We Wish You A Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas from LadyPatsFan, DH, Stringz, Bob, Giggles, Princess, Daisy, Wolfgang, and The Outlaws - Wyatt, Jesse and Calamity.

EXTERMIKNIT! EXTERMIKNIT! EXTERMIKNIT!

Geeks and Knitters unite!

SELECT * FROM users WHERE clue > 0

Big Dawg has had this posted on his cubicle wall for months, possibly years. I thought it was some gaming reference (like, World Of Warcraft or something - "if not dead, increase strength").

Until we were talking about it Friday following the Punishment Lines Code Napkin Episode. And he muttered the phrase "What doesn't kill us....."

OOHHH!!!! I get it now. Yeah Big Dawg, it IS even funnier when you know what it means. :)

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Our IS department has a monthly lunch out together to celebrate that month's birthdays. Our end of the table had a couple of parents at it. After fielding my 32nd call of the morning from my 3 (home-from-school-on-xmas-break-can't-get-we-all-just-get-along) oldest children requesting mediation services, the conversation turned to punishment and redirection techniques. The non-parents among us (well, just Biz-P really) started taking notes. "Pit them against each other, not you." "Let them choose each others punishment." "Do not be afraid of the phrase 'death match'."

OoRah told us he had recently started making his girls write out the US Constitution. He'd give them an Article or Section and they'd have to copy it out. I piped up that we used a similar technique, but that our little offenders had to write what they did. "I will not kick my sister" 100 times each or "I will not start fires" 500 times each.

The conversation continued until a few moments later, when OoRah handed me this napkin:



Then all conversation stopped, as we were all laughing too hard. Only at an IS lunch could a joke like this go over so completely and so well.

However, I'm not sure which is sadder funnier:

A. That he actually wrote it down.

B. That I immediately declared that I had to blog about it.

C. That he realized he forgot to increment i and asked for the napkin back to fix the bug in his code.

D. That I let him fix it because leaving an endless loop would have bothered me intensely.

Even Reindeer Pause

I heard the funniest story at a Christmas party recently. What you have to understand first, is that this takes place deep in the heart of the Bible Belt region. The buckle of the bible belt, so to speak. A place where the populace is strongly religious, and for the majority of the parishioners, that religion is some form of Christianity. A place with all the stereotypes - the good, the not-so-good, the neutral - that go along with life in a very red state. A place were public displays such as one might see at Mardi Gras in New Orleans, or the Castro District of San Francisco, or the Pride parade of Chicago, are completely unheard of and generally looked down upon. An area where churches outnumber grocery stores.

So picture if you will, a Christmas parade. Hundreds of men, women and children turn out for the festivities. Here comes the nativity from Catholic Church, very nice. Aw, there go the Girl Scouts - too cute. Now the float from Baptist Church. And the marchers from the Assembly of God. Another float from the Presbyterian Church. And now, here comes the float from [large department store chain]. Oh look, they've got a Santa! Hmm... who is that standing next to him? Kinda tall for an elf. A kid? No, still too tall. .... oh no, they didn't! (facepalm)

Santa's "Helper". Santa's young, nubile, attractive, adult female helper. Wearing an outfit even Victoria would keep secret. Santa is wearing a big grin, his hand placed firmly and unmovingly on her rear.

In the crowd, dozens of men start volunteering to play Santa next year. The women, shivering in sympathy, start covering children's eyes.

A 6 year old girl looks up at her Grampa and says "That is highly inappropriate."

I'm A Big Dog Now

Bad pet mommy. I'm a day late posting birthday greetings to my buddy Wolfgang. But since Wolfie is a rescue, and therefore his birthdate is a guess, am I really late after all? And if a tree falls in a forest with no one there to hear it, is Schrödinger's Cat really afraid of Virginia Woolf?


But I digress.


On Monday, Wolfie hit a milestone - One Year Old. Remember Wolfie? Cute little "Berner" puppy I adopted in February? The one that was going to turn into a lovely, big, lazy fuzzball? Well, Wolfie didn't get that memo. At one year old, he is a whopping 35 pounds of tornado destruction. Based on his size, shape, personality and energy level, I think he's more of a Mini Aussie. But, he's family, and he doesn't eat cats, so all's forgiven.


To celebrate his birthday, I decided to indulge in a little photo session. We started with the ultimate doggie torture - Peanut Butter!


