Things I Found Out Today

I found out I needed to shave when my two-year-old touched my leg and said, "Ouch!"

Costco sells caskets online. No kidding. I wasn't looking, I just accidentally ran across it.

I'm not as frugal as I thought I would be when it comes to the impending birthday of my child. I tell everyone else he needs no more toys, and then I go out and buy him a big fat toy (and several smaller ones a week ago that I am no longer counting as part of his birthday). Hypocritical? Yes. Destined to be a stinking pile of fun? Absolutely.

When Gavin says "stinky," he just might be referring to himself and his immediate need for a diaper change.

I don't have a green thumb, I think. My tomatoes looked upon me with a dismal, withering and yellowed look as if to say, "Pick up those dreams of canning jar after jar of tomatoes this year, sister, and get them outta here!" I reprimanded them for their rudeness, sprayed insecticidal soap in an effort to demolish the whiteflies, sprinkled ant-killing pellets around the garden boxes, and went back in the house as a tear slowly made its way down my cheek. I wouldn't have cried had the tomatoes not gotten so personal.

Spraying the aforementioned insecticidal soap on a windy day is not a good idea. Some of the spray may or may not end up in your mouth, giving you an odious taste in the back of your throat and the fear of poisoning by droplets carried on the wind.

I didn't actually get poisoned. Brushing my teeth helped considerably.

Gavin is a smart, smart boy. He learned that his magnetic blocks will stick to the door jamb of the linen closet. Good job, Bubby!

Gavin likes Coldplay!

That's all for today. I better go make cookies.

If Your Name Were Gavin Jacobs...

...you would have blonde hair and blue eyes while your parents both had dark brown hair and green eyes. (I swear it wasn't the milkman...he's a redhead, anyway - just kidding!)

...you would wake up with a smile on your face that would hardly leave at any moment of the day.

...you would greet your mommy in the morning in one of two ways: 1) "Good morning!" or 2) "Dada? Work. Not here." Yes, his mommy is a poor second-hand substitute for his daddy.

...you would eat as much as your mother and sometimes more.

...you would LOVE to watch Blue's Clues and would find each clue.

...you would sing the mail song from Blue's Clues with a hilarious gruff voice. Come to think of it, you would do the hand motions and dances to every one of the regular songs!

...you would LOVE to dance at any and all types of music.

...you would know the difference between having one object in your hand versus two - when Mommy puts something in each hand, you would say, "Two!"

...you would love to play the piano every single time Mommy plays it. Every time.

...you would notice absolutely everything.

...you would pick up words as soon as they are said. Daddy changes your diaper and repeatedly makes faces while saying, "Sick! Ew, gross! Oh, gosh!" Guess what comes out of your little mouth then? "Sick! Ew, gross! Oh, gosh!"

...you would look at your mommy and say with a smile, "Elmo!" every time Elmo's World came on Sesame Street.

...you would LIVE to be outside all day, climbing the rocks in the backyard, throwing dirt, "helping" mommy and daddy in the garden.

...you would notice every stray balloon that ever existed in any store in which balloons are distributed. You would also come running into the living room whenever you recognized a song from a commercial in which balloons are present.

...you wouldn't go anywhere without your bears.

...you would know three shapes.

...you would know over 100 words.

...you would put together 2-3 word sentences, like "Not here!" or "Found it!" or "Happy Birthday!" (That last one sounds like "Happy Day!")

...you would love to do the actions to the snowman song.

...you would not be able to sit still for more than a nano-second. Seriously.

...you would know the proper routines for every activity and hold your mommy and daddy to performing the correct actions associated with these activities. For example: we do the following when we go somewhere: go get shoes in the bedroom, put shoes on, run to the kitchen to turn on alarm system, run as fast as we can to the garage door while shouting, "Hurry, hurry!" and then open the garage door; say, "Car!" and wait for the car door to be opened, and hold our bear with our right middle two fingers stuck squarely in our mouth to suck on. All in that order.

...you might be loved to death by your parents, who demand hugs and kisses in copious amounts every hour.

...your favorite thing would be to "help" mommy and daddy do everything from take out the recycling to fixing something with tools (with your own tool set) to cooking and vacuuming and so on.

...you would be the most darling, excitable baby who shouts, "Yay!" at the end of Sacrament meeting when it is still quiet and everyone can hear that you are elated that you are stuck in the pew no more and can finally go to nursery.

...you would love to look at yourself in the mirror, but only smile and kiss your reflection if your hair is spiked. If it is not spiked, you would say, "Oh no!" and slowly rest your head in a dejected fashion against the mirror.

