Dinner Theatre

The following conversation took place in our kitchen during dinner tonight:
Sara: "Six tacos, Dad? That's disgusting!"
Dad: "That's nothing compared to my personal best."

Christmas Equity

When you're the parents of more than one child,
Christmas can often be hectic and wild.
Of course, there's all of the cooking and baking,
The decorating, the Christmas card making,
And the shopping for friends and relatives dear.
Yet, there is one thing that can fill you with fear:
How to be equitable with your kids' gifts.
You do not want to cause arguments or rifts
About who got the biggest and best Christmas stuff.
You fret and ask yourself, "Do I have enough?"
"Did I spend as much on Jill as I did on Jack?"
"Is there some present I might have to take back?"
I worry and wonder, and might even cry:
"Is there one more present I have yet to buy?"
I run to the store, and get one more gift for Ken.
I count all of the gifts and I count them again.
Everything seems even, so I start to wrap.
Things are looking good, and I take a short nap.
Late Christmas Eve all gifts are under the tree.
I'm feeling relief and as calm as I can be.
It's time to put away the wrapping supplies.
I open the closet, and what a surprise!
And what to my wondering eyes do appear,
But forgotten gifts I'd bought earlier this year!
There are two gifts for Jack, and three gifts for Jill,
And as for Ken, there are even more gifts still.
I stew, fret, then from the closet walk away.
I'll save the contents for the next Christmas day.

WHAT?!?!?!?

Today I made a quick trip to PCC (Puget Consumer Coop--a local grocery store aimed at the Mother Earth crowd) and was amused and shocked to discover something I'd never encountered before: organic mistletoe! Why, I ask, would anyone ever need organic mistletoe? It's not as if it will be eaten. In fact, mistletoe is poisonous if injested, so who cares whether or not it's organic? Please enlighten me.

Random Ramblings

1. Sadie, our dog, has a purple tooth and, according to the vet, needs a root canal. Since Sadie doesn't seem to be in pain, we're waiting to see if we really need to take her to a veterinary dentist in Seattle. Pet ownership can be expensive, but less expensive if one has pet health insurance.

2. Mark was frustrated with his math homework last night. He understood the problem and figured out the solution, but he struggled when he had to write the solution in words instead of numbers. I tried to help, explaining in great detail how he could pen his answer. After I had talked for a few minutes, Mark said, "I've come up with a solution, Mom. I was just getting so bored with your lecturing, I've decided to solve the problem myself." He did, and did it very well.

3. Dogs don't give you very much of a warning before they vomit.

4. Why is it that some children are so averse to resupplying the toilet paper holder with toilet paper?

5. "The reward of charity depends entirely upon the extent of the kindness in it." (Babylonian Talmud)

6. Rachelle, our second pickiest eater, detests beans (except string beans) in all forms, but she loves hummus (ground up garbanzo beans). Trader Joe's Mediterranean Hummus is the best!

Oh, No!!! Not Again!!!

Rachelle awakened us at 5:15 one morning last week with news that water was coming into her room presumably from a broken pipe. Lance leapt out of bed to discover the source. I tried to go back to sleep and pretend that I didn't hear Rachelle. We have had way too many water woes over the course of the 20+ years we've lived in our house.

If there is to be any type of household emergency, the likelihood that it will involve water is about 95%. Really. And we've certainly had our share of water problems over the years.

There was the time when we all waited in the car while a unnamed child finished using the restroom. The child closed the door, got in the car, and then we were off to run errands. We arrived back home over an hour later to find water pouring through the ceiling onto the garage and basement floors. Apparently, this sweet child had unknowingly played a nasty prank on us by lifting the toilet tank lid and flipping the fill tank hose up so that the water ran continuously out of the top of the tank. That little incident required us to pull most of the new carpet up upstairs, replace ALL of the basement carpeting, call our insurance provider, have Service Master come to the house and suck up the water and place fans strategically throughout the house, and cause Sara to get 7 stitches in the palm of her hand because she slipped and fell and tore her flesh on the exposed carpet nails.

Another water emergency occured when my sister, Melanie, was visiting. She awakened us on a Sunday morning to say that water pouring into the basement from the upstairs. Toilet trouble again, only this time it involved yucky toilet bowl water from the toilet being clogged. It was a smelly, yucky mess.

When Zachary was about 3 years old, he yelled upstairs, "Don't come downstairs, Mom!" When I asked "Why?" he replied, "Because there's water all over the floor." Apparently, he wanted to drive his tonka trucks through water so he dragged the hose in from outside and was watering the linoleum and carpet. Fortunately, only about 1/3 of the floor was wet.