After a rough start





Wolfie managed the Peanut Butter with a fair amount of dignity.







Daisy was not so lucky. She obliged me by providing some wonderful peanut butter faces.










I tried getting some comparison shots, but the dogs kept coming up to me instead of sitting nicely. So, I brought in my photo assistant. AKA Bob.








I really wanted some side-by-side shots to show off Wolfie's size compared to Daisy. But he didn't want to sit still. He tried.





And he tried.





But Captain Coordination got too excited and fell off the bench.






Happy First Birthday Wolfgang. Now that you are a big dog, maybe you'll stop chewing up all our power cords?





A girl can dream, can't she?

The Wicked Big Toddlah

First - show of hands. Who here thinks this is a book about a large, evil child of Satan written by someone in desperate need of spell-checker? Uh huh, yep, OK, you in the back - don't be shy, hmm mmm, yep, and you? OK. I thought so.

Those very few of you who did not raise your hands likely fit one of the following criteria: A. You were born and raised in New England. B. You lived a significant length of time in New Hampshire or Maine. C. You watched Saturday Night Live when Adam Sandler and/or Jimmy Fallon was on. Or D. You have talked to me in person for more than 5 minutes.

The average American living in blissful ignorance in any of the other 44 states doesn't realize that while Wicked can be an adjective meaning evil, such as Cinderella's wicked stepmother or the Wicked Witch of the East, in New England it is an adverb meaning very or extremely. "Oh man, that was wicked cool! Do it again!" "Ugh, I am having a wicked bad day." While Wicked can be paired with almost any adjective, it's raison d'etre is to be paired with Awesome. "Dude - did you see the Red Sox game last night? It was Wicked Awesome the way they pulled that out!"

Tuesday night, the boys had to attend a City Council meeting for one of their Boy Scout Merit Badges, so DH went with them while I took the girls to the public library 5 blocks over. Amongst the 6548 books that Princess picked out to bring home was this beautiful nugget. "The Wicked Big Toddlah" written by Kevin Hawkes, a Mainer. This was right up my alley. Or so I thought.

I grew up in a suburban-ized area of southern New Hampshire, and so the Down East accent was less prevalent amongst my neighbors than in, say, rural Maine. When asked what a "Down East" accent is, I describe it as a southern drawl mixed with a Boston twang, then demonstrate it by advising my audience that their destination is inaccessible from their current location. This has been the extent of my Down East experiences since leaving New England for warmer greener other pastures nearly 9 years ago.

After all this time living abroad (i.e., not in New England) it was much harder for me to slip into a Down East accent than I thought it would be. But, by the end of the book, I was doing ok and had regained most of my New Englander accent. Princess has requested this book nearly every night since, and each time, it's easier and easier to read the entire book in a Down East Accent.

Of course now, having returned to my roots, however briefly, the question of the day is this - how thick was my accent when I went back to work?



Today's quiz: phonetically render the following phrases:

An Arkansan or an Alabaman indicating that you are welcome to return at any time.
A Bostonian pointing out the closest vehicular decampment area.
A Mainer advising you that, in fact, Mapquest is wrong and your destination is unreachable.

Three's Company

Between errands Thursday night, we took the kids out to dinner. During the course of which, I hit the comedy trifecta.

Over-the-top dramatic reactions to minor inconveniences
Princess, naturally, had to use the ladies. And this particular restaurant used automatic flush toilets. Princess is, um, availing herself of the facility, and she leans forward a bit. The toilet flushed.

(indignant) Hey! I wasn't finished. (bursts into tears) My potty went away!

Slapstick
Bob is obsessed with Lemons and Limes lately. So when our seafood dinner arrived with a lemon wedge, he begged DH for it. DH agreed, and handed it over.

Stringz: "Oh good! Dinner and a show!"

A couple minutes later, Bob has his head back, squeezing the lemon juice into his mouth.

"Ow Ow, it got in my eye!"

Through the laughter I hear DH say "Like the kid said, Dinner and a Show."

Overused Situational Comedy Bits
My second trip to the restroom with Princess appeared to go uneventfully. As we walked back to the table, a gentleman walking the other way caught my attention and gestured toward the floor. Thinking Princess had dropped something I look down. Not seeing anything between him and us I look straight down.

I'm trailing nearly 2 feet of toilet paper from the bottom of my shoe.

