How I saved Thanksgiving Day

Today I polished off the Thanksgiving stuffing. I was the only one who touched any of it b/c I forgot to take it out of the oven until everyone was done eating last Thursday. I am confident in saying that stuffing is henceforth banished from this house. I would be eating turkey into the afterlife if de-meating that huge beast hadn’t given me the heebee-jeebees. But I de-boned enough to make me hate fowl for at least 1 eternity. The mashed potatoes are still outstanding (and by that I don't mean they are "excellent," but "still in existence.").

We went for a hike the next day. The Orlinians will notice that's not David, but a good, old buddy. David was the photographer, the kids were the strippers.

Now on to the circuitous story of how I saved Thanksgiving Day. At one point in my life, my aspirations shifted from being the first female president of the USA to a car mechanic. I must admit I didn’t want to be president to create world peace nor to cure hunger. It was mainly so people would think I’m totally cool (which of course I realize now is not congruent with presidency. By the way, did I ever mention that Mitt Romney was my first bishop, my dad was in the bishopric with him, and if he would have been voted president I would have invited all y’all to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue for a slumber party? Oh well…). You see, car mechanics work with their hands, which I’m re-realizing is much better than curing hunger and federal financial reform. When I was a kid, one of the keys on our piano went dead. I jerry-rigged the chord on the inside of the piano with folded paper, fixing the problem. Of course my mom still called a maintenance man. What a feeling of pride when I saw he had done the same thing I did, but with fancy felt. Today I am neither the president nor a car mechanic, but oil or grime in the grooves of my fingers gives me a tingle of satisfaction. A few weeks ago I replaced the tubes under the kids’ bathroom sink (after cracking them, trying to fix something else), which segued well to Thanksgiving Day when I killed the garbage disposal with potato peels. We thought all might be lost—I have known people who have known of people who have died of turkey dehydration on Thanksgiving. After donning a cape, I pulled out the vinegar and baking soda, boiling water and a plunger, and finally disassembled the guts of the sink and cleaned them out piece-by-piece. When the water started flowing again I knew, deep in my heart that I, just like the ghost of Thanksgiving past, had saved my family and friends from a gloomy future. It was like the feeling I got years ago when I made spaghetti for my dad and Leah (my mom was out of town) and I used all the rotting vegetables and made it taste passable and I complimented myself so much at dinner that my dad told me I was breaking my arm from patting myself on the back so much. And the story continues. Today I replaced the housing gasket in the pool pump. Yes, I will take a bow. Congratulations to me, and after you kiss my feet I will not tell you that another, bigger leak sprung up after I reassembled the pump and instead of saving $100, I may have cost us much more. But I didn’t say that, and anyway, I can just blame it on my genes. My dad has tried to play Mr. Fix-it a few times. While de-clogging a toilet (or was it a sink?) he somehow punctured the plumbing with a straightened wire hanger, flooding the bathroom. When trying to change a lightbulb, he removed the whole inner metal plate. How many men does it take to change a lightbulb? Frankly, I surprised he didn’t fry himself with that one. So, in a few weeks I will either have a beautifully tiled bathroom, or I may crack the foundation. Either way, I will be singing, “Goodbye nasty carpet!”

PS. I still have never cooked a Thanksgiving turkey nor dared to shop Black Friday sales, which probably disqualifies me from running for president anyway.

Time Out for Air Shows

A few weeks ago I attended “Time Out For Women” with my mom and some friends. A few things that are still with me:
1) There are no bad emotions (in adults and children). Emotions should be treated as information to guide appropriate behavior.
2) Strengths. At times we abase ourselves in order to avoid what we think is pride. On the contrary, if our gifts are from God, magnifying strengths should be the definition of humility. The speaker challenged us to publish our strengths. So, here goes a short list (of my overabundance—I ain’t shy):
a. Dealing with chaos
b. Making people feel comfortable
c. Being positive about myself
d. I’m hard to offend
e. I don’t hold grudges
f. I know when to bottle emotions and when to talk about them
g. I know how to resolve conflict in my marriage—it’s easiest to make a joke about the stupid stuff
I could go on all day, Stop me now! Humility I am.
Anywho, as I sat in a room with 4500 women, David used the tickets our neighbor gave us to go to the Scottsdale Air Show.

Are you serious? They were really going to allow a 2 year old to zip line (she freaked out and didn't go, but the other 2 did). It seems something that would only happen in a less-litigious country.

Elijah’s artwork. In his 7th year of life he has decided that it’s a great idea to decorate our walls and defends himself by saying I write on the wall to measure their height…true, but non-sequitur. At least it’s religious artwork, right?

It's almost cold enough to make our whole house smell like camping. Maybe I can make my kids into chimney sweeps--I'll be sure to show them Mary Poppins as I burn Oliver Twist.

I can no longer claim credit for this girl's nudity. It's all her.

And wouldn't it be lovely...

if you don't feel like walking,

simply don't.

She lies outside of Claire's classroom on a daily basis, waiting for me to attend to her. Sometimes I play the stubborn game with her, but I think she realizes that I have 2 other kids and therefore cannot afford to be as stubborn as she is.

All he wants for Christmas...

It’s probably not a coincidence that the 2 front teeth fell out concurrently with the post-Halloween sugaring-up. They love candy. Yesterday Claire asked me if the pink stuff in her eye was gum and can she please eat it. No, you might need that TEAR DUCT next time you want to get your brother in trouble.

 

 

Win/win and Halloween

win/win
Today I got home exhausted and emotionally frustrated—feelings that usually cause me to lash out on all living beings. Today was no different. Upon entering the house with the kids I opened my mouth and let out a huge, ferocious ROAR! I reassured them that I wasn’t possessed by a demon (it took some convincing with Claire) before I chased them around the house like I was possessed by a demon.
Oh man, I feel better, and so do they.
win/win
All citizens are taxed. My children are citizens. Their taxing season occurs after bday parties, but especially after Halloween.  Oh yes, I will eat chocolate, oh yes. And David, I found your secret stash too. You will be taxed at a 90% rate, and 95% if I’m in a bad mood or if you’re not looking. This may seem like a one-sided win. Not so. They get their rears wiped, food made, and shirts ironed.
I’m all about capitalism, and possibly communism.
Crazy Halloween
Halloween afternoon. First we made a crazy dash to D’s work and trick-or-treated from desk to desk. Iris ditched the cute ladybug costume from her cousin and wore a raggedy “frincess” dress from the dress-up box. On the way home we stopped by a party at a friend’s house and were going to stop by another one until E told me his friend dis-invited him. Then on to the party at church, at which point Iris decided to ditch the frincess costume and wear what she wears every other day of her life, the uniform smock the kids wore at school in Mexico. The food table was just her height so she took samplings of almost all the cupcakes with frosting and then returned them to their trays. She used the fuel to sprint cheetah-like until her brain caught up with her long enough to say, “wait, where was I going?” and then she’d sprint again. Repeat all night. We left at about 8pm so we could try to hit one last neighborhood party and give the kids their first genuine trick-or-treating experience.
Costume items that were lost or broken: pirate earring, fairy earrings, wings, skull and bones ring, eye patch, bracelet, tiara, flower.
Lesson learned: children are not meant to be accessorized.

 As David said, "One knows they have succeeded with their costume when kids see you and, with a terrified look, offer you their candy."