A few months ago, Lance went into the garage to retrieve some boxes from the shelves next to the door. When he moved the boxes, he discovered that the sheetrock was wet and was beginning to rot. The upstairs bathtub had a leak we didn't know about. That little repair cost about $1,500.

I could mention other disasters at our house that involved H2O, but just know that we've had many, and we don't like them.

Now, off into the rain I go!

Lemon Roasted Chicken

You asked for it, so here is the recipe for Lemon Roasted Chicken:

1 roasting chicken (frying chicken will do)
1 lemon
Olive or vegetable oil
Kosher salt

Spray a roasting pan with cooking spray. Discard the contents of the chicken cavity (giblets, neck) and rinse cavity well. Place chicken in roasting pan. Prick holes all over lemon, and place whole lemon inside chicken cavity. Slather chicken skin with oil, and then sprinkle kosher salt LIBERALLY all over chicken. Roast the bird, uncovered, in a 325 to 350 degree oven for about 2 hours or until skin is nicely browned and meat is cooked. Enjoy!

Cruel and Unusual Mother

I'm really not sure why I'm admitting this, but, apparently, I am a cruel and unusual mother--at least according to Mark. Normally, I'm the apple of his eye and the "favorite parent," but not tonight. Tonight is Mark's first basketball practice of the season, and Mark and I had a wrestling match of wits before it started.

Those who are familiar with Mark's antics can understand why I will NEVER, NEVER, EVER again sign Mark up for a sport he doesn't want to participate in. I learned that lesson the hard way--the very hard way. It was the spring of 2005 . . . I really want to forget it, but the memory rears its ugly head every year during baseball season, and I am so grateful that Mark isn't "doing" baseball. I could write pages about that fateful baseball season of 2005; but, suffice it to say, it was awful. Awful for Mark. More awful for the coach. Most awful for me. After we barely survived that season, I marched down to the Lake Washington Youth Soccer Association office and "dropped" Mark from participating in fall soccer. When school started, Mark BEGGED to play basketball. I resisted. He persisted. I made him take an oath and write his name in blood (not literally, okay?) that he would enjoy basketball and would participate and behave. He was mostly true to his word and actually liked basketball. Last year, he asked me to sign him up for basketball again. I did. The season was even better than the previous one. We were on a roll--or so I thought.

Again, this fall, Mark asked to play basketball. After questioning his commitment (which I have learned to do) and being reassured that that is what he wanted to do, I paid the $65 (or some similar amount) and enrolled him in basketball again. His new coach called last week and told us that the practices would be every Monday night at 7:00. Of course, I told Mark about this, and everything seemed copacetic. "Seemed" is the operative word here.

Tonight at dinner I announced that Mark needed to finish his favorite lemon roast chicken and then get ready for basketball practice. Watching his reaction, you would have thought I had told him we were going to get all of his hair plucked out strand by strand and then have him run naked through the streets of Redmond. According to Mark, I had never obtained his permission to sign him up for basketball again and he wasn't going to play. Deja vu all over again. Well, I know what is important to Mark because he has been "punished" with this form of punishment before, but I told him, "That's fine. I'll take you out of basketball. But, I will take the XBOX 360 away until basketball season is over, AND you will have to pay me the $65 basketball enrollment fee." Here's where he used the word "cruel" to describe me. Maybe I am cruel, but I'm so weary of this little game he persists in playing.

After many tears and protests, he went to basketball practice--under duress, of course. His father accompanied him and is currently sitting there watching every move he makes. I suspect (and, of course, hope) that this will all blow over and that he will come to his senses and calm down. He usually does in these types of situations, unless we reminisce about that awful baseball season of 2005. I'll keep you posted (pun intended).

Three-Alarm Dinner

In keeping with Murphy's Law, a few months ago while Lance was on a business trip, I awoke early on a Saturday morning to the sound of loud chirping. The chirping was coming from our hall smoke detector. I tried to silence the alarm by pushing the only button on the alarm I could find, but to no avail. I mounted a step stool and tried to release the battery, but the battery was stuck. I pulled and pulled on the battery all while listening to the tortuous chirping. Finally I wrested the battery free from it's enclosure but broke part of the housing off in the process. I quickly showered, dressed (of course) and made a quick trip to the store to buy a new battery because, of course, we didn't have the right kind of battery at home. I arrived home to find my children still sleeping all snug in their beds unaware of the loud noises coming from the hall. I climbed back on the step stool and inserted the battery into the broken housing. Voila! NO!!! The chirping continued.