Jump Start My Heart

There is, evidently, nothing funnier in cubicle-land than someone who startles easily. Trust me on this - I am one. By simply walking up to ask me a question, my coworkers have discovered this interesting fact. You would think I was selling state secrets to Iran the way I jump when someone says my name from 3 feet away.

At first, they were content to tease me. "I need a bell to wear around my neck." Biz-P has said. Big Dawg would start talking to me from 30 feet way and sort of ease up on me. "LPF .... LPF .... I'm coming to talk to you .... hello .... LPF .... Here I am ..."

Friday, however, OoRah took it to an all new level. He walked quietly up behind me, and poked me in the ribs.

As I pried my hands open, and climbed down off the ceiling, our ears ringing from the screams, OoRah decided that this was not a good idea after all. He has, in fact, submitted a requisition for a portable defibrillator to be available the next time someone needs to ask me which server the new code is on.

Eat to live, sleep to eat

I was trading stories with some friends on a fitness forum that I frequent, when I learned something new. Those of us who are always cold and always want to turn the heat up, may have slow metabolisms. We already know that a slow metabolism can lead to weight issues. But apparently it can also cause fatigue, low blood pressure, and feeling cold. As my friend SM put it "I don't burn enough [calories] at rest to generate heat!"

I have always been cold. I grew up in New Hampshire, where summer lasts 3 weeks in late July/early August. I always wore a jacket to games when I was on the softball team - because you don't burn many calories sitting on the bench, and that wind was cold. I keep a sweater, a lap blanket, and now fingerless gloves in my desk at work. I huddle under a blanket and a warm laptop every night. And I have been known to wear a parka to watch a football game.


Inside my house.


In August.



On the other hand, when I'm sleeping, it's like turning on a furnace. When the kids were babies and I would fall asleep holding them, we'd wake up drenched in sweat like we had run a marathon. So, does this mean that my metabolism works best when I'm sleeping?

And does this mean that I need to sleep more? "Sorry honey, Mommy needs to sleep a couple more hours to burn off last night's pasta."

Splish Splash

I got the strangest call from Bob after school the other day.

Bob: "Mommy, there's something my band teacher wants us to do. He's been telling us since the start of school but I keep forgetting. Can I give my trombone a bath?"

Me: "I'm sorry. Can you WHAT?"

Bob: "Give my trombone a bath. You put it all together, and fill the tub. You set it in the water for about 10 minutes, then take it out and dry it."

Me: "Um. Why don't we talk about this with Daddy when we get home. I've never heard of this, but maybe Daddy will know what you are talking about."


First he wants a long hot shower every single morning to help him wake up. Then he wants a long hot bath every single night to help him fall asleep. NOW he wants to bathe his trombone too?

The Water Company is going to love this kid.

Confessions of a Preschool Drama Princess

The other morning, we were getting ready to leave for school and work. Although Princess will frequently throw a fit about wanting to get dressed by herself, or put her shoes on by herself, today she evidently wanted me to do it all. I got Princess mostly dressed - underwear, shirt, pants, socks, hair; then turned to finish doing my own hair.

Princess: "Mommy, you have to put my shoes on!"

Mommy: "I need to finish getting me ready. Can you put your shoes on yourself?"

At this, Princess dramatically collapses against the couch, throws her arm over her eyes and wails: "Why I hafta be the only shoe-doer in the WHOOOOOOLE WOOOOOORLD???"

How I managed to not laugh in her face, I'll never know.

Talk Like A Pirate Day?

Princess: Mommy, ask me what pirates say.

Mommy: What do pirates say?

Princess: AARRR AARRR Mateys

Mommy: That's right.

Princess: My teacher at school was saying that.

Mommy: Oh.

.

.

.

Princess: Daddy, ask me what pirates say

Daddy: What do pirates say?

Princess: AARRR AARRR Mateys

Daddy: That's right.

.

.

.

Daddy: Princess, can you say Koo Koo?

Princess: Too Koo ... ... ... Mateys!

Just A Good Ol' Boy, Wouldn't Change If He Could

When I was in high school, a family friend gave my Dear Ol' Dad a Christmas present, and asked that my step-mom and I put on Polka music when he opened it. We did so, and when DOD opened it, he found ... Daffy Duck Slippers. He put them on, danced around to the polka music for a while. And thus - a tradition was born.

