THEY HAVE TO MATCH!

I'M GOING TO DISNEYLAND IN 4 DAYS!!!!

Oh, the kids are going too, I guess.

And my totally awesome sisters, mom and dad, and stud-muffin husband.

But really, it's about me going to Disneyland.

(I went to get Cohen a hat, socks and new shoes for the trip.  He picked out a red hat, and subsequently, everything else we purchased for him had to match his hat.  And of course, like his father, everything he picked out was the most expensive.  The kid has expensive taste.  It's genetic.)

This Is A Joke, Right?

Nature has a sick sense of humor.

I've figured out why our monthly visit from the Rojo Fairy so freaking horrible.

It's natures way to make us want to procreate.

Seriously, I would rather be pregnant right now than have my period.

PREGNANT, people.  

That, or it's some cosmic joke on women.  Either way, I'm giving the finger to nature right now as I bleed to death.

(I love that Family Guy clip where he's playing Menstrual Ms. Pacman and the little ghosts are following her everywhere and she turns around on them and says, "What?!  What?!  What?!"  and all the little ghosts back away muttering something like, "Nothing, sheesh."  Haha, that is so my family this time of the month!)

(And personally, I think we should all be allowed a bottle of Valium once a month.  Don't you?  I think it would really save a lot of marriages.)

Proof

I had a terrible mother.

At least, that's how I remember it.  And unfortunately for poor mother dear, the burden of proof lies with her.

But I'm smarter.  I'm learning from her mistakes.  I'm documenting it all.

This is Kembry's pteranodon.

I'm sure this is a first in a series of sadistic hangings.  And the dinosaurs thought the meteor was their doom.  They had no idea what was coming.

You wanna know what's really sick?  I had just given my little angel a freshly baked cookie.

You wanna know what's even sicker?

I still think she's cute.  It's a real problem. 

But God doesn't give a Kembry without first giving a Cohen.

He's helping Kembry put together a puzzle right now.  Yeah, Heavenly Father knew my limits.  Knew I'd need a red headed angel to temper the hurricane Kembry.  I'm very blessed.

And very scared.

Mothers of the world!  Collect your proof now!  Therapists all over the world will need these photos.  We will be vindicated.  And they will have children just like them.

Amen.

It Only Took Five Years

I never thought I'd be one of those mothers.

But I totally was today.  I mean, I got over it, eventually, but first I had to embarrass my son in the privacy of our mini-van.

You see, he was randomly invited to a birthday party of a boy with whom he used to go to school.  This boy moved a little after school started, but we ran into him at Carl's Jr or McDonalds or some other deep fried play place.  His mother got my number, yada yada yada...

Anyway, I got a text today.  "Can Cohen come to K's birthday party today at 4?"

Um..."Who is this?"

"Oh, remember K?  Yeah, he used to go to school with Cohen?  Anyway, I asked him which of his friends he wanted to invite.  And he picked Cohen!"

So...ok, how can I say no to this?  Alright, it's a birthday party, no harm.  Even though I don't even know your name, or where you live, or who you voted for or if you wear black socks with tan shorts and sandles...I know NOTHING!

"We're going to this place then this place, you can pick him up around 7."

Um...I can what at 7?  Pick him up?  You mean, I'm leaving him in the hands of complete strangers?  Not just leaving him in your strange hands, but letting you drive him around?

But seriously, how could I say no?  Cohen was the only friend he wanted to come.  THE ONLY FRIEND!

So I let him go, but, like I said, not before totally giving him a talk.

"Cohen, sometimes our friends might act different, or do different things that maybe aren't exactly good.  But it's ok.  You can set a good example.  You can let your light shine.  Here, let me wipe that snot off your face with my spit.  Now Cohen, if anyone tries touching your private parts, you scream, or kick them, but get to a grown up right away."

Poor kid, he thought he was just going to get to go to a birthday party.

Oh dear heavens, I'm one of those moms.

PS  Is it just me, or did I not just post about having to educate my son?  I'm pretty sure Satan doesn't follow my blog, but sometimes I wonder.