With my nerves on edge and my anxiety level rising, the next logical step was to grab a baseball bat and beat the tar out of the smoke detector. I came to my senses just before I resorted to drastic measures and decided to call Todd Olson, a friend and owner of his own appliance repair business. Surely he could help me. Todd arrived just a few minutes later, and it was obvious by the grass on his boots that I had interrupted his weekend lawn-mowing exercise. He was gracious and said it was no bother to help me out. It took him about 5 seconds to disconnect the smoke alarm. By this time Mark and Zachary were awake and watched Todd do his magic. Mark quipped, "I could have done that." Yes, I could have done it, too, had I known the "repair" was that simple. Todd noted that the smoke alarm was defective and suggested we purchase a new one soon. He refused payment, but accepted the loads of gratitude we showered him with.

Fast forward to last weekend. I purchased a pack of 3 smoke detectors, and Lance attempted to install one in place of the broken one, but I had bought the wrong kind. He installed one in the kitchen, however, and my sense of security increased.

It didn't take long to test the effectiveness of the alarm. I broiled flank steak for dinner tonight, and each time I opened the oven, the alarm went off. It even went off after I had turned the stove fan on and opened both kitchen windows. The noise was deafening and caused Mark to lose his appetite. He retreated to the basement. Of course, there is a smoke alarm down there, too, just waiting for its chance to sound off!

Scripture Study

For tonight's family scripture study, we read in 3 Nephi 28 about the desires of three of Jesus' disciples to "never taste of death" that they might "bring the souls of men unto" Christ. I explained that these 3 Nephite disciples, along with John the Beloved, are still alive and on the earth today. Mark was awed, and quipped, "Maybe they're the ones who wrote 'Stayin' Alive!'"

Not-so-perfect Halloween

I feel a little guilty today on this boo-tiful holiday. Guilty because this is the first time in 17 years of having an elementary school child, I have not attended the school costume parade. Now, before you rush to judgment regarding my mothering skills, allow me to explain my out-of-the-ordinary behavior. I lost my Halloween spirit. Well, kind of, but that's not the real reason. The main reason is that I had a very important appointment to keep for one of my ghouls and I couldn't reschedule unless I wanted to move the appointment way out into the future closer to another holiday (Thanksgiving). The other reason is that I have a 5th-grader, and this year--for the first time since our kids began attending this elementary--the 5th and 6th graders were not invited to be "Harvest Parade" (the politically correct term these days) participants. So, you see, I didn't really "need" to attend the parade and see other people's costumed cherubs parade through the crowded and noisy school hallways. Besides, I freed up a parking space for another parade spectator.

I atoned in advance for my negligence by baking, frosting and decorating 48 cupcakes (complete with homemade buttercream frosting, no less), and by providing the paper plates, napkins and cups for Mark's party. Sadly, though, I don't have any pictures of the party to share with Mark's posterity, but if I find the camera before the night is over, I'll at least have some photos of him in his wicked "Scream" costume.

Music Appreciation

Yesterday I received an email--the second of its kind--from Mark's 5th grade teacher. She requested that we talk with Mark about his behavior during music class. Allegedly Mark refused to participate, telling the music teacher, "Why should I participate when I have no future in music?" Mark was sent to the office to fill out a "Think Sheet" explaining his inappropriate behavior and providing a plan for improvement. He brought the sheet home for us to review and sign. I also required Mark to write a 10-sentence apology note to his music teacher before I would serve him his favorite lemon roasted chicken dinner. I explained to him (and "made" him put this in the note) that he DID, in fact, have a future in music. He protested, and I continued, "You will have a future in music. You'll be singing the Blues if you don't cooperate and behave in school." Of course, I had to include an explanation on what "singing the Blues" meant. He didn't find it at all amusing.

Camera Shy

I will be the first to admit (and my husband will agree) that I am still living in the stone age where cameras are concerned. I still use a 35mm camera--complete with film. I've fought long and hard against "converting" to digital. I have my reasons. First of all, I have yet to see one picture printed on real paper that was taken by Lance's digital camera. The pictures are all still stored in the camera or somewhere in the computer. I like holding the pictures in my hand and mailing copies of a selected few to others of my choosing. Secondly, I am still not adept at using a PC. Sure, I can email and word process (for the most part), and I can even "surf the net," but I have NO idea how to scan photos or even hook the camera up to the computer to transfer the photos from one part of outer space to another. Digital Camera is a foreign language akin to Finnish, and I don't know Finnish. However, something happened earlier in the week that is making me reconsider my cavewoman ways.

