISO capabilities and auto focus advances), I didn't think the image quality was significantly better. At least, not enough to justify the extra thousand smacks. Of course, I want to upgrade sometime. But a pro photographer once told me that "it's all about the lens" (I think he may have even added on a "baby" at the end), and my limited experience says the same. I've also started using a Diana F+ on occasion with some surprisingly delightful results.

I'm going to start with a cheat. These pictures are not recent; I took them almost a year ago. But it's the first set I took that I really liked and looked just how I wanted them to. My first "successful" crack at creative flash photography. Flash will undoubtably be a recurring theme, because I am a flash addict.

Also, I'll probably cheat again with an old picture or two (or 52!). Because I'm lame like that.

Why I like these: the lighting is extreme. Harsh shadows and highlights. Also, that kiddo's pretty cute.

#1

(Am I really going to do this for a whole year? Yipe.)

Depression! It's what's for dinner!

2011-01-31T21:27:00.000-06:00

Man-o-man, is it ever hard for me to write blog posts when I'm feeling gloomy. It's hard enough to get through the day without laying into my kids for something they may or may not have done. (I don't ever make it through a whole day, in case you were wondering.)

So it turns out the holidays really suck without family and old friends around. Like...bad. And why in the Sam Hill would they put Thanksgiving and Christmas back to back? It's a horrible thing to do to a lonely girl. Long story short: I miss my family and friends. Can you tell?

I love Austin. I love my new friends. But I sincerely thought that it would get easier over time to be away from my other loved ones.

It's a damn lie. It gets harder.

I guess I'm just going to have to accept that it's probably always going to suck and accepting that fact might help me to get over it, at least to the degree that I need to in order to deal. Will it work? Probably not, but it's what I got.

Now that that's over, I can blog again.

Like you care.

Life's a beach and then you go to NASA.

2010-11-17T10:03:00.000-06:00

We haven't been to the beach since we went to Florida many years ago. I don't think we even got in the water, because it was too cold. I didn't feel disappointed at the time because, frankly, I think beach vacations with toddlers/babies are the worst! Maybe fun for the kid, but I find myself perpetually miserable and tired from drowning prevention and sand ingestion prevention. So even though we live closer to the beach than we ever have (about 3 hours), we haven't made it a priority.

A few Saturdays ago, we woke up and decided we wanted to go do something. For real! So we told the kids to pack it up and hop in the car. Three point five hours later we ran smack dab into a 13 mile long beach. It wasn't the prettiest beach—not even an official beach really, just what runs along the road on the way to the "real" beaches—but we were losing sun and wanted to get in the water.

It was like totally crazy fantastic. Apparently, our kids are the perfect age for the beach. And we will be going back again and again. And again.

And again.

Yes, I was there. And I love having my photo taken. And my tan-line is awesome.

We also went to NASA. It was sort of cool. In a heyday-50-years-ago kind of way.

Simon brought along his new camera, bought and paid for with his own money. The fullness of the miracle of digital photography was realized that day in the form of 200+ high res pictures of nothing in particular.

Hey look! It's me again!

The kids had a good attitude, but let's just say we didn't buy the season pass.

No one's home. (Heh heh.)

2010-09-22T11:12:00.000-05:00

I don't like the phone.

This fact has annoyed, amused and offended friends, family and acquaintances for years. I've got lots of theories as to why I don't like answering the phone. One of them involves the fact that someone I hardly knew once called to tell me to stop talking about boobs so much. (And if you think I'm joking, you'd be wrong. Dead wrong.) I cried. Dave comforted me. We both laughed. And then proceed to have a long conversation about boobs.

There are times I'm slightly less likely to avoid a ringing phone than other times. And if I don't answer the phone, it's not because I don't want to talk to you. I'd just so much rather chat in person. Let's do lunch. It's on me! (This time, that is. Next time, it's on you. Don't let's be greedy.)

Moving to Texas has helped me overcome this phobia to some degree. After all, I have no family here. And I love them and want to know what's going on in their lives. But when I called my sister a few months ago and almost gave her a heart attack, I realized I'm not cured and maybe even have a long way to go.

I also don't like answering an unexpected knock at the door. I know why that is: It's because 9 times out of 10 it's the Mormon missionaries. Yes, you will always be my people. I will gladly wave to you when you ride by on your bikes or give you a hearty "hello" when I pass you on the street. But I find our conversations awkward and tedious. (They never want to talk about boobs!)

Maybe if you called me to talk about boobs, I'd answer more often. But we need to have a code ring so I know.

Ring once for boobs.

Making the Cut

2010-09-09T21:06:00.003-05:00

Gus is, in some ways, what one would consider a classic middle child. Easy going. Peacemaker. All in all, a delightful kiddo. Sometimes I feel like he gets a little lost in the chaos of a big family. Especially with how busy the schedules get in middle school and high school. He cruises along, not making any waves, doing (mostly) what he's supposed to. (Except for brushing his teeth.)

This week, Gus tried out for after-school choir. And while singing among boys gets less popular as they get older (a fact that, thankfully, remains lost on my own boys), in elementary it's a completely desirable activity for all. Add to that the drama of auditions and the posting of lists (with more parents than kids gathered to look for their names), and it makes it that much more exciting.

After a solo audition yesterday afternoon, I got a text from Dave this morning... "Gus made it!"

Gus is a pretty understated kid. He likes his jeans skinny and his t-shirts big. He likes the word "potato." He likes to talk with an English accent (we call him "Brit-Gus" when he does that). He likes to crack jokes and watch out the corner of his big bright blue eyes through his long shaggy brown bangs to see your reaction.

And he sure liked seeing his name on that list.

But if you didn't know him, you might've missed it.

B to the itch

2010-08-27T09:03:00.002-05:00

I don't want to offend my readers with a low swear tolerance (Mom), but this whole school thing has translated into the earliest mornings of my life...5:30am. Dude! And B to the itch is the only title that does justice to my current mental state. Which is to say that I'm finding I don't do well with insufficient sleep. The only other time I've ever regularly gotten up that early was when I started running with an early-riser friend. Let's just say that her friendship didn't mean that much to me. Meaning that was clearly way too damn early, and she was clearly insane. (More swears! Sorry Mom! Although, let's be honest, I've heard you let loose once or twice.)

I used to think that the reason I don't get up early is because I'm a night owl. (Owls are cute and friendly!) My husband would disagree. I really like to think of myself that way, but on a Saturday night when I'm snuggling up to Dave in bed at 10:30pm and saying, "Let's watch a movie!" It really means T-minus 8.5 minutes to sleepy time. Which ultimately makes me neither a morning, nor a night person. In other words: I am boring and lame.

Back to psycho Karin...

Car pool pick up is 5:40am, so next week when it's our turn, I have to get up at 5! AM! I literally have fantasies about crawling back into bed once the kids are all dropped off, and it's that wishful thinking that ultimately gets me going. But I have an illness wherein I find it nearly impossible to nap. Unrequited sleep syndrome.

To be fair to myself, I do OK in the morning...it's the afternoon when I really start letting loose with the crappy attitude. And after a long day of work and school, don't you know it's just what a family needs!

Something's gotta give.

So, we're all quitting school and work, effective immediately.

14 Going On Amazing

2010-08-25T21:42:00.003-05:00

When Loaf was little, we used to tell her to press hard on the top of her head so she would stop growing.

It totally didn't work.

Not only did she turn 14, but she went to high school this week. (Hold on a sec while I take deep breaths and try not to throw up.)

(OK.)

Last year when kids were signing up for freshman classes, in what must have surely been some sort of fevered delirium, Loaf decided track was a good idea. By the time she realized her Chariots of Fire dream was just that—a dream—it was too late. She was obligated to give it a shot.

I dropped her off at her first practice last week. I had a sick feeling. When I picked her up an hour and a half later, she was a wobbly-legged and teary-eyed.

When we got home, I helped her into an ice bath and made a call to the school counselor to explain why this might not be a good fit and was there anything to be done. There was. We got the necessary forms a few days later and went to find the coach for a transfer out signature. But after a good conversation, Loaf was given the option to just try it out for a couple more weeks and still make a switch if it wasn't working. I didn't think there was any way she was going to do it. The day after practice she literally was so sore she had a hard time walking. But she just said, "Yep." Soaf's motto for life is usually on the order of: Let's do this thing.