PPS  All went well.  I think she sensed my...um...paranoid schizophrenia.  She gave me a play-by-play of the whole night, even down to when he went to the bathroom.  Yeah, I reek of crazy-mom.

Stake Conference

We were blessed with a visit from Elder Dalin H. Oaks at our Stake Conference this last weekend.

This isn't the first time I've been in a room with a General Authority, but it never loses it's amazing Spiritual power.

What is amazing, however, is how incredibly funny they can be in smaller situations like a dinky ol' Stake Conference.  As compared to a General Conference...

Anyway, Elder Oaks talked about a lot of interesting things.  In fact, there was no specific theme to any of his talks, but rather, several small points.

One thing he talked about was pornography.  He said a shocking 79% of users are between the age of 12-17.  *Mouth drop*  Cohen is only 6 years away from this.  Don't laugh at my molly-coddling.  If the next 6 years go as fast as the last, we'll be approaching 12 next week.

Brett and I talked about when we want to discuss this issue with Cohen, if at all.  Do we want to pique his curiosity by mentioning it?  We decided we'd talk to him at 8, unless the Spirit directed us otherwise.  This two year reprieve is hardly comforting.  It breaks my heart and angers me that we have to talk to an innocent boy about it at all.  But at the same time, it's our job to educate him.

As far as protecting him goes, "A ship in the harbor is safe.  But ships aren't built for the harbor."

We want to raise our children to be able to withstand the onslaught of the world.  Dip him in a spiritual lacquer, if you will.

Anyway, I'm grateful he brought it up.  Grateful it forced us to talk about it.  We'll be prepared now.  Well, as prepared as parents can be when talking to their child about pornography.

I also wanted to mention what our Stake President talked about at the Temple.  He talked about creating model homes for our families.  He gave a great scripture that I want to plaster on my wall to remind me:

D&C 109:16

"...that this house may be a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of glory and of God, even thy house..."

What a great scripture.  And what better place to hear it in than the Temple?  Heavenly Father is our example of the perfect parent.  I look to Him to see how he treats his children.  I learn this in the scriptures, in talks from Prophets, and examples in my own life.  I pray to him for guidance as a parent.  I seek him out for answers.  Because I try to model my life by Him and His Son, what better house to model my own after than the His house.

As Brett and I were leaving the Temple, the wind was howling and making an eery sound like Spirits trapped and wailing just out side the doors.  I was so grateful to push open those doors and walk out into the world, taking the Spirit with me.  I never feel the dwindling of the Spirit when I leave the Temple, as I've heard so many people do.  Walking out into the world doesn't change what I've just learned and felt in His Holy house.  It makes me more excited to go and conquer it all.

My Kids Are Gone (and sleeping)

I should take advantage.

I should scrub the kitchen floor (but first find my elusive dust pan.)

I should pack their toys!

I should get dinner started!

I should...play on the internet until my brains turn into that goo I keep warning Cohen about...

I Have Nothing to Say to That

I used* to have a big problem keeping my mouth shut.

I ate a lot of bugs.  Full of nutrients.

Anyway, one of the many disadvantages of this little problem is that I just never know when to shut up give up.

Last night my bro-in-law (16) was complaining that his knuckles were cracked.  His mom, Brett (the brother) and I tried to convince to him to use Aquaphor, the greatest ointment known to man.  He kept coming back with excuse after excuse why he didn't want to use it.

Normally I would've persisted.  I'm no quitter.

But yesterday, something happened.  Something inside of me died.  I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Fine, have cracked knuckles," and then went on my merry way.

And you know what, it felt good.  Dang good.

I tried it again during my daily lunch argument with Kembry.


"But I don't want that!"

I've tried everything.  Everything.  I have even broken down and become the short order cook I so adamantly swore I would not become.

Arguing with her: doesn't work.

Bargaining with her: psht, like bargaining with the devil.

Begging her: humiliating.

Ignoring her: loud.

Giving into her: BIG mistake.

So, I said, "Fine.  But you'll be hungry."

And then I walked out of the kitchen.  My heart was pounding.  I broke out in a sweat.  No sounds came from the kitchen.  I could feel the shocked silence.

Verdict: she ate it.

