30 Days Hath November

Apparently, amongst Tobias's group of friends, the month we presently find ourselves in is "No Shave November".



They're all relatively new to this whole facial hair thing, so who's going to inform them that we are hastily spiraling toward--

--"No Date December"?

I've tried, but the crier of such news probably needs to be young, cute and not smelling of tonight's dinner in order for the message to be heeded.

My Night of Blondness

Ever heard of a midlife crisis?

The above photo is not evidence of one. (Or if I am having one, it's not manifesting itself on my head.)

How about a Maltese Manhunt? Ever heard of one of those?

Our junior high church group recently had one. It involved me (and three other sponsors with whom the kids are familiar) disguising ourselves and then attempting to blend in with the other shoppers at a local mall. Teams of jr. highers combed the crowds looking for us. When they thought they had found one of us, the bravest soul of their group would approach and ask for a code phrase. (Mine was 'tea and crumpets'.) Once the secret phrase was obtained, they would text it to Kym (the gal in charge). The team to text her all four phrases first won the game...

...thus my donning of a wig, prop glasses and scrubs. (Thanks for the loans, Linda and Veronica.) Voila!


Upon seeing my newly disguised self, Jeff commented, "It's amazing how unattractive you can look."

Ummm...thanks?

I wish I had photos of my partners in disguise, but we couldn't afford the $900 fine for taking pictures in the mall. (Isn't that absurd? Especially since most people have cameras on their phones anyway and can discreetly snap photos all over the place.) Alas, my mere descriptions will have to suffice.

Erik--bleached his black hair until he was as blond as a black-haired individual can get.

Jason--wore a long black, super shiny wig and looked like a has-been rock star. (Sorry, Jay, but you know it's true.)

Phil--dressed up like a cowboy, complete with hat and drawn-on sideburns. Yeah, he didn't look suspicious at all. At one point, one of the shop keepers approached Phil and asked why he kept walking around and around in circles. Ummm...because I'm hiding from a bunch of jr. highers...


This whole venture really was a stretch for me. As I roamed the mall for about two hours, I kept thinking someone was going to point and ask, "You're wearing a wig, huh?" or just snatch it off my head and run, waving it in the air.

At one point, I purchased something with my credit card and the salesperson asked to see my ID.

Uh oh, I thought.

"Ummm...I'm wearing a wig right now," I confessed as I held my driver's license out to her.

She didn't bat an eye or even look up at me as she said, "Don't worry about it. I just need to make sure the names match."

Oh, okay. So much for safety in purchasing.

So do blonds have more fun?

Hmmm...

Well, my night of blondness was fun splashed onto a backdrop of paranoia and embarrassment, so I guess this experiment was inconclusive.

Let's see that one shot again:


So explain to me how Sidney Bristow made every disguise look soooo good? I try it once and end up looking like Nurse Ratched's plain jane hench woman!

I see no career in espionage in my future.

Short But Stupid

Last night I had a bad dream.

No, it was not technically a night terror.

In this dream, my garage was on fire!

Naturally, my first instinct was to call 9-1-1.

Unfortunately, every phone I grabbed...


...turned out to be...


...a calculator:


Sorry. It was just too dumb to keep to myself.

Surprising, Annoying, Yet Slightly Amusing

Remember this post ?

Well, a couple of nights ago, I woke up screaming again.

Jeff's the one I really feel sorry for. I mean, would you rather wake up screaming or wake up 'cause the person next to you is screaming? As soon as I'm truly awake, I realize that everything is okay, but as soon as Jeff wakes up, he thinks he needs to morph into the Hulk and defend the entire household.

His first words to me were a frantic, "Are you okay?" followed shortly afterward by a pleading, "You've got to stop doing this."

For better or worse, Babe. :)

This time I couldn't recall the dream I was having just prior to the vocalized horror that lasered out of my throat, but I was inspired to hop on the Net and research "night terrors".

At the first site I visited I read, "In a typical episode, you will sit up in bed and pierce the night with a 'blood-curdling' scream or shout."

Well, at least I now know what ails me, although I'm really surprised. I would think that only people under extreme stress or who have suffered severely traumatic experiences would experience this.

Really, does this look like the face of someone who would suffer from such a thing?


Acne? Obviously. Plantar Fasciitis? Sure. Occasional bouts of self-loathing? Why not? But something called "night terrors"? Now that's just weird...

The two screaming incidents have been by far the worst, but there have been multiple other occurrences. Too many to count, in fact. It all started about a year and a half ago.

I'll suddenly wake up from a dream (that isn't necessarily frightening, coincidentally) and think that a spider is dangling just inches from my face or that a person is standing by my bedside or some other startling variation of a similar scenario.