The coach gave her training instructions for the next two days. We got home at 10am that day and hurried out for a very hot muggy run. It was already over 90 degrees. She did it. The next day we planned to go earlier to beat the heat. It was in the 80's but overcast and a little breezy. But the run was longer. It was tough, and she worked hard. And then as we were cooling down and walking home, she draped her arm around my shoulders, gave me a smile and said, "Thanks Mom."

A seemingly tiny gesture, but the significance of that was not lost on me. She just did something that was unpleasant. Something she wasn't sure she wanted to be doing at all. Something she had to get up early on a precious last day of summer for. I went along to support her, but also to push her. And her reaction... gratitude.

Watching Soaf go off to her first day of high school was actually a lot like watching her go off to kindergarten. I didn't really feel sad; it was more like mild shock. Like I was watching it happen to someone else, an out of body experience of sorts. The pig-tailed five-year-old Sofie bounded into kindergarten without a moment's pause. And when she got home she said, "I might not do everything right at home Mom, but in school I am perfect!" Oh my goodness gracious, that girl's a heartbreaker.

I did sense the tiniest hint of hesitation when I was dropping Soaf off for her first day at high school. I told her I would just park and wait for a minute and come in if she need help figuring out where she needed to go. Three minutes later she called to say it was all fine. In the background I could hear the excited chatter from her girlfriends. Everything was OK. The rumored fight where one student tried to strangle another student only added to the ambiance.

Welcome to high school, my pig-tailed ~~five~~ fourteen-year-old Loaf. (Happy sad face.)

**Correction: Sofie was only five when she started kindergarten. Originally, I had written she was six. As Dave pointed out, I am a liar.

Mini Addendum

2010-08-02T23:33:00.000-05:00

I neglected to mention (uh...totally by accident! heh heh.) that I got some help with this.

The brothers helped with the cleaning out of the room, which I really should have taken some pictures of, because it was the most horrendous part. But I was too busy cleaning. Like, forever. Each drawer was overflowing with "treasures" and whatnot. The brothers also "helped" with the painting of the dresser. (Truthfully, while needing some supervision, I was surprised and delighted with their enthusiasm, and they could hardly wait for the big reveal. They were incredulous that they were slighted in the original post. Sorry guys! And thanks one million!!)

Davy helped me move stuff around, paint the desk, put together an IKEA bookcase and hang pictures. Hanging pictures and assembling IKEA furniture are true tests of a marriage (right up there with college math tutoring and moving furniture). You can only get through them if you really love each other. Like, a ton. (And we still love each other! Right honey? Honey?)

This couldn't have happened without all my boys help!

Another thing I wanted to mention was that the dresser you see there (actually, there are two, but only one fit in the room for now) belonged to my Grandma Elaine. And although painting it mustard yellow (instead of say gold, green or pale pink) likely caused her to roll over in her grave, I hope that in her eternal bliss, she understands. Love you Grandma!

And a final fun fact: the various things hanging on the walls, as well as nearly every other bobble and trinket scattered about, were collected by Sofie over the last 5 or so years. I just had to slap the pics into a few frames and make sure all the paint colors (also brainstormed by Soaf) coordinated. It was pretty amazing to see it all work together. A true representation of Sofie's brilliantly creative mind.

Great, now it sounds like I didn't do anything. So much for those shoes.

Trading Spaces: Thomas Style

2010-08-01T00:59:00.003-05:00

There are few times in a mother’s life that she gets a chance to try to make up for all the many crap parenting decisions her child must endure. And when a mother gets that chance, by gosh! She’s gonna take it.

I had just such an opportunity yesterday.

Let’s take it from the start…

Sofie has been asking to take time to paint and decorate her room for about 5 years. No joke. She has picked out a picture or knick knack here and there. Asked for this-or-that for her birthday or Christmas. Planned and revised a hundred different color schemes.

And all the while I had the best intentions. I was sure to get to it…someday.

The other day, Sofie was chatting with a friend in her bedroom and said that we (her parents) never follow through on helping her decorate her room. (Actually, since she’s a teen she said something to the effect of, “parents are the lamest ever.” But I was paraphrasing. You get the idea.) We’ve been in Austin a year today (Happy Anniversary, Austin!), and that’s exactly how long we’ve been planning her bedroom.

Just like we always do.

But Mom my birthday’s coming up and I’d REALLY like to get my room painted and can’t we get a bookshelf for all these books piled up everywhere and oh look at that cute boy. Wait. What was I talking about?

It’s here where I like to remind her that it so happens that my birthday is coming up too, and that I was in labor for all 24 hours of my birthday to give her life.

Cute boy.

So then Soaf asks if she can go to an overnighter birthday party. I see a golden opportunity.

Here’s how she left it (by the way: this was exceptionally clean compared to usual)…

Three cans of paint (desk, dresser, walls), one trip to IKEA and 36 hours later…

I’ve been thinking about that therapy fund I’ve been saving up for when my kids become adults and realize how bad I’ve screwed them up.

Time for some new shoes.

5 weeks is a long time.

2010-07-28T22:58:00.000-05:00

I figure as long as I get a post up in July (even if it's at the very end), I might not lose all my readers. And by "all my readers" I mean of course my husband and my mom.

(Hi guys. Don't leave me.)

So, we went away for awhile. As my friend Nat likes to say, "Back to the mother ship." I have nothing to add to that...it's the perfect description.

We made it just in time for Val's 40th birthday. (Man. He's old.) And left just after Dave's sis's wedding. (Man. She's young.) We also got to celebrate July 4th in Utah, which was totally radical to the max! No seriously, they go nuts for the 4th there. And since it's Utah and the 4th fell on a Sunday, we got to celebrate for three whole days! Yay for Mormons!

The trip was 5.5 weeks in total. I'm not gonna lie...it was a little long. I thought an obvious benefit of being there that long was we were sure to exhaust the visitation expectations of friends and family. Not so. In fact, the opposite seemed true. It's not as if we're popular. Trust me, we're not. We're more of a freak show that people really don't want to look at, yet against all reason and good intentions feel overwhelmingly compelled to. Either way, we hated not getting to see as much of everyone as we wanted to. But we loved the time we had.

On the way home, we visited Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon. If you ever find yourselves in the extreme southwest of Colorado or in the extreme northwest of New Mexico, first check and make sure you haven't been kidnapped. Once you're sure you're safe, go visit those places. Here's a couple photos...

Mesa Verde

The kids were super impressed. Especially Otto...

Chaco Canyon

I'm completely in love with Chaco. Although we travelled on roads marked as, "May Be Impassable!" and "Travel At Own Risk!" And although we may have permanently damaged our car getting there, it was totally worth it.

Where exactly are we going with this?

2010-06-06T16:55:00.001-05:00

Here is a short list of some of the items Simon has requested for birthday and/or Christmas for the last couple years:

top hat
monocle
cane
bullhorn

I'd really love to see how his 6th grade career day survey came out.

The Future's So Bright

2010-05-21T12:35:00.000-05:00

Please, don't allow the stellar cinematographic skills exhibited in the following videos distract you from the subject matter. You're welcome. (Yes, we own a tripod. We just didn't have it with us.) **

**Disclaimer: Blogger accepts no legally liability for any heartattacks that may occur due to two posts in 24 hours nor is she responsible for any motion sickness that may result from viewing these videos.

And now for something completely different...

2010-05-20T17:53:00.001-05:00

I don't like to write serious things. Come on...laughing's more fun! But today a melancholy cloud has mixed with an urgent desire to update the blog. Oh, and I should mention I just watched Born Into Brothels. Yeah, I'm in a mood of sorts.

These are tough economic times. There. I said it. Now let me take a minute to wretch at the corny, self-serving, melodramatic sentiment. And yet, we are feeling it. The uncertainty. The ups and downs. Like waiting for a pie in the face. Humiliating and messy, but not the-end-of-the-world type stuff.

These are not "real" problems. They're temporary and insignificant. So what gives with all the hand-wringing? Just stop it already! (I say to myself.)

I had a moment with Soaf at the dentist. She had 5 teeth pulled on Tuesday. !!! And two of them were permanent. (We're plunging headlong into braces-land and plan to emerge $20,000+ poorer but with 4 lovely smiles.) Anyway, something about it really got to me. Soaf is almost 14 and about as delightful as a kid could ever be. Seeing her in the chair, mouth stuffed with gauze, expressionless from the novocaine, she just looked so sweet and vulnerable. I felt an overwhelmingly protective instinct come over me. I hovered around her for the rest of the day, peppering her with questions and trying to make sure she was totally comfortable. I'm sure it was a little annoying.