WINNER!!!!!!!!

Are my days as the pushy, loud, obnoxious know-it-all over?

You wish.

*By used to, I mean as recently as Saturday.  So, really, "used to" should be used loosely here.  Very loose.

Stake Conference

I have a lot of great stuff in my brain.

But it's battling what's going to turn out to be another fun bout of strep, so I'm just going to share with you one thing I learned on this FABULOUS Stake Conference weekend.

Brett taught me that you need to put forth the effort to qualify for the blessings.  That's so true.

What an amazing Stake Conference.  Loved every word, every moment.

It Is Done

And I'm in love.

We went from about a 20 cu feet fridge, to a 27.  I hope it's big enough...

It also has one of these...

And it only costs this much to run...A YEAR!

Whaaaaat.  It better, seeing as how much it cost. 

Meanwhile...

This:

and this:

are taking complete advantage of mommy and daddy's adventures in redecorating.

When we weren't looking, they took over the house.  It was a total take over.  I've lost my throne.  And now I get to clean theirs...yay!

But oh my gosh, that dimple kills me.  KILLS ME!  Have mercy on me, dimple cheeks, I'm but a simple mortal mother.

(And yes, Kembry is chewing toast.  I can't seem to get a picture of her lately without food in her mouth.)

Happy Drunkin' Irish Day!

An Irish daughter had not been home for over 5 years.   Upon her return, her Father cursed her heavily.

'Where have ye been all this time, child?  Why did ye not write to us, not even a line?   Why didn't ye call?   Can ye not understand what ye put yer old Mother thru?'

The girl, crying, replied, 'Sniff, sniff...Dad...I became a prostitute.'

'Ye what!?  Get out a here, ye shameless harlot!  Sinner!   You're a disgrace to this Catholic family.'

'OK, Dad... as ye wish.   I only came back to give mum this luxurious fur coat, title deed to a ten bedroom mansion, plus a $5 million savings certificate.  

For me little brother, this gold Rolex. 

And for ye Daddy, the sparkling new Mercedes limited edition convertible that's parked outside plus a membership to the  country club...(takes a breath)...and an invitation for ye all to  spend New Years Eve on board my new yacht in the Riviera.'

'What was it ye said ye had become?' says Dad.

Girl, crying again, 'A prostitute, Daddy!  Sniff, sniff.'

'Oh!  Oh, Mary the Mother!  Ye scared me half to death, girl!   I thought ye said a Protestant !

 Come here and give yer old Dad a hug!

My family is old Irish.  We're also old Scottish.  I'm not sure how the two blended together without them knowing it, but it happened.

In the 1840's some time, my great-great Grandma Maggie and her husband Joseph Best set out for the America's.  I don't know much about them, but I'm grateful they made it.  Later, in the 1850's, my great-great Grandfather and Mother also came here from Northern Ireland, Patrick O'Connor and Mary Lynch.  

I'm glad they had leprechauns to cobble their shoes and put holes in their cheese.  Where would we be without them? 

A Step (Or 100) Too Far

So I went ahead and bowed down to the paint demons and puttied my bubbly wall.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you're welcome.

Since I have to wait 24 hours for the stinkin' putty to dry, I decided to go ahead and paint the kitchen.

Have I mentioned I have a problem with self-control?

Like that tray of cookies my husband just made?  Gone.

On the bright side, I have a whole new wardrobe of fat clothes.

Would You Like Milk With That Coughy?

Oh my gooooooooooooooooooooossssssssssshhhhhhhhh!!

*HACK*

I have the WORST cough in the entire history of the world.  All the planets in the universe, too.

*COUGH COUGH COUGH*

*SNORT*

I sound like a 78 year old chronic smoker with an iron lung.

So, on an entirely different note, I randomly decided that whoever buys our house should get it in better condition than what we've been living in.  I don't know why I feel this way.  I'm kicking myself.  Anyway, I painted the hallway because I've ALWAYS ALWAYS despised the yucky creamy yellow it's painted.  (Coincidentally, the kitchen is also painted this disgusting creamy yellow.  It, too, will feel the wrath of my paint brush.)