The first time my DH met my parents while we were dating was when he came over for Easter dinner. Seeing his car pull up, I ran outside and pulled him into the house. "You've gotta see this!" There was DOD, dancing in his Daffy Duck slippers. Not an intentional test on my part, but I think it speaks well of DH and our relationship that he did not run screaming into the night, never to be seen or heard from again.

DOD brought his slippers to a school party one year. He had them at my wedding. And, 10 years later, when my best friend from high school, J, got married, both J and her mother specifically requested that I NOT let DOD forget his Daffy Duck slippers when he came to the wedding. They asked what DOD's favorite polka song was ("Who Stole the Kishka"), and when the DJ couldn't find it, they told him to bring any good polka song so DOD would have something good to dance to.

After 20 years, the Daffy's have definitely seen better days. I just hope they last another 20, so that my kids can share the same fun that J and I had. I mean, you can't have a really GOOD and PROPER wedding reception unless the bride gets to dance a polka with someone wearing Daffy Duck Slippers.

Right?

Wherever I wander, wherever I roam

A friend - Biz P - posted on his blog last week about an unfortunate incident of Wildlife Detailing that his car underwent recently. I was going to leave him a comment about one of my own unfortunate experiences as commiseration, when I realized this may not be a good idea. After 19 years of cat ownership, 15 years of dog ownership, and 12+ years of motherhood, my gross-o-meter is not calibrated to normal societal levels.

After thinking long and hard about a response, I chose what I felt to be one of the more innocuous of my experiences, and described it in just 2 words.

Wandering Pee.

Well, of course, this was just too tantalizing for the man who spent 166 words describing avian defecation of a vehicular target, and he has requested that I explain myself. Ok. Here goes:

Our Black Lab, Seamus, lived to be about 15 years old. As a large breed dog, this is very old - much like a human living to be 105. By the end of his life he had cataracts, was going deaf, suffered from arthritis and mild dementia, and grew incontinent.

Can I just say that dementia and incontinence do not mix? Seamus managed to avoid the big puddles while sleeping. And he generally had an accident only a couple times a week. But when he did - oy. I am not sure whether he didn't realize he was urinating, or if he thought he was outside. But whichever it was, he would wander aimlessly around the house, leaving a trail a blind bloodhound with a severe sinus infection could follow. We called them his "Wandering Pees." You could track where in the house he had walked by the trail he left.

And he really didn't seem to realize what he was doing. If we caught him doing it, we could take him outside where he would squat (being to old to lift his leg) and finish his elimination. Then we would have to clean up. We used an enzymatic cleaner to remove the stain and - more importantly - the smell. But this was no puddle. This was a thin stream that stretched once, and sometimes twice around the entire house.

By the time I was done spraying the spots, I was hunched over like Quasimodo and my hand was cramped into a stiff claw-like imitation of a hand.

Now, having described the infamous wandering pees, and the dangers of mixing dementia and incontinence, I leave you with the following visual:

Wandering Poo.

'Nuff said.

Freedom Is Never Free

Have you thanked a Veteran today?

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This conversation took place in Nov 2007, when Giggles was 7.

Giggles: "We talked about Veteran's Day today."

Me: "Yeah? What is Veteran's Day?"

Giggles: "It's when we celebrate the people that fought in the wars."

Me: "That's right. Do you know any veterans?"

Giggles: "Ummm... Grampa?"

Me: "That's exactly right. Grampa fought in the war. Now, this one is a little harder. Do you know which war Grampa fought in?"

Giggles: (pauses) "Civil?"

Me and DH: (Hysterical Laughter)

Giggles: "Whaaaat????"

Me and DH: (More laughter)

Giggles: "It's the only war I could think of!"

Me: "Oh, I am SO scrapping blogging this!"

---

So I did both!

Who's The Dummy Now?

Celebrity Impressionist, Singer, Comedian and Ventriloquist extraordinaire Terry Fator came to Oklahoma over the weekend. Bob has been showing a lot of interest in ventriloquism lately. He loved watching Terry Fator win America's Got Talent last year, and frequently watches our Jeff Dunham dvds. So DH and I took the three oldest kids to see the show.

It was GREAT! Wonderful songs, terrific puppets, hysterical jokes. I am so amazed by Terry's ability to sing like a celebrity with his mouth closed. The best part is that his show is very PG. Well, it does heat up to PG-13 when "The Cougar" comes on, but since the kids haven't seen the movies that created the references, it all went over their heads anyway. But aside from that one 3 minute bit, the whole show is very family friendly entertainment. The kids love it, the adults love it - what more could you ask?