And then there's Sime. Sime! Who proudly told me that in the course of this his first year of middle school, he's gone from "nerd" to "normal" and what's more, several girls have crushes on him. Just last week he made his stage debut as "Benny" in Guys and Dolls. It's probably no surprise to anyone who knows him that he was absolutely born for the stage. What may come as a bit of a surprise is the fact that he has FANTASTIC pitch and sang his little heart out without the slightest hint of self-consciousness.

I thought my heart would explode right then and there.

I want to move on to Dave, but his modesty and pride make me stop and think that's not the best idea. I will say that I am just spectacularly lucky to share his life.

And on and on...

Life is so fleeting and so unpredictable. I'm so pleased and grateful to be doing it with those I can call family and those I can call friends.

SAHM and Arcade Fire. Predictably, a hot mess.

2010-04-26T18:35:00.003-05:00

Last week was super crazy insane. It started with Dave going out of town. It ended with serious rejection.

It all began when a girl Dave's company uses for casting put out a call for some extras for a somewhat secret project that Spike Jonze and Arcade Fire are filming in Austin.

The life of an extra is a pathetic one, to be sure. But it's Spike Jonze and Arcade Fire. Sign me up. And my three boys too.

Thursday was spent scrambling to do all the normal stuff you do when you're a SAHM of four with half the parental unit missing plus all the prepping to go to the movie set later. We showed up and waited for about 7 hours. The boys ended up snoozing in the car, and just as I was thinking they wouldn't end up using us after all, along comes the 2nd AD and off we went to the set. Luckily, I got to drive onto the set, because the boys had to be risen from the deepest of sleeps. Fast forward through anything that could violate our non-disclosure...it was worth the wait. Such a fun once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience.

The next day it was OT's turn. The day was toasty for a spring day...87 degrees. We got to the shoot and found out we were up first. Cool. Pretty quickly, we were on set and things were rolling along nicely. Several non-entities were taking a few pics on their camera phones, and so I followed along. I'm a natural rule follower (i.e. totally unreasonably obsessively honest), but sometimes employ the don't-ask-don't-tell motto.

Then Arcade Fire showed up. They took refuge from the sun under the tent where we were sitting. A few pics being snapped on cells. Win Butler grabbed a seat that happened to be near me, Regine Chassagne by him. Star-Struck-O-Meter rising.......

At this point I should tell you that I've never asked to take a picture with anyone famous.

Alright...that's sort of true...

Let's just say I've limited it to those who might be just famous enough to enjoy being asked, but not so famous that you're a huge embarrassing imposition. And both times the request was after a pleasant conversation and/or dinner.

The Star-Struck-O-Meter got the best of me in that moment. So many people were already taking not-so-sneaky pics that I actually thought asking might be appropriate. Like: I'm not going to take one if you don't want, but I'd really like to.

I'm saying this as if I had rationally thought through any of this. It all happened in about one second, and as the words were coming out of my mouth, I instantly realized my mistake. For one thing, it puts you squarely into super dork territory. But that's a place with which I'm not unfamiliar. We've met. We understand one another. If only making a fool of myself was enough. No. My query was followed by at least 5 full seconds of blank stares from both Win and Regine. Sounds short? You try asking Win Butler for a picture and see how long a 5 second pause feels. Long enough to plunge me headlong into an equally humiliating rant of apologies and retractions.

Abort.

ABORT!

That's not all. Oh if only that were all...

It was then that I realized this was all being filmed. I don't know, maybe for a documentary making-of kind of thing. Additionally, it was entirely possible my green and blue poke-a-dot underwear was sticking out of the top of my baggy jean shorts. Now that is truly awesome.

Three minutes later, OT came running over with a beet red face, a little heat exhausted and coughing from dust. I saw my out, and -- feet don't fail me now -- I took it.

For the record, I don't think Win was being rude or superior. I mean, obviously, I'd have no way of knowing since I don't actually know him. He kind of struck me as shy, and I was asking something of him that I almost (almost) instantly realized was totally inappropriate given the circumstance (i.e. on the set of their secret project). Duh. DUH!

Being average and boring means they probably won't use any footage with me in it.

Please, pray with me.

Tragedy

2010-04-25T15:07:00.000-05:00

A real post coming in the next couple days.

Until then...

Less Flat Snickers Almond...Coming to a Store Near You!

2010-04-12T23:06:00.002-05:00

You may remember this ridiculousness? Well here is the Mars Corporation's BRILLIANT response...

In their defense the "i" is very close to the "o" on the keyboard. And Yvonne clearly spent hours crafting this lovely response, so a little typo doesn't deserve much attention. (Even though Thomas is like one of the most common names in the world and the name Thimas doesn't seem to exist except when Thomas is misspelled but whatever.)

Thanks, Yvonne Liwden. I owe you debt of gratitude. Big time.

Cascarones!

2010-04-08T10:06:00.001-05:00

What could be better than smashing an confetti filled egg over a loved one's head? Nothing!

This was our first experience with these inspired objects, and in Austin, huge colorful bags full of Cascarones are being sold on every street corner.

Can't wait to see what's inside...

The Greatest Update of All Time

2010-03-23T17:21:00.000-05:00

We've been checking several times a day since Sunday on the status of our kites. We spent a good 20 minutes yesterday tugging on the crocodile string to see if it would come down. No luck.

We went again today (for the third time), and while the croc looked like it was making progress, the favorite kite was worse than ever, the tail now twisted tightly in the branch. Oh well.

But wait.

Who is that over there with all the ropes? Two dozen fire fighters wrapping up a training day at the park?

It's true. It's true. It's all true. The beloved Boulder kite is home, safe and sound. That is, until next time. But if I've learned one thing from all this, it's that if ever we need to get a kite down from a tree, all we have to do is call the Fire Department. Your tax dollars at work!

Thanks, Austin City Fire Department!

The Kite Gods Were Angry

2010-03-22T08:36:00.013-05:00

We tried flying kites a few weeks ago, but there wasn’t quite enough wind. Yesterday seemed perfect. Clear blue skies and WINDY! Simon was enthusiastic, and to prove it he spent a good 30 minutes tracking down the good kites that got shuffled to an illogical closet corner in the move.

It's been a long spring break for brothers. And to Simon's credit, he's been trying really hard these past couple days to not get into arguments with them. This time, he'd succeed. Even the cramped four-minute car ride from our house to the park wasn't going to dampen his spirits. He found the good kite, and by gosh, he was going to fly it!

It didn't take much to get them up. In fact, it was one of those days when the kite seemed to leap right off the ground on its own. As it turns out, that was our first red flag. Dark forces were afoot. Kites should never fly themselves. But we could not be dissuaded. Our kites would fly. Like magic! Wonderful!

Five minutes later the first kite landed firmly into the top a 30-foot oak and then immediately wrapped its tail around the branch. It always seems unlikely that the kite will permanently entangle when it hits a tree. I mean, here’s this thing with a string attached to it in your hand. Just give it a good yank. And yet, we've never successfully pulled a kite free. That is, unless the kite cost less than $5. Those kites, in the unlikely event that they find a tree to begin with, come down with a tiny tug.

No matter, that was the Costco kite. Decent, but clearly inferior to our other kite. Our Boulder kite. The kite we bought from the greatest kite store ever, which not only had kites—oh, the kites!—but also had the coolest toys, from solar powered giant bugs, to tiny nuns that could be shot from tiny catapults. Delightful.

We literally cut our losses and turned our attention to the kite. Simon had gotten it up and was delighted with his good fortune. He was good at this. Really good. Maybe he’d think about going pro. The sky’s the limit! And to prove it, he was going to give his little brother a thrill that only a big brother with mad kite skills could bestow. He’d let Gus fly the kite. The kite.

There you go, Gus buddy. Not too much line. No, that’s too much. Don’t drop it before you go off to play on the swings.

And in the blink of an eye, it was over. The kite with too much line sailed cleanly into an equally mammoth oak, adjacent to the other kite-swallowing oak, each kite twisting helplessly near the tops. Up and over, never to come down. And with it, Simon’s best hope for a career in kite flying.

The moral of the story:

Never—never!—trust your little brother with all your hopes and dreams.

And then the unthinkable happened...

2010-03-16T22:35:00.003-05:00

Otto got a yellow star.

Let's back up a little...