In an earlier post, I told of the fun adventures I had last week with Ruth and Tamra. Well, Ruth left her camera in Utah, and Tamra's 35mm camera (see, I'm not the only one!) was behaving erratically. I assured both guests that I had a great camera and plenty of film, so I would take all of the pictures. I then promised to get extra prints made and mail them to them. Good plan, or so I thought. I took photos of nearly everything we did, and made Ruth and Tamra pose more times than they wanted, but I was bound and determined to capture the memories. I finished one roll of film and loaded another. Not content to wait for the second roll to be taken, I delivered the first roll to a local one-hour photo lab and ordered 3 copies of each print. Imagine my distress when the photo technician told me that my negatives had been double-exposed and that NONE (that means not one) of the pictures "turned out." I guess that another family member (and I will not name names on this public website) used the film and it didn't roll back up into the roll like it should have, so I thought the roll was fresh. Now I'm worried that the roll currently in my camera is in the same condition. Will more memories go uncaptured on film?

What to do? I am willing to consider what everyone else has been telling me for years, it seems--time to buy my own digital camera!

Ruthless

I had the pleasure of hosting my dear friend and former college-and-beyond roommate, Ruth, and Ruth's friend (and my new friend), Tamra last week. The two of them take a trip each year to visit a temple. This year they chose the Seattle Temple, and I got to accompany them to the Temple and to some scenic locales in our area. What fun I had!

They arrived last Tuesday afternoon. We went to Issaquah and Seattle Wednesday. We toured the Issaquah Salmon Hatchery--one of Annica's and my old "haunts" when we lived in Issaquah. We also sampled and bought (of course!) delectable chocolates from Boehm's Chocolate Factory. The weather was quite drizzly, but when we drove into Seattle, the skies cleared. Our next stop was Pike Place Market. What fun! We even purchased fresh salmon to take home and cook for dinner. We ate lunch at the famous Ivar's Restaurant on the waterfront. That evening, the ladies joined me for a fun night of doughnut making with our ward's Priests and Laurels. (We made Brigham's Buttermilk Doughnuts, reportedly a favorite treat of Brigham Young. They were scrumptious!)

We ventured to a spot I had never before visited in my 21+ years of living in Western Washington. We took the Anacortes-Friday Harbor ferry to San Juan Island. The weather cooperated nicely with our adventure. We feasted on a yummy lunch of Salmon Tacos and Chicken Gorgonzola Salad before heading out to explore the island. We visited the Pelindaba Lavendar Farm, an alpaca farm, and two lighthouses, and saw lots of beautiful, interesting spots in between. We took pictures of cute piglets and sly foxes, and saw a blue heron, a bald eagle, and some seals and porpoises. We were disappointed in our quest to see orcas. Ruth really had her heart set on seeing those magnificent whales; however, it was an amazing experience just to gaze quietly at the still waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca and ponder the beauty before our eyes. We left happy despite not being able to see the whales. We parked the van in the ferry waiting line and went in quest of something to eat for dinner. We found a little cafe near the ferry dock and ordered some food. The proprietor was quite a bossy lady, and punished Ruth and Tamra with cold split pea soup and a less-than-desirable roasted vegetable sandwich. My turkey vegetable soup was hot and tasty despite the lack of turkey (only 1 small piece was found swimming in my bowl), and my wheat-free oatmeal blueberry bar was delicious. We fell into our respective beds quite exhausted that evening.

Friday we headed up to Leavenworth. The fall colors were vibrant during the drive to and from our destination. We enjoyed the Bavarian village shops. It was Oktoberfest, but we didn't stick around for the evening's festivities which I'm sure included a lot of beer drinking. We ate a nice lunch and then headed back to Redmond. We changed into our dresses and then went to the Temple. It was so nice to be with such delightful ladies in that setting.

I was sad to take Ruth and Tamra to the airport Saturday. I loved having them here, and my family enjoyed them as well. They showered the kids and me with gifts and paid too much for meals and gas. Rachelle sacrificed her bedroom and her time to help out. She spent 4 nights at her Carlson cousins' home so that Ruth and Tamra could have her bedroom. She was a nanny and chauffeur for her siblings which allowed me to spend so much time with my guests.

I've long considered Ruth one of my "guardian angels." She helped me through the roughest time in my life--the months before my marriage. She is a true saint! Well, now I'm "Ruthless."