Terry is a wonderful, down-to-earth guy who spends an hour or so after the show signing autographs. My only regret is that I didn't know it was okay with Terry to "smuggle" cameras in. So all we were able to get was a few cell phone pics. Next time, I'm bringing my good camera.

I Heard It Through The Grapevine

The nutritional information on the side of the box listed the serving size (1 box), the calories (130), the dietary fiber (2g), and one ingredient: raisins. I need to both cut out junk snacks and increase my fruit and vegetable intake, so I decide to get some. I'm trying to eat healthier, so I buy 2 packages of 8 single-serve boxes to bring to work for snacks. I'm trying to shop more frugally, so I buy the generic - like I do 98 out of 100 items. Like I did when I bought a big box of raisins a few months ago at a different grocery chain.

At home, I put the boxes on the top shelf of the pantry - these are for me, and I don't want them disappearing. I take down 2 boxes and put them in my lunch bag for a morning and an afternoon snack. About 10 this morning, I open one and dump some of the contents into my hand. Beautiful, dark, plump raisins look back at me. Feeling good about my nutritional and fiscal choices, I pop them into my mouth and chew.

BLECH! Gag. What the ?!?!?!?

How on earth can a food with a single, natural-grown, unmodified ingredient go that horribly, disgustingly wrong? How could anyone with a modicum of sense, even generic food packagers, screw up the taste of RAISINS?

Tonight, the raisins get moved down to a shelf where the kids can see them and help me eat them. And my "don't buy generic if you are shopping at R" list gets one item longer.

Rock The Vote

I did. Did you?

The Smell of Spaghetti-O's in the Morning

School lunch was never a really big deal to me as a kid. Mom made my lunch and I took it to school. Period. I never really thought much about it. Years later, however, I found out what a problem and hassle it was - for my dad.

In an effort to occasionally give me a nice "hot lunch", my mom would heat up a can of Spaghetti-O's and put it in a thermos for me. This was back in the "dark ages" - ie, before microwaves. So not only could I not heat up my lunch at school, my mom had to heat it up the old fashioned way - in a pot on the stove. Did I mention my favorite was the Spaghetti-O's with hot dogs in them?

To this day, nothing can nauseate my dad faster or more completely than the smell of Spaghetti-O's cooking at 7am.

Inspired by The Other Mother writing prompt: School Lunch.

On The Group W Bench

Those of you who chatted with me last summer may remember what a stressor it was, what with one thing after another. And if you remember even part of that saga, you may understand our frustration when our one month old dishwasher suddenly quit on us the other day. Thankfully, it turned out to be a loose connection or something. And even the animal lovers among you will understand our complete and utter dismay and over reaction at finding evidence of fresh rodent activity under and behind said brand new dishwasher.

Last summer, in the interest of peaceful coexistence (you stop eating my appliances, I don't kill you), I installed two of those electronic pest deterrents that plug into the outlets. And it actually worked for about a year. It was less worrying than laying out poison that the kids or pets could get into. It was better than having to deal with rodent corpses, or a sick dog or cat who found one before us.

This year, however, DH has gone totally Alice's Restaurant on me. I have an online acquaintance who posts wonderful photos of her pet rats online. I love the expressions, and their little paws as they hold blueberries or write threatening notes to their ratty roommates. But I think even she will forgive DH for wanting to poison the snot out of a wild, possibly diseased, monster who has been known to eat holes in my dishwasher drain hoses on multiple occasions. Not to mention the washing machine wiring.

I am conceding that more drastic measures are needed, and DH is taking over pest control. The local watering hole is under new management, and the name has been changed to the Bates Motel.

Conspiracy Theory

Princess: "Mommy, when kitty's tummy goes brrrrddttrrrrrrr that means her happy. When her tail does ← → ← → that mean her mad."

It's about time she learned this one.

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Bob: "Mommy, why do doggies' feet smell like fritos?"

Huh, I never noticed this before, but have heard other bloggers and forum posters mention it. I wonder what made him think of it. And what made him smell the dogs' feet?

---

Since I haven't been consistent in getting my walks done in the evening, I decided to bring my old sneakers to work and leave them at my desk for walking at lunch. I'm working downtown now, so there are more places to go than just laps around the building.