First: Otto. The kid who wants to do everything perfect and will obsess about the ins and outs of any given task from morn 'til night. He also doesn't self-edit. If he's thinking it, you're hearing all about it. And he's a thinker which makes him a bit of a Chatty Cathy.

So we move to Texas, where they don't take kindly to misbehavior. And while corporal punishment may be out of fashion (read: illegal), regimented behavioral modification is not. So each class at the elementary has their version of an incentive to toe-the-line. In Otto's class, it's a colorful star ranking. Each star tells a story about how the child behaved that day. Green is good. Yellow represents one or two infractions. Orange means someone's lost an eye. Or something like that. Whatever.

Understanding the system is sort of like trying to figure out the meaning of the color-coded terrorist threat levels in America. We're currently at orange. Huh. Maybe also not unlike the ominous countdown by a parent trying to get a child to behave. Just yesterday, Sofie and I observed a dad counting backwards from five at a misbehaving child.

"I wonder if anyone knows what happens when you get to one, Mom."

"That's one of life's great mysteries, Loaf. No one really knows."

So the conversation for the first six weeks of school centered around the yellow star. Who was getting them, who wasn't, what offenses were committed and naturally what would happen if Otto were to get one. His approach to processing it always seemed to start out reasonable enough, but more often than not, ended in tears. This is before a yellow star, mind you. Or as I like to call it: BYS or BS for short.

For weeks we tried to reassure Otto that a yellow star was not the end of the world. The stress was so bad that he was coming down with regular stomachaches. I explained to the teacher what was happening, and so once when it was time for math and he said he had a stomachache, she asked if the math was giving him the stomachache. As he related the story to me he followed that inquiry with a very logical, "Everyone knows that math can't give you a stomachache!"

The conversation inevitably steered back to the topic at hand: "But what if I DO get a yellow star?"

"That is the day," I said, "when I give you an extra hug, kiss and a cup of hot cocoa. Because I know you've had an extra hard day."

And that pretty much settled it. That and the fact that it never happened.

One of my favorite moments of the day is after school pick up. Otto's and Gus's classes filing out in an orderly line. I almost always see them first and get to watch them scanning the other parents faces until they see me. It's like a light bulb goes on, a huge grin crossing over their faces. I just love it so so much.

Well, on this day, as Otto was scanning, no hint of a smile crossed his face when he saw me. He made determined b-line. Before he even reached me he started talking..."I got a yellow star today, Mom. Me and Charlie were playing in the hall and we got in trouble."

Then the tears started to flow. Hugs and kisses, words of reassurance. Cry cry cry. I asked if it would make him feel better if he went and talked to his teacher. Yes. Off he bounded to express his deep regret at the situation.

He felt better. The chatter didn't slow, but it turned more positive. OK, Mom, now about that hot cocoa. Spring in Texas had us alter our plans to smoothies. The day was saved.

So glad that BS is over.

Work. Play. Work/Play.

2010-03-02T09:30:00.000-06:00

Here's what "cleaning out the garage" looks like from the boys' perspective...

And as if that wasn't confusing enough...

Apparently, everyone can appreciate the practical comfort of rubber clogs. Even used snow tires. Maybe especially used snow tires. Who am I to judge?

The promised reward for all that hard work...

Then, a surprise guest kite flyer...

A toothless Hobbit!

And now, back to manly work...

If you think you noticed a little sawdust on their faces, you should probably know it's really just bubble tape powder.

These gals were just no help at all...

Hey, shouldn't you ladies be gathering the animals and sewing me a gown for date night?

Get on that.

It isn't polite to brag.

2010-02-24T11:30:00.006-06:00

But even worse to lie, right?

Fact: It was 78 degrees on Sunday.

Fact: We wore shorts and flip flops.

Fact: We played 4-square, croquet, track ball, catch, had a picnic and--well--jumped off of stuff.

And facts are facts, so it doesn't really count as bragging. However, I do have my thumb to my nose, fingers waving wildly, while sticking my tongue out. That probably counts.

Would it surprised you to know that a good 90 percent of conflicts in our home are resolved with a best two out of three rock-paper-scissors? What's maybe even more surprising is that--most of the time--it works. (The other 10 % of the time it's a duel to the death, so RPS is our "go to" method for problem solving.)

We have a little thing, called a Toe Man, that tells us when it's time to go...

It's time.

Simey and G are all tuckered out too.

I'm all full of Vitamin D and puff.

That is, until yesterday. When this happened...

Which naturally turned into this...

And then, of course, this...

I don't think I've ever in my life seen so many kids trying to sled down a wet grassy hill dusted with snow. Spectacular.

God bless Texas. As if I needed to say it.

When Friend Turns Family

2010-02-18T16:00:00.010-06:00

It all started when my future mom-in-law picked Davy up from Junior High and he asked if they could give his new friend Val a ride home. She said yes. Phew.

Ten years later, I was meeting Mer for the first time. We went on a double date to the Italian Place in Orem, UT for philly steak subs (yes, this was in my pre-veg life). Classy, I know. Those boys really knew how to treat a lady.

Val and Mer proceeded to date faithfully while Dave and I dated faithfully even while we were broken up--twice. But it all worked out in the end, and there I was, engaged to Dave and standing in the line at their wedding reception. (I passed the time by changing my name for each person that came through, even trying on several boy names which--it turns out--can be very distressing to the elderly.)

Val and Mer have been the kind of friends that everyone wishes they could have. Loyal. Supportive. Loving. Forgiving. But most importantly, hilarious. I once actually peed my pants laughing at their house. And when I say peed, I mean Mer had to scramble to find something I could wear home. Like a little kid in Kindergarten who waited too long. Only I was 20.

Val and Mer, their two beautiful kids in tow (who, incidentally, are as good as siblings to my kids...only they fight less), came to visit us in Austin last week. We were beside ourselves with excitement and anticipation.

Without going into any detail, their trip was cut short by a tragedy in Val's family. In the midst of their obvious shock and heartache, they expressed concern for how we were feeling about their drastic change in plans and apologized for their subdued moods. Mer even hesitated to interrupt my morning work out to give me the news. That's just how they are, each and every day. The best friends ever.

At some point in our 17 year relationship (nearly 28 for Val and Dave), they became just like family. We make time for each other's special events like birthdays, baptisms and such. And we get to be there for each other when things go wrong. I'm pretty sure we got the bigger piece of the pie in our friendship, but I'm also sure Mer insisted on it. She wouldn't have it any other way.

Some day, I might post a ridiculous story or two of the hundreds I have to choose from about our lives together as friends. I happen to know them to all be outrageously hilarious, despite the fact that your eyes may glaze over in the telling of them (this actually happened recently to one of Val's clients as she sat in the chair at his hair salon), a courtesy smile plastered on your face. I know what you're really trying to say..."Tell me more, Karin! Those stories never get old!"

You got it, World!

Love you, V, M, M and J!

3rd Graders Help Haiti

2010-02-06T09:06:00.010-06:00

Gus's 3rd grade class was brainstorming about ways they could help Haiti. And of all the things they looked into, it seemed that money was the thing that was not only the most needed, but also something they could do. So in the grand American tradition, they decided upon a bake sale.

This was just one class of 22 kids, mind you. So that was really just 22 parents baking up a storm (and asking for donations from friends).

After a two day bake sale, lasting only 1.5 hours each, the class had earned nearly $1300. What's more amazing is that the kid customers not only came with money to buy a treat, but also with bags full (SO full...I know...I had to count them all) of coins to donate from their own piggy bank.

My personal baking had mixed results. First day, this was my contribution...

Needless to say, we sold out that first day. All except mine. Although these cookies (known as "Moon Rocks" from my childhood) are affectionately known as "Poo Cookies" in our house, they don't usually look this bad. I tried throwing a few sprinkles on the top. The effect was akin to if sprinkles acted like corn. Know whadda mean?

I redeemed myself on the second day with a much safer choice...Rice Crispie Treats. They went like hot cakes.

I also sent out an emergency cookie request to a couple friends. This is an example of what I got back...

What the what? They're amazing. (Thanks NG and Natalie!) I've got big time cookie envy.

In the end, only crumbs and a fat jar of money remained. Nice job, kids!!

I wanna be G!---G!---G!---G!

2010-01-31T19:07:00.000-06:00

Birthday dinner: sushi and tempura veggies and fish. Not just a G fave...a family fave!

Dessert: giant lemon sugar cookie with lemon cream cheese frosting in the shape of Pacman. The easiest birthday request of all time.