The crazy thing is that my eyes are wide open and I truly believe that I'm actually seeing something. On the less severe occasions, it takes me a couple of seconds to realize that it's just the nightstand or a shadow in the doorway and I calm immediately. At other times, I gasp in fright or even call out "Jesus!"

(One time when Jeff woke up, he was a little perturbed that I was calling out to Jesus when he was right there beside me. Ummm...let's see...Jesus is omnipotent, omnipresent God and you, darling? Yes, you're incredibly manly, but at 2:00 AM you're a (very studly), drooling, drowsy dude wearing nothing but a wedding ring and hair.)

The various websites I read made me thankful that I'm not suffering from a more severe case. Apparently, some people not only scream, but run around their house while doing so. (Wow. That would really suck. Jeff might accidentally clobber me in the unlit mayhem thinking that I'm the home invader.) In fact, the advice was given that the poor souls who sprint and scream keep their bedrooms clean to keep from tripping over things. Encouragement indeed.

There wasn't much advice given as to how to avoid having the terrors in the first place. They simply said to go see the doctor.

So I've decided to start keeping a sleep log, taking note of all the various factors that may be contributing, everything from what position I'm sleeping in to whether or not I ate too much sugar on the previous day. (Yes, I know. It'll make fascinating reading. I'll be sure to post it right here in it's entirety.) Hopefully it will help me establish what I can do to keep myself from "piercing the night with a blood curdling scream".

One website said that about 14% of children suffer from night terrors and most of them outgrow it in their teen years. It went on to say that only about 2% of adults experience them and it usually clears up by the time they're 65. Great news! Only 29 years to go!

Lurching Across an Empty Parking Lot Near You

What's more fun than teaching a teen to drive a car?

Why, teaching a teen to drive a car with a stick shift, of course!

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...


Tenacious T. Doesn't he look psyched?

9 o'clock and 3 o'clock:


Make sure you're in first:


(We've discovered that my poor car emits a particularly acrid smell when third gear is mistaken for first as one attempts to get going.)

Get ready...

get set...

and...

choke...

sputter...

...stall.

Hmmm...try again.

*key turns in ignition*

More gas...

No! No! More brake!

Imagine the above instructions interspersed with peals of (somewhat nervous) laughter.

I've learned to rate the frightfulness of his various navigations by how many chins they cause me to sprout. This photo was taken during a quadri-chin maneuver:


(Okay, so it's obviously a posed photo, but I have looked this overwrought a number of times during his times behind the wheel. It's not a good look for me, I know.)

In all fairness, he has improved a lot. I no longer threaten that he's going to have to pony-up for my chiropractic bills.

Ah, yes. That's my boy, leaving his mark in the world:

Personified Fruit and a Rascally 'Coon

There are definitely some benefits to kids growing up. They can brush their own teeth, clean between their own toes AND carve their own pumpkins as seen here by my not so little girl:


Oh, and did I mention they can make their own costume, too?

My simple, yet darling, raccoon. :)


Hey! Get out of that trash can!

What? Oh, I see...


...it's your trick or treat bag. Ambitious little member of the weasel family, aren't you?

After the festivities of October 31st had ended, Delaney still hadn't had enough of getting creative with fruit as exhibited by my fruit bowl:


She and her buddy Maria brought out the personality in each of these oranges.

The matronly looking one is named Suzette.

Penitence

I repented today

With a silent act of minor motions,

Mundane to any onlooker--

But internally I was prostrate,

Agreeing with God

That I am covetous,

Indignant that others thrive

Where I have dwindled.



Despising the person

That Envy twists me into,

I joined the celebration of another,

Repenting as I will again and again

Because Jealousy is a wily grappler

Who trips and pins, gorging on Pride

Of which I have a glutton's larder*.











*larder=pantry

The Art of Crying Uncle

Although perseverance is often touted as a virtue, I've learned that sometimes the best option is to:

Simply.

Give.

Up.

Case in point--a while back I was dismayed to see this...

...super huge bleach spot marring the moss green luxuriance of one of my Pima cotton hand towels.

I suspected it was the result of Tobias wiping his hands after applying Clearasil to his face. I informed him of such. He assured me that he was certain he was not the guilty party.

My point was proven when I smeared some of the ointment onto the corner of the already fouled towel. Voila! Discoloration.

Not wanting any of my other towels to suffer the same fate, I told him he needed to wash his hands with soap after using the acne cream.

After I saw that a second towel had fallen victim to the same bleaching fate as the first...


...I realized that the medication is such potent stuff that soap can't counteract it. (And yes, I'm confident he was using soap.)

Thus, Plan B was birthed: I installed a roll of paper towels in the bathroom and instructed him to dry his hands on those.

Solved?

Nyet.

He kept forgetting and absentmindedly drying the fingers-o'-destruction on the forbidden cloths. Even a kitchen towel became blighted, proving that the plague was spreading from room to room!