So the husband and I picked out a nice, calm, mostly-white color.  Really, if we were staying, it would've been a taupe or something, but we want the new family to have a chance to play with their own color pallet.

Soooo, long story longer, I started painting.  Aaaannnd, you can't even tell a difference in the color.  Well, maybe a little bit today.  It's not nearly as yellow.

So that was disappointing.

THEN, a giant BUBBLE appeared in the MIDDLE of the wall.  What the...So I start peeling it away.  Next thing I know, I've peeled off 30% of the paint I just laid down.  Gruff.

Now I have to putty the randomness, sand, again, and repaint.  

Meanwhile, Brett's taken off yesterday and today to work on the basement.  He's come into more success than I have.  He's got almost all the dry wall up, heaters in each of the rooms, and his sanity.  Show off.  So, I'm off to continue the debasing act of becoming a slave to a wall.  Wish me luck.

Mmmm, Blood Sugar

I think I've been having some blood sugar issues lately.

For example, it seems perfectly acceptable to strangle my kids 10 minutes before lunch, and then after lunch, I just want to hug and kiss them.

Or, the pizza we ordered tonight was wrong.  I broke down into tears.

Or, I refused to share my apple with Kembry this morning.

Or, I refuse to feed a screaming Chloe in the morning until I've had my bowl of cereal.

Yep, I likes my food.

Kembry, Kembry, Kembry

Kembry is her maternal grandmothers granddaughter.

Didya catch that?

Kembry has been schooled in the crafty art of hint dropping.  And I have to say, I'm quite proud, and disturbed, by her progress.

"Mom, I loooove orange juice."

*Silent stare*

"Mom, did you know that I really loooove orange juice?"

"Kembry, do you want some orange juice?"

"I do loooove it, mom."

"Kembry, if you want orange juice, just say, 'Mom, can I have some orange juice, please?'"

*Now Kembry gives the silent stare*

Kembry also has the propensity to pose whenever a camera is in the room.

She also dresses herself.  Much to my chagrin.

Kembry got lost at Ikea a couple of weeks ago.  While Brett searched frantically for her (all while maintaining his manly mantra to "never, never ask for help") Cohen and I sat by the stairs and said a little prayer.  Well, I said a little prayer.  Cohen suggested we just leave without her.

When Brett finally put on a wig and asked for help, it was pretty easy to find her.  She was sitting between two male Ikea workers in the bedroom department, flirting up a storm.

Sometimes I fear I'm raising a Lydia Bennet.  She doesn't listen, she loves to flirt with any species of male, she's devious, and as I've already mentioned, she can hint drop with the professionals.

But she also hugs me around my legs and tells me she loves me about 400 times a day.  She dances and sings all the time.  She loves to play princess and lets me do her hair (most of the time).  She's so feminine, so beautiful, and sometimes so sweet that I swell with pride that she's mine.

She tries new food and loves all fruits.  She's independent and so curious.  She loves to cook and clean (just not her room).

She's always shares with her brother and remembers him when he's not with us.  Like yesterday at the store, I got her a PEZ Dispenser because she was so good.  She then sternly reminded me that Cohen would want one, too, and she proceeded to pick out a really cool Spider Man PEZ that Cohen did end up loving.

I love her.

Roid Rage and Other Randomness

I love steroids.

They're the only things that help my back, and they help it fast!

I just don't like the red rash on my face, or the fact that I can't nurse.  Feeding times take 40 minutes now instead of 20.  Feed the baby, pump the milk, then, sadly, throw that milk away.

This is one sad cow.

I also don't like how incredibly HUNGRY they make me feel.  Holy guacamole...mmm...actually, I don't like guacamole.  I'm going to go and eat another apple.

But at least my back doesn't hurt anymore!!

Yesterday, Kembry picked up my makeup wedge sponge and said, "Look mom!  It's an incline plane, a simple machine!"  Bahahaha.

She also knows all her letters, and how to completely infuriate me.  I think she should start teaching a class.

I just finished a fabulous book called "Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife", by Linda Berdoll.  If you're a P&P fan, you'll love this book.  Fabulous characters (or I should say Linda does a great job at keeping Austen's characters authentic) and a riveting plot.  That's one of things I find most "sequels" written by other authors are missing: plot.