8 years, 364 days and 23 hours ago, I was in labor. The birth was tense, quick and not without worry. Two weeks early (for me...unheard of...1-2 weeks over is my norm) and bleeding (sorry folks) meant induction. But Gus got the message and kicked it into gear.

Despite the fancy names (partially abrupted placenta, placental calcification, hypoglycemia, mild hypoxia, hyperventilation, blah, blah, blah...where were those cinnamon bears when I really needed them) and the inevitable worry that follows, in the spectrum of birth complications, mine were minor and led to nothing of consequence. The only side effect being my extremely low blood sugar passing onto Gus via the placenta, but lasting only a few hours until his smarter little body took over. He's still quite the smarty pants.

G is my sweet, silly, serious boy. He has an incredibly generous nature and will spend a lot of time thinking of ways to get you to laugh. And although he was at one point quite the little monster baby, I sure can't imagine life without him. The world's a little better, with G around.

FB Dissent

2010-01-25T17:39:00.000-06:00

Is anyone else bored of Facebooking? I think it's ruined all my blogging creativity.

Recap of the past couple months:

Sofie moved on to the state level of the Reflections competition with her musical composition piece. It's also extremely easy to make her laugh so hard she cries. A trait I hope she never outgrows.

Simon is writing. Several comics. A book. The occasional short film. Etc. He stays up late reading books and ends up falling asleep in school. Is that good or bad?

Gus is totally kicking 3rd grade's butt. And also dazzling us with exotic foreign accents. Many of the sentences end in the phrase "my love."

Otto informed me that people from Australia are not called "Australians" but--rather--"Aussies." He has become fascinated with platypuses, still loves orange like no one I've ever known and obsesses about doing everything exactly perfect in school.

I'm bursting with pride on all counts.

As for me and Dave:

I'm loving Austin and spend my days making trails of cinnamon bears from various points around the city to my door in the hopes that the right kind of friend(s) will follow me home. So far I've had 3 squirrels, an opossum and the neighbor's dog. Not exactly what I had in mind, but I'm open. I'm also hoping to take my photography to the next level. Whatever that means.

Dave's working what little butt he has right off. I'm so proud of him.

Life is good.

Letters from a Nut: Sofie Style

2009-11-30T08:56:00.000-06:00

Beloved Snickers Company,

My mother and I were slightly unsatisfied with the Snickers Almond that we recently purchased. We feel it was flatter than usual and longed for the less-flat feel of it. I brought this to your attention so that you can correct the problem for future candy bars. Thank you.

[heart] always,

Sofie Thomas (+ mom)

Unauthorized Photos

2009-11-07T07:32:00.000-06:00

Welcome to the jungle.

2009-09-28T17:59:00.001-05:00

It feels like a wild tropical jungle here, especially after it rains. Super green, super muggy and lots of bird and bug noises. We woke up this morning to steam on the outside of all the windows. I LOVE the humidity. And I'm fine with the heat too. I suppose it might be the many years I spent in AZ as a kid that trained me for it, and it certainly doesn't hurt that every building is on A/C overload 24/7. But still, as you step outside and it feels like you just stepped into a steam room and also like you just ran 5 miles because your clothes are instantly wet and sticking to you, instead of being annoyed, I'm both charmed and amused.

Here is the river path that runs all through Austin...

The path is super beautiful and great to stroll on a Sunday, even despite the runners who take themselves a little too seriously and don't bother to hide their mild disdain for those of us who don't appear to recognize their superior status.

Turtles everywhere!

We had a boat guide tell us that they have a bite second only to a shark. I'm not sure whether or not I believe it, but I certainly won't be sticking my finger in the water anytime soon. The crazy thing is they are attracted just like ducks when you throw bits of crackers in the water. We were feeding like five of them. Super cool.

Austin has seemed incredibly green to me since the moment we arrived. However, the locals tell me that they've been in a terrible drought, and it is usually much greener. And, low and behold, it's true! In the last few weeks we've had many inches of much needed rain, and subsequently the whole city looks like one big green carpet.

And as a side note, there doesn't seem to be such a thing as a light rain here. I think the adage "when it rains it pours" was coined in Austin. There have been several flash flood warnings since we've been here. It's the norm. Everyone expects it. We're expecting one tonight.

And they've got the storm drains to prove it. Seriously, a small cow could fit through the openings found about every block very near small children riding their big wheels just asking to be swallowed whole.

The one thing I don't love about the humidity? Mosquitoes. Boo. I am constantly nursing about a half dozen bites on a good day. On the bright side, I've purchased stock in anti-itch cream which is sure to see a spike with our family usage. We'll be rich!

Don't go towards the light!

2009-09-25T23:11:00.000-05:00

We would like to introduce you to and simultaneously extend both a heartfelt welcome and our deepest condolences to the newest additions to the Thomas family.

Dearest Bacon and Tofu: we will try very hard not to kill you.

And what are the first things you should always do when you get a new pet? Take off your shirts and pick your nose! (That advice actually holds true in any number of different situations.)

(Again, we are truly sorry, Bacon and Tofu.)

Rub-A-Dub-Dub

2009-08-19T18:36:00.001-05:00

Two men in a tub...

Pee Wee Welcomes Us!

2009-07-28T13:08:00.000-05:00

Yee Haw!

2009-06-27T00:00:00.000-05:00

My Grandpa Lyman is a successful race horse trainer. He sold my grandma's refrigerator to buy his first horse, which he parked in the garage. She was less than pleased at the time but came around eventually.

Grandpa will turn 90 this year and still gets up at 4:30AM every morning to go down to the track to oversee the horses' workouts. He is well known for his gentle techniques and overall honesty and integrity. He's also known for being totally kick-ass in every other way.

I won't go into how sad I was when my grandma died last December. She and my grandpa have, through their tireless devotion and love, earned dozens of equally devoted, loving and admiring grandchildren and great grandchildren, not to mention the hundreds of friends. Grandma and Grandpa's ranch where we grew up visiting not only felt like home to our family like nothing else did but was as fun as going to Disneyland.

Seriously...

Rides? Horses, go-carts and tractors.

Food? The cookie jar and treat cupboard were always full and unrestricted, and for some inexplicable reason, we were allowed to drink all the Pepsi we wanted.

Themed bathrooms? One was all horses and the other had owls, including a vinyl toilet seat cover that always felt warm when you sat on it. Like magic.

Happy short people? In abundance. Grandpa 5'4'' and Grandma 5'1'' with lovely aunts, uncles and cousins all around the same height.

It was also the one place on earth where swear words were used as terms of endearment. My grandma, in particular, loved to call us all "little shits" as she hugged us, kissed us and swatted us on the rear.

It was my happiest place on earth.

Still is.

A couple weeks ago, the kids and I went down to Prescott, AZ to watch a horse race named in memory of my Grandma Lois. I have attended many horse races from the time I was a little kid to watch my grandpa's horses run. Sounds seedy, I know. But we were completely oblivious to the other world that may have lurked there. Up in the grandstands there were lots of jolly old people, waitresses catering to your every whim and supervised trips to the stable making it a dream come true to any kid.

It was amazing to grow up around all of it. And much to my delight, my kids were as wide-eyed and enthusiastic as I was.

The following is a statue at the race track in honor of my uncle who died in a horse-related accident a year and a half ago. He is deeply missed.

Just a fraction of the great grandchildren...

Iron Chef Boulder

2009-05-27T12:50:00.000-05:00

What happens on the first official day of summer vacation when mom says no electronics? CHOCOLATE WAMO! (a new recipe invented by Simon, Gus and Otto)

If the expressions on the faces in the last picture confuse you, you're not alone.

I also decided to cash in my Mother's Day breakfast-in-bed coupon from Simon...

Those strips that look like Play Dou (TM)? Vegetarian bacon. If you haven't had bacon in 14 years, they taste pretty awesome. If you have, I'm guessing they taste like Play Dou (TM).

Here is what three teen/tween girls made in the middle of the night...

Ew.

**Update**

Today's version of and second attempt at Chocolate Wamo!

Yum!

I'm in love, I'm in love, and I don't care who knows it!

2009-05-20T23:39:00.000-05:00

Sorry, Dave, but you brought this on yourself. If you hadn't secretly raised the funds necessary to introduce us, you and I might have made it. I'm not going to lie, she's stolen my heart, and I'll never be the same.

Isn't she beautiful? I hope it helps you to know that we are very happy together.