...you would sometimes throw tantrums, and when you were removed from common living areas would be heard to say, "Nice! Nice!" in an effort to calm yourself down. After all; you are allowed to come back to the family room when you can be "nice."

...you would be the best thing that ever happened to your mommy and daddy who could not dream up a more darling, wonderful, funny, precious child and are so grateful you are ours.

Gavin in "time out." Not working.

Gavin doing yoga.

What fu manchu?

One cool dude.

"Helping" Mommy play the piano.

I Bow to the Master

When I was in high school, I met a charming young woman who would become one of my best friends and my creative mentor. Erin McNally, as she is yet called, is to this day the master of prose, and I asked her permission to share this gem with you all. Let's just say that everything she writes is not only this funny, but true, which makes it even better. She posted this story on Facebook a few days ago, and in the hopes that she will start her own blog to share her life with the world, I introduce you all to the master:

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures...

Ok. This is an unfortunate story that I can't believe I'm about to share on facebook, but nonetheless, here we go. I almost think I need to write it down just so I can fully appreciate the ridiculousness - but then that's the charm in me =)

It happened on a typical Thursday......my day was running along as planned, waking up after next-to-nothing sleep, school, rehearsal, all the usual insanity. As I'm driving home, looking forward to a little Grey's Anatomy to break up the monotony that is homework, and I decide I have a hankering for girl scout cookies. I mean, who doesn't love a thin mint? This should be a relatively easy task to accomplish, seeing as I have been watching overly eager young ladies virtually throwing boxes of cookies at any available passerby from every other street corner for the past two weeks. This is where our seemingly innocent little tale begins to spiral out of control. For starters, I never have cash with me. I don't know what I would do if the world suddenly rejected the idea of the debit card. So I pit stop at the house to scrounge for change - between my 'street parking' jar, the bottom of my purse, and various jacket pockets, I actually managed to come up with just under $11.00 (note to self - keep better track of loose money......) so I hop back in the car and drive the 3 minutes to the local grocery store, only to find.....no girl scouts! At 4:15pm! What is up with that? school's out people, let's get a move on! There's no room for slacking in Brownies! Now that I'm involved, I can't go home empty handed, so I proceed to drive by not one, but two additional grocery stores, and NOTHING! Where is everybody? On every other day, I can't escape the screams of "GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!!" echoing from all over town, and then when I actually attempt to contribute, there is not a girl scout to be found. Needless to say, as a former girl scout myself, I find this level of dedication highly disappointing. By the time I make it all the way back home, barely able to concentrate on anything but visions of Samoas, I have crazily come to the conclusion that I just must have been a smidge hasty.....if anyone understands about homework, it's certainly me.......so I settle in at the piano, resolving to try again later. As if all of this hadn't already gotten completely out of control already, I actually went back to the first store I originally tried around 6pm, thinking that maybe the cookie sellers work in shifts and I might still get lucky. Of course, I show up there and surprise, surprise, not a girl scout to be found. I'm already at the store, that $11 burning a hole in my pocket, so I went right over the edge and picked myself up a 2 liter of Sprite (oh yeah baby, you know how I roll...) and a 12 pack of toilet paper that I had been meaning to purchase for awhile and that happened to be on an excellent sale. After all this, I'm heading out to my car, and what suddenly materializes before me?? That's right, freakin' GIRL SCOUTS!! Those tricksy little devils had shown up late and I had just spent all my cash on TP! I actually stood in the parking lot, cursing my timing, all the while being taunted by the object of my affection, until finally, I realized........the solution was right in front of me. I marched right back into the store and returned my toilet paper. Who needs it? (I can always borrow some if I get desperate, right?) As luck would have it, the customer service lady was the very same individual that I had harassed earlier about when the cursed cookie sellers were supposed to arrive, so I get the feeling she saw through my casual "uh, I decided i don't really need this....." approach. Not to be deterred, I walked right back out again and bought my Samoas and Thin mints, half a box of which I promptly consumed (without help......yikes). After coming down off my cookie high, and fully realizing that I had just returned toilet paper purchased moments before in exchange for girl scout cookies, I realized, this is how they get you. Some brilliant (albeit overly obsessed) troop leader decided long ago that if they only sell these things once a year that people won't be able to help themselves, and the girl scouts will be rolling in dough. And I fell for their evil little plan. I have effectively contributed to their eventual world domination - it's only a matter of time - and there I'll be - coconut and chocolate a plenty, but not a TP square in sight! Crap! (excuse the overly obvious punnage....I simple couldn't help myself) It's definitely back to baking for me.

Please Vote!