First, I could not find my sneakers. I looked in the hall closet, the entryway, my closet, the living room, the office, the bathroom. Nope. Tried again the next night. Nope. I finally found one under DH's desk in the office, and the other way behind some boxes under my desk. Why? I don't know.

I tossed my sneakers in a bag this morning to bring to work and as I walk out to the car this morning - it's pouring. Clearly, I am meant to carry this baby weight forever.

Gotcha!

3 years ago today
It was a Sunday morning. I had been at an overnight scout event with Bob. DH and the other kids came to pick us up. What you have to understand about this camp is that it has running water and flush toilets, but is something like 6 miles or more from the entrance to the camp down a twisty dirt road - so you are talking 15, 20 minutes sometimes.

So we were none too happy when, as we pulled out of the entrance onto the road, Giggles announced that she had to go potty. 20 minutes back into camp, or 20 minutes to town and find someplace open - we remembered the Walmart and drove to town.

As we pull into the parking lot, we see some people with a "help us, we were dumped sign" and a box. So we check it out. And see some of the cutest little puppies ever. The group was from a church. They knew almost nothing about dogs. And they found a box of 7 puppies dumped on their church doorstep when they arrived that morning. There were 3 or 4 puppies left when we got there.

There was only one little girl left. And she cried! She snuggled into us and whined and was so pitiful. And meanwhile Giggles is dancing in the parking lot as we haven't actually gone inside yet.

We decided to get the puppy. DH took pity on Giggles and took her potty in Walmart while I stayed out in the parking lot with the puppy and the other kids. DH came back out with about $100 worth of supplies for our "free" puppy. Crate, carrier for the car, water bowl, water, food, toys.

When we got home, we looked up vets in the area and found one that was only a couple miles away with Normal Office Hours from 7am to 11pm - 7 days a week!

DH took the puppy in and we found out she was only 4 or 5 weeks old. A GSD mix, possibly with lab. A few days later we came up with the name Daisy, and on looking at her and saying the name, it just fit. She's been with us 3 years today.

Happy Gotcha Day Daisy! A pox on whoever dumped 7 4-week-old puppies at a church. A praise to the gentle people who did the best they could think of to find you all homes.

And thanks to Giggles for her little bladder. :)


4 Week old Daisy:



1 1/2 year old Daisy cuddles with the Outlaws:


2 year old Daisy surprises Mommy with a kiss!


2 1/2 year old Daisy playing with Wolfie:

I'm Gonna Make Him An Offer He Can't Refuse

Move over, Don Corleone. Step aside, Tony Soprano.
Bob decided that he wanted a lanyard like his brother. His school does not require IDs yet, so he gave Stringz $1 to buy one for him. (This was evidently paid in coins.) Stringz returns home from school, but has forgotten or neglected to buy the lanyard. Bob requests his money back, but Stringz can only find 55 cents.
Bob: "You owe me a dollar."
Stringz: "But I can't find it."
Bob: "If you can't give me $1 today, tomorrow it's $2."
Yes, that's 100 percent interest compounded daily. I think Stringz needs his own private bailout plan!

---

Thank goodness for good schools
Over the years we've worked closely with the school to be sure that our Giggles is challenged. Not only is Giggles extremely bright and reading at a level beyond her years, her birthday is only 2 weeks after the grade cut-off, making her one of the oldest in her grade every year. As of mid-Sept, she is now an 8-year-old 2nd-grader.
Her school district is generally good at differentiation, and their gifted program is integrated within the curriculum, so that the gifted students are not separated into different classes. This year, I think Giggles's teacher finally gets it, and has at least started down a path that will finally challenge her.
This week's spelling words include: homonyms, moccasin, endangered, population, and monument. Her Optional words (which she always learns for the challenge of it) came from the "Shark" list and include: cartilage, buoyancy and denticles.
I have always been a good speller, but even I had trouble with a couple of those. :)

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Woot! There he is!
Stringz has been playing viola for just over a year, and so far he still seems to like it. This year, as a 7th grader, he is eligible to try out for what the teacher called an "Honors Orchestra" event. The students learn the music on their own time, attend a day-long practice/rehearsal, and perform together that night.
This event is completely optional, and Stringz decided to try. He rehearsed for 5 1/2 hours in 4 days the week of the audition, when his normal practice schedule is only 30 minutes a day. He was one of 4 violas auditioning for the 3 viola positions available.
He got in! He was so excited he called me at work with one word - "YES!!!" I love seeing my kids so excited about learning. I love that Stringz and Giggles in particular go out of their way to find new things to learn.
This is him getting ready for his first concert last Spring. He looks so grown up and handsome!