P.S. Thanks Bob, Julie, Rick, Mary, John, Amy, Jenny, Ryan, Sarah, David, Paula, Celeste, Matt...and especially Dave.

SOO-EE!

2009-05-16T09:34:00.000-05:00

On the first leg of our trip to France we were supposed to have a short layover in Cincinnati. Unbeknownst to me, a woman described as having "matted hair" several rows behind us was apparently coughing up a storm and bring great distress to her seatmates. Dave and I were chatting about nothing when I see an ambulance and police car racing across the tarmac. I casually wondered who died when the Cap'n came on the intercom and said that a woman had been removed from the plane with "suspicious flu-like symptoms" and was being evaluated. We then sat and waited in the sealed cabin (as the flight attendant had told me it had been as per swine-flu protocol) for all the various government agencies to clear us for take-off. They did. Because what the hell else would they do?

God bless America.

And then, to add insult to injury, I had to watch this guy (pictured below) sleep like a baby for the next 10 hours, sprawled across three seats while Dave and I were cramped into the tiny two-seat side-isle row.
Don't get the wrong idea from my happy expression...I had been driven mad with rage.

DeeTee: Maker of bagels and distracter of spouse.

2009-05-04T11:03:00.000-05:00

It is ridiculous that I am posting today, since I should be finishing my final and then picking up my sister, Jenny, and her kids from the airport. But how could I help it? He made BAGELS! TWICE! Jenny may be sitting in a strange airport with three children all by herself. But she'll have to wait. Priorities and all that.

They were amazing.

Mazel tov!

P.S. It's Simon's 11th birthday! Happy birthday Coco!!! More on that kid later...

Breaking the Cycle

2009-04-26T11:22:00.000-05:00

I'm embarrassed at how long it's been since I've posted here. As the days and weeks have crept by, I've felt less and less like creating something. An increasing pressure to make something great, since I've waited so long.

I got nothin'.

But even as I write this, Dave is breathing deeply and softly as he sleeps beside me at 10:26AM on a Sunday morning. I guess that's pretty great.

As you can see, he's particular about his personal pillow case. A "blankie" of sorts. Isn't he sweet?

He might kill me for posting this.

So, this is my sorry attempt at reviving my blog. An unremarkable post, to be followed closely by more, slightly less unremarkable posts.

Love.

Happy Birthday, Davy!

2009-03-10T12:02:00.000-05:00

I love you!

Here's a video Amanda and Curtis made of Dave's trip to China.

Flexible Birthdaying

2009-02-24T23:01:00.000-06:00

Round these parts, birthdays are flexible. Celebrating on the actual day? Please. So lame. Gotta keep 'em guessing. We have been known to celebrate birthdays weeks after the actual day. When the kids were too young to know better, we wouldn't even tell them it was their birthday. We'd just wait until it was convenient and celebrate accordingly. I actually had someone tell me they thought it was a little mean. I showed her what mean looked like...by telling her she looked fat in those jeans and kicking her in the shin. Now that's what I call mean.

Well, Gus actually did get a family party on his real birthday. It was just the friend party that had to wait. BUT my awesome parenting temporarily kicked in, and I made it a surprise party. Gus was clueless, even while I baked his favorite cake right under his nose.

Admittedly, I was a little worried about how an eight-year-old would react to a gaggle of kids jumping out and yelling "surprise." Tears were a distinct possibility. But I threw caution to the wind and went ahead anyway. Besides, crying on camera, with enough time, turns in to comedy-gold. The temporary trauma it might inflict was well worth it in the long run.

The children played the traditional shoot-nerf-bullets-at-Dave's-sorry-excuse-for-a-butt game...

It went off without a hitch. All except for Indian Jones, who almost made it through the checkpoint. If only a giant child hadn't eaten him...

Poor Indy.

Double the fun!

2009-02-02T12:15:00.000-06:00

Here's the 60 second version to be shown in theaters during the trailers...

And here's what Ad Age has to say about it.

I'll stop embarrassing Dave now before I do any (more) irreparable marital damage.

?

2009-01-21T13:13:00.000-06:00

Let's go fly a kite...

2009-01-19T22:16:00.000-06:00

Right after visiting a dried up riverbed!"Our parents are the awesomest!"

Please don't eat my Dave, Mr. Tree. He's the only one I've got.
Regurgitated. Phew.
Boys found some kind of den. Gus suggested we jab a stick in the hole. For more bright ideas like this one, look for future posts entitled: "Electrocution? Puh-leese! That socket was just begging for a key," and "Mom! We need more meat to attract the coyotes!"
Involuntary group hug!And then...
Kite time!
Soaf's not so sure...
Upon further review...
Kid's gotta learn who's boss...
I win.
Praying to the kite gods...
Worked perfectly. (And all it took was sacrificing Otto. Deal!)
How many Thomases does it take to bring down a kite?
Far, far too many.

Are we human? Errr are we dancer?

2009-01-13T00:43:00.000-06:00

Performed by Otto Thomas

With a special voice over by two crazed stage parents.

Hey, we take our Guitar Hero very seriously. You never know where it might lead. **Crossing fingers for professional karaoke bar singer.**

(This one's for you, Jack.)

Nerd Alert!

2009-01-05T12:40:00.000-06:00

(What I love about this post is how everyone assumed it was me. You fools!)

Halloween

2008-12-10T10:29:00.000-06:00

My apologies for the delinquent post. Just a few pics, because our kids really went all out this year...

Otto's is recycled from a costume I made for Sofie many years ago. One of my all time favorites.

Gus is the "Skull King." I believe the costume speaks for itself. And it's saying, "I'm evil."

Simon's costume is his own creation from concept to execution. He is "Pie Guy" which is a superhero from a comic he writes. The head was made of plaster casting material that was laid over a mold he and Dave made and then painted. He made me print off one of his comics so he could show people when he was trick-or-treating on the off chance they've never heard of him.

Sofie's costume was made up the day before Halloween with the help from a trip to the D.I. and a very ambitious friend. She and Maddie made the apron themselves after hand dyeing the fabric in red snow cone syrup. Not kidding.

Please note: 1) I take no credit for any of this (apart from maybe the skunk), it was all them; 2) I actually often actively discourage creativity, because it ends up being more work for me; and 3) finally, hard evidence of Dave's positive paternity.

New York, I heart you. Plus T-day in Utah.

2008-12-03T16:09:00.000-06:00

First...NYC. Dave's parents took the twittles for 3 days while I flew to meet Dave. Did the kids miss us? When you've got grandparents like theirs, the answer is ALWAYS no. Which made my trip even better.

My friend, Amy, entertained me while Dave was working. A fine job she did, indeed. Though not good enough to keep me out of trouble. I was sternly told to hang my coat over my arm instead of over my bag, followed by a firm request to keep further back from a painting I had stepped closer to for a better look. Apparently, I'm not sophisticated enough for the Guggenheim. Not really a surprise, I suppose.

Guggenheim with Amy.

Dave's only day with the morning off. It was a good one.

Super good...

Back to Utah for the week. I actually took no pictures on Thanksgiving. Why? Because I was literally cooking the whole entire day. Belly happy.

Then to my brother Rick's for a little requisite cousin mayhem.

Less than half the kids present...

Dave stirred this custard for a good hour before we realized there was no water in the makeshift double boiler. Leave the cookin' to the women, and go chop some wood or something!

Sharing some frosty coke with my brother Bob...

Julie finally cracked from the relentless Ahlander teasing.
It isn't easy being an in-law in the Ahlander family.

Then next day...

Cousins at a 3-D movie. Crazy awesome.

Dinner out with some of Dave's fam.
The blond woman near the bottom right is my mom-in-law, Paula.
Oh, to have genes that make you look 50 at...let's just say older than 50...

Followed by a little Gigi time. Maybe the cutest baby I've ever seen...

A good week. Halloween post to follow. Unorthodox? That's how I roll, baby.

Lucky Girl

2008-11-19T07:00:00.000-06:00

Dearest Davy:

Am I ever missing you today. I know we planned on going to Europe for our 15th, but please accept this gift of public humiliation--in the form of old photos--instead.

I love you. Then. Now. Forever.

See you Friday.

-fritz

Dear peeps:

Please, bear in mind that we were married in the early 90s, so current fashion sense does not apply. Also, I was a teen bride, which is a great excuse for pretty much everything.

One of the first photos of us as a couple, and Dave couldn't be happier about it...

That's my little sister Sarah in the middle.
If you know Sarah now, you will--no doubt--enjoy this photo very much...