Plan C needed to be be effectual. The appearance of my bathroom was at stake! Therefore, I knew I had to hit him where it hurts...

...right in the wallet.

I bought four new towels (cheap ones this time) and told him that if I saw a bleach blot on any one of them he'd have to pay me back for the ruined rag. Certainly to a kid who only earns a few dollars each week for allowance, the threat of losing that money would cause something in his brain to click, enabling him to remember, remember, remember. I mean, who wants to pay a "towel ruination fee"?

Within days he had "purchased" his first towel. Soon after, he had acquired a pair. By the third unfortunate "fouling", something clicked in my brain.

While pondering my situation, I realized that:

A) His tarnishing of towels was not born out of mischief nor defiance. He's simply a kid whose brain won't be fully formed for another ten years.

B) Although I could ban Clearasil and other similar products from our household, therefore safeguarding all future towels, I didn't want him to suffer the physical and emotional pain that acne can cause.

C) He's only going to be at home with us for a few more years and I want him to remember me as a gracious mom (who recognizes she, too, is prone to screwing things up at times) instead of as a towel nazi.

So...

...when you come to my house and see this...


...don't think of it as a hideous bathroom accessory (like I do every time I dry my hands).

Rather, regard it as an emblem of my love and appreciation for this guy:





I think I have one remaining unblemished towel stuck way in the back of my closet, but it won't be making it's debut on the towel ring until after Sir Bleachalot moves out.

Tea, Anyone?

There's still time to come join the Mad Hatter's tea party if you are so inclined.


(Yes, I know he looks like he's a drummer for Marilyn Manson's band, but he's just a harmlessly insane milliner, okay?)

Here he is with the March Hare:


And here is the delightfully doltish Tweedle Dee in all of her beach-ballish glory:



*hee hee hee*

Happily, Yet With Discretion

Have you ever been so pleased with some wonderful thing that has occurred in your life that you were hesitant to speak of it?

I'm experiencing that right now.

My hesitance isn't born out of an unwillingness to share, but rather out of a desire to not be interpreted as a loud mouthed braggart, hollering, "Look at me! Aren't I lucky? Don't you wish this happened to you???"

Ick.

However, just as I am happy for others when their cups runneth over (or try to be at least!), I trust the character and intentions of my friends who come here to see what my brain has lately spewed onto the Internet. Therefore, I will share with you our latest wonderment.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...


...our 2010 vacation to...



...the Great Northwest!



("Again?" you ask. I couldn't help myself, okay? I REALLY like it there.)

Day 1

All packed up and ready to pull out of the garage:

The first day was a very weird start for a vacation.

We left in the afternoon. I hate leaving on a trip first thing in the morning. That always ensures that I will not sleep at all the night before because I'm thinking about making sure I pack my stupid toothbrush once I get up.

Our first stop was about 45 minutes away where we attended the first birthday celebration of a very adorable little girl.

Evelynn really knows how to party:


Here she is, pre-cake-wrestling with her parents, Cupcake Mama and Papa:


Isn't she sweet?

Afterward, we hopped back in the car and drove another 45 minutes to where we promptly checked into a motel.

This confused my family to no end since we had hardly traveled at all and it was still fairly early.


"It'll all make sense eventually," I told them.

(What I didn't tell them was that we needed to be somewhere at 5:30 the next morning and since I found a motel for $60 (!) that was located only 15 minutes from our destination, I had to take it. If we'd stayed at home, we would have had to get up at 2:30 in the morning and drive for two hours, hoping the entire time that we wouldn't be late.)

Hee hee hee...

Day 2

4:00 AM found me rousing my crew from a surprising slumber considering the trampoline-like surface of our motel beds. (Remember, I got the room for $60.)

To the utter surprise of my three most preciouses, we soon found ourselves seated on one of these:



(Can you see the plane's shadow on the cloud in the above pic?)

A little screen in front of each of us indoctrinated us on the virtues of the Total Pillow.


(It actually did seem quite ergonomic in a dorky kind of way.)

It wasn't long before we touched down in Portland and found ourselves at the lovely home of Elisabeth and Jon and their lively brood.


While the guys struck out to play some disc golf and the littlest ones napped, Delaney, Ava and I walked to a cute little ice cream parlor...



...where unbeknownst to us, much excitement awaited in the form of a bit of blood loss and the knowledge that the tooth fairy would soon be visiting.



We went to dinner at:


Some Portlandian genius decided to purchase an abandoned public school and turn it into several restaurants, a movie theater and some other draws for the populace.


Very cool and the food was good, too.



Are those tater tots I see? (Well, it is a former school after all.)


Gimme somma your tots!

With full stomachs, we bid our friends adieu and headed northwest for Hoquiam, Washington.