Conference Cannibalism

During his talk in Sunday afternoon's session of General Conference, Elder Dallin H. Oaks said, "Parents, what your children want most for dinner is you!" Mark quickly quipped, "Gross! That's cannibalism. While it may be an acceptable practice in some cultures, it's not acceptable in ours!"

One Meal at a Time

A few months ago I learned that I must follow a gluten and casein (a milk protein found in all dairy products) free diet for the rest of my life if I want relief from my chronic health condition, otherwise known as ulcerative colitis. I have active dietary gluten and casein sensitivity. This news came as a shock and was very depressing at first glance. I like products made with gluten. Actually, I LOVE products that contain gluten. Gluten is in everything from soy sauce to licorice to pasta to bread and almost everything yummy in between. While I've never been fond of drinking milk, I do enjoy cheese, butter, sour cream, whipped cream, ice cream, etc. So, to be told to give up most of the things I enjoy eating was not welcome news. I just couldn't fathom a happy life without pizza, pasta, sandwiches, pastries, milk chocolate, ice cream . . . Would life be even worth living?

Then came the epiphany. I didn't have to look at what I'd never be able to eat again in my whole life; I could just take life "one meal at a time." I could concentrate on what I could eat. I could learn to like new foods. I could try new recipes. I could buy gluten and casein-free diet cookbooks (of which there are many). I could shop at Whole Foods and PCC more frequently. I could connect with another group of people and be part of a new network.

This attitude has really helped me adjust. I have been gluten-free (with a very occasional slip-up) close to 4 months, and life has been good. I even feel better. I've lost 6 pounds. Of course, I haven't "gone off" dairy just yet, but that will come in time. I've made gluten-free brownies, bread, coffee cake, pancakes, muffins, cookies and other yummy stuff. I've become familiar with xanthan gum, mesquite meal, sorghum and other "new" flours, rice milk, and the list goes on. I've yet to find a gluten-free bread that is worth the effort to make it or the cost to buy it. I'll keep looking. I have to be careful as I experiment, because many of the gluten-free products (especially baked goods) have a higher carbohydrate and calorie count than their gluten-laden counterparts. Bummer!

My sweet, supportive husband has even "converted" to my food lifestyle. We're going to get the kids tested. We started with Rachelle who just tested positive for gluten and casein sensitivity.

I recently learned that autistic children are very often gluten and casein sensitive, and when the offending foods are removed from their diets, they begin to recover and make great strides. Who knew!

I'm joining friends for lunch at a restaurant today. I have to be careful and read menus carefully. (Many restaurants have gluten-free menu items.) I went to an Italian restaurant with another group of friends recently. It was the restaurant that sells my very favorite pizza--Passion Pizza of Verona. This pizza was loaded with Italian sausage, artichoke hearts, sun-dried tomatoes, pesto, feta cheese, kalamata olives, pine nuts . . . It looked so good. It smelled so good. I could almost taste it. I was just beginning to drool when I looked down at my Greek salad. I shifted my focus and enjoyed my meal without another thought of the yummy pizza sitting just a few inches in front of me. Almost.

Paint Job

When we moved into our home 20+ years ago, the exterior paint color was operating-room green with brown trim. It was not attractive. Since we were heavily involved in child-bearing and dealing with a colicky baby (aka Rachelle), repainting the house was not at the top of our priority list.

A couple years and another baby later, the time was right for the repainting project. The 3 girls and I went to Utah for a month, and Lance stayed behind to paint. As I remember, we decided on a lovely, trendy blue-gray color, and I left the final decision in Lance's capable hands as I headed off to Utah. I figured that since Lance was an artist, surely he could pick an attractive paint color. Wrong!!!

According to Lance himself, he tweaked the color "just a little bit" because the gray-blue looked just a little too dull for his liking. After spending lots of money on paint and spending several hours painting, he stepped back to survey his work. Lo and behold, the blue-gray color was not blue-gray, but sky blue, and I mean "sky" blue. The kind of sky blue that you see in the sky on a lovely summer day. Sky blue looks natural in the sky, but it doesn't belong on a house. Lance called me to report on the less-than-desirable results. He offered to buy more paint and try again. I figured that the house couldn't look "that" bad and I didn't want to spend any more money, so I said something like, "It'll be fine, honey. We'll just live with it and choose a different color the next time we paint."