Engagement photos and my first and last attempt at scrap-booking.

Wedding Day...

The traditional post-wedding choke hold...

**Thanks to Edie for scanning these in for me.

Pizza Night!

2008-11-17T20:55:00.001-06:00

Otto's favorite dinner is homemade pizzas. It's also is one of the few meals that everyone in the family gets excited about. So much work. Lots of mess to clean up later. Huge pay off. It's lot like child birth. Only you don't eat the baby. At least, you shouldn't.

A few must have items:

Fresh pesto...

An Otto to help make the dough...

A loony seven year old wielding a pizza peel...

The finished product may come in unorthodox shapes and sizes, but man, is it ever fantastic.

I'm so hungry right now. Too bad there's no baby around. I mean pizza.

Old guys CAN rock. Who knew?

2008-11-07T00:10:00.000-06:00

Just a taste...

I told Scott that I finally realized, after seeing this show, why I'm such a snob about band showmanship. They've (particularly Scott) ruined me for life on live music.

The best part: our kids will all have memories of it.

And look at my little drummer boy...

He claims the silly rocker gloves were necessary since he hasn't played for six years and then had to practice three straight days for several hours. I, on the other hand, believe it was just a thinly veiled ruse to live out a Styx-esque rocker fantasy. Even still, I couldn't be prouder.

The whole thing was outrageously awesome.

We've got spirit!

2008-10-27T22:52:00.000-05:00

Simon, Gus and Otto did not fail to represent in their school's colors on Niwot Elementary Spirit Day.

This is how Otto got to the bus stop:

And this is how Dave got home:

Although it's been suspected for quite some time, we finally know definitively that Dave's shirts will fit on small, elementary-aged boys.

The most expensive fish and chips ever.

2008-10-17T10:04:00.000-05:00

After proving our extreme aptitude at fishing, we--in our deep, and sometimes misguided, desire to teach our kids "important life lessons"--insisted that they attempt to eat their "catch."

All were enthusiastic, except, of course, me and Soaf. Since we didn't catch them, we felt no obligation to participate in the prep or consumption.

Soaf has been quite committed to her self-proclaimed vegetarian lifestyle for the last two years, except for eating fish on occasion. After our little expedition, fish is out.

Everyone was a pretty good sport about it. Gus wasn't thrilled about the flavor, but still gave it a shot...

Simon enjoyed it as much as any 50 pound 10 year old ever really enjoys food. He particularly loved finding this fish bone...

Dave liked it quite a bit. At least, as much as any 135 pound man likes food.

Otto could not get enough.

And Soaf and I happily ate pretend chicken patties.

The two varieties of homemade fresh cut fries (russet and sweet potato) were arguably the best part of the whole meal. Our Utah roots demanded two kinds of fry sauce: traditional and chipotle.

Life lesson learned?

Answering that question reminds me of a conversation that Dave and I once had with a much younger Simon about where meat comes from (beef from cows, chicken from chickens and so on) and the importance of appreciating the fact that an animal had to die for him to eat it. After a long thoughtful consideration (approximately seven seconds) he said, "From now on, I only want to eat dead things."

Ah, yes. Lesson learned indeed.

Colorado Adventures

2008-09-29T09:55:00.000-05:00

A day that begins with an ensemble like this has got to be one of the awesomest days ever.

Last Saturday, at the invitation of our friends, we went to visit a place that Colorado residents have been telling us to go since the day we arrived: Estes Park.

First stop: Trout Haven. (Haven? For trout? Hmmm...)

Here is the "friend" who roped us into it. Thanks for nothing, Steve.

Everything there is "free" except for the fish. They supply fishing poles, bait and buckets. After you catch them, they clean them and send them home with you. You're guaranteed a catch but there is no catch and release. It's quite a racket: the whole thing takes about 10 minutes and they charge by the inch. The trout god had the last laugh, because all our fish were over a foot each.

It may surprise you to know that we Ahlander-Thomases are not hunters by nature. Even in such a controlled environment there was a lot of "whaaa???" type exchanges that volleyed back and forth between Dave and me. If the guys at the counter rightly questioned our competence when we arrived, it was undoubtedly confirmed when we asked if we could pay for them and then put them back. The answer was no.

Afterward, we went here...
Much better. Verdict on fall in Colorado? A universal good.

What does three boys plus a newly refinished hardwood floor equal?

2008-09-07T10:29:00.000-05:00

Answer: perfectly choreographed dance. Enjoy.

And I thought renting meant no more home improvement projects.

2008-09-02T21:48:00.001-05:00

Silly, silly girl.

Here's what our kitchen looks like right now. The lighter part of the floor is the new raw wood that replaced the water damaged wood. The damage was a result of the owner "fixing" our refrigerator's ice maker that then leaked unchecked for three days. Along with destroying half the wood floor in the kitchen, the leak also ruined the basement bedroom carpet. That same leak prevented our friends Mike, Phoenix and their three swell kids from visiting.

Forgive and forget? Sorry, no. I will not forgive you, leak. Not ever.

Here's where all our furniture is crammed since 3/4 of the main floor is wood and the entire thing has to be refinished so it will match.

Ugh.

The only upshot? I'm not paying for it. At least not monetarily.

(BTW: They're all watching the 1980 Flash Gordon in the photo. Super weirdly awesome. The kids loved it. They too are super weirdly awesome.)

Mommy's big day out!

2008-08-23T00:12:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my first normal full day with no kids in 12 years. Let me take you on a little photo journey...

Here is the shirt I choose for the occasion.
Sensible!

Here is the pear I ate without having to share.
Delicious!

Here's the book my friend Stacy gave me that I read 100 pages of with no inerruptions.
Shocking!

Here's the water bottle I drained with no worry of backwash.
Refreshing!

Here is the gaping wound from the removal of an abnormal mole that didn't get grabbed or bumped for 7 whole hours.
Wonderful!

All in all, a very fine day. Thank you, public education. Thank you.

Boo Hoo: Part 2

2008-08-21T10:21:00.000-05:00

I honestly thought I'd be one of those people who would be categorically thrilled when my last kid started kindergarten. And although I'm not like other moms I've talked to who wonder what they're going to do with their lives now (I know EXACTLY what I'm going to do now), I was a little teary watching Otto go off that first day. He just seems too little. Too vulnerable. Too sweet. Too lacking in the "street smarts" department. But...off he went.

Another first: all of our kids ride the bus. There is a stark difference, however, between the bus stop for middle school and the bus stop for elementary...

I asked Sofie if she wanted me to walk her to the bus stop--a definite no. I concocted a thinly-veiled ruse to see her there and quickly drove over to tell her something I'd "forgotten." I then asked if I could wait until the bus came. She agreed, provided I was out of sight. Lucky for me, the bus comes early (6:45am), because if anyone were to see me there, parked a few houses down from the bus stop, peeking out the window and--that's right--snapping pictures, I might have been arrested for stalking.

Shortly after I took the first picture, I got a text from Sofie that said, "I saw that!"

Busted.

The scene at the elementary bus stop could not have been more different. Parents, kids, dogs and bikes all gathered together in a lively group, pictures snapping and hands waving until the bus was out of sight. With the exception of the picture snapping, it appears this happens every day in the morning AND afternoon. So awesome.

Through the window...

A couple more of the first day...

Kids are brave.

Boo Hoo

2008-08-15T19:47:00.000-05:00

My kid is twelve. Twelve, I tell you!!!

Sofie coming back from camp. She was gone for a whole week. Ugh!

If you want to know more about this kid, you can read about her here. You can also see her here, here, here, here and here. And here is her entry into her elementary school's "Reflections" contest, for which she won first place in the 3-D art category.

She's still that great, only she borrows all my clothes, is one inch taller than me and really likes boys. She also has "ideas" and "opinions" and keeps herself up until the wee hours of the morning reading books by the light of her iPod.

Don't get me wrong, I honestly can't get enough of the twelve-year-old Loaf. She's so so amazingly cool. But she's just not this kid, you know?

Twelve? Bah!

Welcome, tiny human.

2008-08-07T12:20:00.000-05:00

Since our house flooded in Colorado while I was in Utah, Dave got to fly to Utah from California and spend a few extra days with us. Bonus! One of the activities I thought I'd miss was Celeste's baby shower thrown by her sister Liz in their backyard. Thank you, flood!