I also loved that I had to have a dictionary by my side (English AND French, s'amuser!) which, you know it's a good book when you need the dictionary with you at all times.

Just a little warning though, when the titles reads "Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife" what it's really saying is "Mr. Darcy TAKES HIS Wife", if you get my gist.  Linda Berdoll used so many amusing euphemisms, and then I went to her website and found out she's written an entire book on euphemisms!  I know what I'm getting myself and one special aunt for Christmas!  (If you know Brett and me at all, you know why we'll sit by the fireside reading this.  Dirty minds think alike, haha!) 

So there you have it.

A Little Pontification for Your Enjoyment

I read this post today on Facebook:

"This is why immigration law should be enforced. Because illegal immigrants have no respect for the law or this country."

I know Lucy, I know.  

Don't worry, Rikki is safe.

We couldn't do without that sexy accent of his.  (Wait, isn't he dead?)

What was I saying?  Aw yes.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  Well, actually, I could, because this was the FOURTH post I read like that today on my page.  These people are my friends?  

I know that a lot of these comments are coming from a statistic that was broadcast on a local news station.  (And I'm going to get the exact numbers wrong, but does that really matter)  Something about 8% of drug busts were immigrant, and of those 8% something around 83% of drugs were "taken off the streets".

Whaaaa?

Here are the immediate, obvious questions a person who thinks about what she's hearing asked herself (myself):

A) How do we know 83% of drugs were taken off the streets?  Do we have an accurate count of the drugs on the streets?  Does someone go out, "Yes, hello, I'm the drug counter.  Could you please tell me the number of drugs in your possession.  Thank you so very much."  

B) Why does it matter if these people were immigrants.  A criminal is a criminal is a criminal.  I don't care where you came from or where you're going (jail).  My point is, I'm pretty sure, brace yourselves, that there are "Americans" who break the law all the time.  SHOCKING!

B.2)  I'm one of those Americans.  I'm usually a year late on my car registration.

C) What about the 92% of other immigrants that weren't listed under this specious statistic.  Oh, they hold jobs and pay social security even though they will never receive that benefit.  They take those debasing jobs that no American wants to do because we're lazy and prefer to sit behind a desk guarding our social security card with our lives. Oh, ok, yeah, they should all be burned at the stake.  

C'mon people.  I'm not one of strong political opinions, but I do believe that 100% of my ancestors were immigrants to this country.  I'm pretty sure they didn't just pop up out of the soil holding an American flag and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.  Shoot, I noticed the other night that there were some grown adults who didn't know the pledge of allegiance by heart anymore.  What exactly are we trying to protect, here?  Our freedom?  Or our wallets?

I'm all about people following the law, and I'm especially about immigrants coming here and staying legally.

What I'm not about is bashing them, insulting them, treating them like dirt, or causing them or their very innocent children harm.

Which is what these comments do.  They spread ill feelings and false information.  They fan the flame of ignorance.

I'm proud that Utah passed a law for a guest worker program.  That's what the other 92% of immigrants are doing here, folks.  Working.  And I'm pretty sure if we lived in their debasing conditions, with a supposedly wonderful and prosperous country sitting just up the road, where our children could enjoy education and freedoms they deserve, we would want to go to that place too.  As for me, I'm a little bit embarrassed by my fellow "Americans".  And not just the fat ones.  In fact, those are my people.  I digress. 

It's very easy for us to stand on this side of the boarder waving our flag and attacking people for daring to step on our soil.  A soil we don't till, we don't work, we don't really care about as long as it yields us the bucks.  

So, "illegal immigrants have no respect for law or of this country"?  Ha.  

Huh, who knew I had an opinion?

And to all my LDS possy, here's my question for you: WHAT DOES THIS ALL HAVE TO DO WITH THE BUILDING OF ZION?  Go.  Discuss.  Talk amongst yourselves.  

Erm...I just realized.  Some of my ancestors did pop up out of the soil.  I have Native American ancestors.  So, ok, not 100%...regardless...