Fast forward a few years, and it was time to paint again. This time I wanted "taupe." I looked at lots and lots of houses and selected a color I thought was "just right." If my memory is accurate, the kids and I again left for another trip so Lance could paint unencumbered with family duties. With the appropriate paint color card in hand, Lance trekked to the paint store to purchase the taupe paint. Again, Lance looked at the paint card and thought the taupe color needed to be a little lighter, so he choose a shade above the one I had circled. This time, the house turned out to be what we not-so-affectionately called "embarrassed taupe." Taupe-tinted pink, actually. I teased my poor painter-husband mercilessly. I teased him for years and vowed to never let him go to the paint store without me again.

This year Lance and the boys finished building the patio roof and railing, and it had to be painted. I was very clear in my choice of "white." Just plain white. So white it was. After it was all painted, of course the house looked crummy, so we decided to paint the entire house. I made it VERY clear that this time I was REALLY going to choose the paint color and go to the store with Lance to make sure he got exactly what I wanted. I scoured the paint card displays in several stores and came home armed with a dozen or so cards with which to choose my perfect paint color from. I even solicited input from my children, but that didn't do much good because they all wanted something different. I went with what I wanted--a color called "Cheyenne Rock." It was a darker grayish-brown. I liked it. I circled the color name several times with a pen.

As luck would have it, Lance chose a Saturday to paint when I had plans to be gone all day. We planned to buy the paint Friday evening, but were completely unable to make it to the store. I knew Lance would have to buy the paint himself Saturday morning when I was gone, and he would have to paint when I was gone. He promised me that he wouldn't tweak the color and would choose exactly what I had requested. I arrived home late in the afternoon and nearly choked when I saw the side of the house that was newly-painted. It was almost exactly the same color as the old paint, just a shade darker. I thought for sure Lance had picked the wrong color AGAIN!!! With a triumphant smirk on his face and then a loud laugh, Lance said that he had chosen EXACTLY what I had circled. He said, "I feel vindicated!" This time I had no one to blame but myself. The color now is milk-chocolate-with-a-touch-of-grape-juice. Lance had only finished about 1/3 of the house, but with $200 of paint purchased and a whole day spent painting, I didn't have the heart or even the desire to redo it.

Lance finished the entire house (except the white trim) the following Saturday. When I stepped back to look at the house, I realized that it looked better than I initially thought. While it's not exactly what I envisioned, it's close enough. I can live with it. What other inexpensive choice do I have?

The next time we have to repaint, we'll let someone else choose the color and buy the paint!

The Dump

Today Zachary and I took another truckload of stuff to the transfer station aka "The Dump." It's one of my favorite places despite the unpleasant odors that linger in the air, the flies and clouds of dust. There is something liberating in heaving one's piles of trash and unwanted belongings into the big containers at The Dump. Zachary enjoys the experience because he loves to see things break apart as he hurls the items over the safety ropes and they crash into the debris below. He and I have been partners in this same adventure several times this summer. We've discarded bunkbeds, mattresses, old dressers, expired food storage, cardboard boxes, styrofoam inserts, pieces of wood, old toys, etc.

Some things--like the styrofoam and toys--were loaded into the back of the truck without Mark's knowledge. Mark is drawn to styrofoam like moths to a light bulb. He usually breaks it apart into a million little pieces. And the toys--my kids can own a certain toy for years and never play with it until I decide to throw or give it away. Then, suddenly, the toy becomes their most prized possession. So, often I have to sneak the toys out of the house in the cover of night while the wee ones are sleeping.

Several years ago I decided to sort through all of the toys in our house and garage. I asked Lance to haul all of the toy bins out and lock me and the toys in the garage. I looked at every toy, and if a toy didn't pass my inspection--meaning if it was broken, dirty or I didn't think the kids would play with it any more--I tossed it into the bed of the truck. This exercise took me several hours, and not once was my secret project discovered by the kids. As luck would have it, though, the girls came out into the garage just as Lance was securing a tarp over the load. Some toys were "peeking" out from under the tarp. I quickly ushered the daughters back into the house before any toys could be rescued.

Now, if I could just part with some of my stuff as easily as I can part with others' belongings, I'd have it made!

A New Dawn

Oh, my! I cannot believe that I set up my first blog on my very own without any outside help from anyone--except for the little gnomes that live inside my computer. These gnomes must be related to the leprechauns that dye our milk green and leave green treats for the kids on our fireplace hearth each St. Patrick's Day. The gnomes are kind of lazy because they don't perform any other chores or demonstrate their utility at any other time or season. Hey, maybe my kids are their cousins!

Well, I don't want to get too carried away on this first "post" as people might expect things from me I'm not prepared to deliver--just yet, anyway. Back into cyberspace, you little gnomes!