I can honestly say it was by far the best baby shower I have ever been to. That means almost nothing, but we really did have a fantastic time. They set up a projector and showed "Bringing Up Baby" while we all munched on authentic movie snacks. It was for couples, but they let us bring the whole fam, since we were a package deal that weekend.

Celeste on the right... (Odd things about this pic? Firstly, we appear to be slow dancing, and secondly, it looks like the person who took it was on the roof. I must admit, I'd accept a slow dance from Celeste any day. She's hot.)

Liz and Katrina (Celeste's sisters) popping the corn along with Sime.

The boys...

Celeste and Matt's cute friends... (The kiddie in the center has "Celeste" for a middle name. Guess who caught* her? Matt, of course.)

Proof that Dave came....

Pear and Soaf...

*"Caught" is the midwifery term for "delivered," in case you didn't know. Power to the ladies!

Fire good!

2008-08-06T22:07:00.000-05:00

This post is a bit late. Whatever. No one reads this anyway.

So, in Utah, not only do they celebrate the 4th of July with fire but also the 24th of July! Talk about freedom!

Here are the cousins "listening" to Grandpa Thomas talk about their ancestors.

Then, a ride in an actual handcart! Wowzer! (I was all for the slightly unorthodox bandannas, but I began to deeply question the authenticity of the reenactment when they introduced "pioneer suckers.")

And finally, the kids relaxing after that arduous journey around the corner to Great Grandpa and Grandma Rasmussen's house.

Here's where the fun really starts...young children with explosives!

Fire in the hole!

What do you do after a desperate and fruitless search through the firework midden?

Well...you casually look on while the uncles set the packaging ablaze, encouraging the kids to participate. Naturally.

I assumed when my mom-in-law came out of the house and walked over to the kids that we were busted. Just as she reached the tiny bonfire, it suddenly sparked up anew. Surprised, I looked over as she was walking away, undoubtedly hiding something behind her back and wearing an impish grin. That's the kind of grandma any kid would kill to have. Well done, Paula.

Here we are as I am insisting she crouch down for a picture. She's 5 feet 9 inches. I'm tired of always being the shorty in the photo.

Ham, cheese and dorks...

God bless Utah. And God bless the Pioneers!

Hello, Zion? I'll be there in 7 hours.

2008-07-20T02:18:00.000-05:00

When Dave found out he was going to N.Y.C. followed 24 hours later by a trip to L.A. that was scheduled to last 11 days, the twittles and I waited about 12 hours before we got the heck out of Dodge.

So far, a wise choice. And just when I thought life couldn't possibly get better after catching a glimpse of the freakish hair patches growing squarely over the kidney areas on my brother Bob's back. Isn't life just full of delightful surprises?

Twilight Concert Series at Gallivan featuring Andrew Bird. Also happens to be where Dave proposed. Most brought beer. I brought candy corns.

Otto didn't seem totally committed to rocking hard.

BBQ organized by Nic and executed by Val and Mer in their stunning newly landscaped backyard.

Backyard movie party at Dave's parents complete with a full concession stand set up by my niece Phoebe which included fake money and stove-popped popcorn. Sound idyllic? All in a day's work for the extended Thomas clan. And yes, I did wear that outfit twice in a row.

This is only the photographed part which doesn't include the hysterical fits of laughter at Bob and Julie's and the trips to Nic's friend's pool. What's more, the trip's only half over!

However, none could deny the gaping hole in the whole affair: Dave's absence. He is currently producing a commercial he wrote, and the spot is--to say the least--totally fantastic. Yay Dave! How you can tell how much I love the boy? I'm waiting until we reunite to see the new Batman movie. Pay attention, folks...that's what true love looks like.

So Lame

2008-07-08T16:01:00.000-05:00

Who ever heard of a COMPLETE ban on fireworks across the ENTIRE city? Including sparklers and pops? Well, that's what the "American" city of Boulder has done. Sure, there's a huge risk of fire in the month of July, and sure, there are miles and miles of dry grass open-space all around that--if set ablaze--could potentially burn unchecked for weeks, if not months. But this is AMERICA. If I wanted to be safe from fire I would move to a place where there is no Fourth of July and where people don't care so much about their right to burn things.

Next year we'll be going to Utah where they still believe in freedom.

I'm trying not to brag...

2008-06-30T18:44:00.000-05:00

But seriously...

we live there.

Not only is there a crazy sunset like every single night, but the temperature is generally fantastic (low to mid 80's). While I've been told July and August can be pretty toasty, I'm pretending I didn't hear that, because what can a Colorado resident of 15 years really know anyway? Answer: Tie-dyes speak for themselves. (FYI: Tie-dye is really just meant for children and stoners, in case you were wondering about the smug looks you get from others when you wear one.)

The past week has been chock full (and chalk full...i.e. the sidewalk variety) of summer. Dave's been here for 5 whole days which has made life seem totally normal. Bathrooms were cleaned, parks were visited, crepes were eaten. Ah, blessed normalcy. It also keeps the kids out of my bed at night. (Call me crazy, but I can't sleep with someone else's foot in my face. Which, incidentally, represents one of the less offensive body parts I've woken up to.)

Here's some photos of the lazy days...

Simon laid a couple eggs and all he got were these lousy brothers.

If you're wondering, after seeing several pics, if Simon always pulls that face in a photo, the answer is a resounding "YES!"

The best part about this photo is the fact that apparently Otto's never been good and dizzy before, because upon completion of this evidently completely enjoyable ride he got wild-eyed and said, "Mommy, what's happening to me? I can't walk!" I found it hilarious. Cruel? Maybe. Sue me.

While our kids have an undeniably deep-seated love for T.V. and Wii, reading is a close second. It is, of course, by necessity when it's reading or total boredom...whatever works.

Many of you (exactly two) have clamored for more photos of the house. I'll get to that when my house is clean. ETA: early 2009. Prepare to be underwhelmed.

Seconds, please!

2008-06-21T09:49:00.000-05:00

We got Dave home for a day and a half.

A benefit of having him home for only a short time is that we feel completely justified in doing only frivolous activities which may include but are not limited to...

zoo

junk food

wii
(rayman raving rabbids 2, to be precise. awesomely fun family game.)

other "socially unacceptable" behaviors

Bordem

2008-06-16T23:11:00.000-05:00

We haven't gotten out much since we've been here, what with all the unpacking that needs to be done. What happens when kids get bored? Nothing good, I tell you. I was scrolling through the pictures on my camera, only to find an unexpected series of disturbing images. These are some of the few that were appropriate for public viewing. I'll leave it at that.

Not much going on in there...

There were about 15 in a row of the following at various angles...

Edited for a family audience...

Needless to say, we marched right out and got a zoo pass.

Procreation (i.e. pet avoidance)

2008-06-14T14:02:00.000-05:00

To stave off her relentless pleading, we foolishly promised Sofie that when our youngest kid turned five we would get a pet. She was like four when we made that promise. It seemed so gloriously far away. Unfortunately, the time has come to pony-up. Seriously. We're getting a pony. And we're naming him Dad, because someone's got to step up and be a role model.

We've handily put off our fab four because of the move, but they can be placated no longer. Just when I thought I would have to get pregnant to prevent pet ownership (again), we discovered a family of wild bunnies living under the deck of our new house. Phew.

Kids: "So, what pet are we going to get, Mom?"

Me: "The bunnies under the deck are our new pets!"

They were stoked for about 1.47 seconds after which they knew they'd been hornswoggled. Bullet successfully dodged.

Bunny: "Feet don't fail me now!"

(Pics by Sofie taken on her cell)

The View

2008-06-12T21:45:00.000-05:00

No, not the T.V. show (although I happen to know that Dave is a big fan). The view from our backyard...So, I guess Boulder does have something going for it.

And here is the view from inside my kitchen...
It's as if the Uhaul truck vomited into my kitchen. One strike for Boulder.

Here is Otto's first arm's-length photo...
And what happens when I kiss him...Such a sweet little guy.

The Dawn of Ubiquitous Blogging

2008-06-11T09:56:00.000-05:00

Is blogging so ubiquitous that it's moved into anti-cool? Yes? Perfect. Now I can keep you apprised of all the fabulous happenings in CO. You can't wait. Here we go.

Friends and family came out to watch us go. Not help, mind you...just to watch the freak show. Actually, much much help was accepted and so appreciated. I was in way over my head.

Apparently, all of our stuff won't fit into the biggest Uhaul. Huh.

I look so good here. I can really pull off sweat-stains. Perfect for public viewing. Please circulate.