Kit and wordart from Altered Melody by Irene Alexeeva

Tell Her What She's Won

Like Father, Like Daughter
Princess wanted to tell me about something that happened the other night. She came up to me and the first words out of her mouth were: "Get a load of this...."

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Ruh Roh.
Last night on the way home, Princess suddenly pipes up from the back seat "When can I get a car?" First we had to explain not until she's older, then we had to explain that older meant bigger. At this point DH looks in the rearview mirror and Princess is sitting dejectedly in her seat, head on her hand. Pouting. Because she can't have her own car. At age 3.

We are in SO much trouble!

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Ninja Cat
I finished another International Cat Hat layout. This one is a Ninja Mask for Japan. Thanks again for the patterns Wild Tomato.


Oriental Blossom by Kristen Smit; Japan map and title from Japan Template by DeltaDawn; Mat, paper, chopsticks from Sushi Bar by Irene Alexeeva; SBB Sketch 08/28/2008 by Lisa Branka; Fonts: Comic Sans MS, Konfuciuz Fat

UK and France are in this post.

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Speaking of thank you ...
Several months ago, I announced that I won a blog contest put on by my friend, Wild Tomato. Back in July, I received my prize - some beautiful fingerless gloves. I have been quite remiss in my gratitude, so let me just say: THANK YOU WILD TOMATO !!!


Crumpled Solids by Laura Alpuche, Jump Knit paper and Grunge paper by Digitreats; Fairy Fresh date brush by Cuppycake Digital Designs, Tropical Flowers by Jessy Designs, Thread It staple by KimB; Template 8 by Jillian Zwick of JZ Designs; Fonts: Home Sweet Home, Bosox, BlackJack

I am always cold at work, and these gloves are perfect for helping to keep my hands warm so I can type. As a software and web developer it is very hard to work while sitting on your hands. :)

I Scream, You Scream, the director's cut

I knew the DD1, DS2 nicknames were unwieldy, but I didn't realize HOW bad it was until I read this post! Ooops. Here is the same story, made more legible (I hope) by the use of the new nicknames.

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Heard around the dinner table the other night as we got bowls out for ice cream.

Princess: "We need four bowls for four people."

Mommy: "Oops, count again Princess. Point to each person when you say the number. Start with Mommy."

Princess:
(points to Mommy) "One."
(points to Giggles) "Two."
(points to Stringz) "Three."
(points to Daddy) "Four."

Mommy: "And who's in the kitchen?"

Princess: "Bob!"

Mommy: "That's five. And what about you?"

Princess (excitedly): "Seven!"

Mommy: "And you're six."

Princess (indignantly): "No! I'm Three!!"


***facepalm***

Stop the Wagon, I Want To Get On

After an excellent record of running or walking at least 4 nights a week for 3 months, I dropped the ball. I haven't exercised since early August. Sure, every night that I didn't exercise I had a great reason at the time - I'm too sick to breathe let alone run, it's back to school night and it's too late, I need to plan our menu and shopping list. But string enough of those excuses together and you end up with a month-long hiatus.

But tonight, we got out there and tried again. We started back up on Week 5 of the Couch to 5K program. Giggles tripped over Wolfgang, then got his leash wrapped around me and Daisy. Princess threw 4 separate temper tantrums because she wanted out of the stroller. Stringz said he felt like he twisted his knee trying to get the stroller to turn left. Brass wasn't even there, as he is camping with his school this week. It was after 8:30pm, so I had to worry about disturbing/waking the neighbors with all the noise we were making. Overall, it wasn't a great workout. But physically, it wasn't that bad. I don't think we lost much ground. If we can work through the other issues involved, we'll be able to finish this program and eventually run a full 3.2 miles. If we can find a local race that isn't the same day as a Girl or Boy Scout camp weekend, maybe we'll even get to run a real 5K.

And now, as I climb back on the blogging wagon as well, I'd like to offer belated birthday wishes to two very smart and pretty little girls.

Daisy 3 years old

October 2005


December 2005


July 2008



Giggles 8 years old

September 2000


June 2004


July 2008


Happy birthday girls.