I am not usually the person who uses their blog to promote a cause outside of voting for my child as the world's cutest (no contest), but I feel the need to step outside a bit and ask for your votes for a different reason.

A family from my hometown has made it into the finals of the CBS Early Show's Singing Family Face-Off, and they need your votes! The family who wins this competition gets a CBS recording contract, and I really think they deserve it (trust me - I wouldn't promote them if I didn't think they were talented, because loyalties to friends aside, I'm just not nice enough to tell people to lie). I am asking you to go to the link provided and vote, vote, vote for the Lorentzen Family!

For those skeptics out there, I invite you to listen to their audition and judge for yourself. Feel free to go to the CBS Early Show website and listen to the other families as well, because that will inevitably show how truly talented the Lorentzens are.



Let me familiarize you briefly with the family and my background with them: John, the father, was my high school music teacher (and my siblings' as well). I started working with him in 5th grade when I was in our high school's production of Annie, and our families have known each other for even longer than that. Our families are both members of the same church (LDS, or Mormons) and we have performed in church functions together. Their children are Mark, who used to take French horn lessons from my dad and is a good friend of mine (he took me to my senior prom, in fact); Anne; Lisa, who is my brother's age; and Catherine, who I've known since she was born. Laura, the mother of this clan, is just as talented as the rest - a singer, pianist, and amazing musician.

Again, please take a second to vote for them (as many times as you can!) and encourage others to do the same. Good luck, Lorentzen family - we are totally rooting for you back home!

***TO VOTE: http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2009/02/10/earlyshow/series/singingfamily_faceoff/main4790097.shtml

Two Peas (I Mean Asparagus) In A Pod

I thought I had more time. I thought I could deny that my child is, in fact, a boy, and yes, he too will put things in various orifices in and around his body. My time us up.

Oh sure, it started simply enough. He of course sticks his fingers in his nose every now and again, but really, who doesn't? (Is that too much information?) He has up to now stayed relatively clear of his nether-areas, but his most accessible "toy" has been found, and with an unlikely sleuth, no less: asparagus.

Casey's brother, Cam, his wife, Jen, and their 8-month-old baby, Trent were visiting at our house this weekend. We had a scrumptious feast of roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, and asparagus, and all were content to put them in the proper orifice, which is of course the oral cavity. The course of Gavin's dinner, on the other hand, went more like this: scarf down adult-sized (normal adult-sized; Casey-sized portions don't count) portions of beef and potatoes, ask for seconds and then thirds, drink a little, and chat a lot. Then, when Mommy decides to see what he will do with a whole spear of asparagus, do exactly what she didn't think would happen: look at her mischievously and tentatively stick the crown portion in the nostril.

I just might be overreacting, but isn't this the sign of more to come? Here I am, surrounded by friends with ridiculously intelligent children who name states and capitals at age 2 (seriously, Andrea - that baby of yours is incredibly gifted!) and my child is testing the waters of all things orifice. This isn't to say that he is not smart, because he is a completely normally developing almost 2-year-old. In fact, I might even suggest that his motor skills out-do most kids his age (typical boy, I guess!). I'm just saying that I am falling into trap #1 of new-motherdom: the "My child will never do that!" curse.

This reminds me of a time when I was working in a preschool for special-needs children. Our youngest kids were 2 months shy of turning 3, and a particular towheaded 3-year-old with perpetual bedhead was a rambunctious reminder that parents have very little control over their toddlers. It started out as a lovely Christmas craft project in which the children were to dress up an otherwise ordinary construction paper cutout of a Christmas tree with feathers, sequins, cotton balls, buttons, etc. I was not in charge of this station, but I suddenly looked up from my own group when I heard our teacher shriek and the child begin to flail arms and legs wildly. As it turns out, some of the buttons fit quite nicely in his nose, but he was unable to retrieve them. The more he stuck his fingers in to get them out, the tighter the cannon was packed. A few firefighters and a hospital trip later and our dear student was back to normal, albeit banned from buttons for the rest of the year.

It is pictures like these that run through my head when I think of the whole new world open to Gavin as he embarks on this journey of small, irretrievable objects. I only hope that when we get called to the hospital, we get to ride in the firetruck.

Looks like it's time to shop for a better pair of tweezers.

Let the Romance Reign

Casey: "Man, I've got to stop high-fiving you. And we wonder where the romance went!"

(Later) "Let's have some strawberries! Aren't they hermaphroditic...I mean aphro...what is it called? Aphrodisiacs!

*****

~To quote Three Amigos!, "I like this guy! He is a funny guy!"~

Raspberries

Back off, ladies - these men are ALL MINE.