Thanks a LOT Julie!

At 4-something this morning, I hear "Oh no!" Then hyperventilating, running footsteps, the bathroom light flip on, more hyperventilating, and then a scream of pure panic, that I have never heard before. Lucy flew into our room, freaking out like I've never seen, sobbing, "I'm gonna have a beard like Dad!"
What the heck?
Well, Lucy had a play date yesterday with her other half, Ellie. While there, Julie was nice enough to paint her nails, and in an effort to get her to not suck her thumb (good intentions, really), Julie told her that this was "Special" nail polish. If she sucked her thumb with this on, she'd grow whiskers, eventually getting a beard like her dad. Knowing Lucy can't take a joke, I added, "She's only joking." She didn't hear me, apparently. She did so well all day, didn't suck her thumb once, and though it was a mighty struggle, managed to fall asleep without her thumb.
Well 4-something in the morning, she wakes up, realizing her thumb is in her mouth, thus the screaming. It took us a good long time to convince her Julie was kidding. Jake kept suggesting we call Julie right then to set Lucy straight, but finally she calmed down enough to go back to sleep.
Thanks a LOT Julie. :)


Miles insisted I take one of his nails too.

Check it out!

Flight Explorer
Jake's got a story in here and he did the cover~! It comes out this week. Way to go honey!

Going underground. . .

I'm making the leap - I'm taking my blog private. I just want to limit access to potential Jack-the-rippers out there. I know some people, who are not J-t-r, read my blog and have never commented (like my friendly long-time blog-stalker, Jen), so I'm giving fair warning. If you still want to be able to read it, please email me or call so I can add you to the list. You can also publish a comment here and leave your email address. In a week, it's "good bye"!

How do you know that he really truly loves you?

Does he reach into the potty to retrieve your hairclip that accidentally fell in.

Spring can't come soon enough!

All those years living in Arizona, I used to hold my breath, waiting for fall. Now, I'm clinging to my very last shred of sanity until Spring gets here. Luckily, I've found some coping strategies.
My darling friend, Bekah, gave me these and it's like a little burst of Spring every time I walk through my dining room. I don't know how she knew about my craving for something green, but they make me SO happy!

It's still too cold to break out all my spring shoes, but just wearing these around the house makes me a little bit easier to get along with.

I've been carrying this around all winter. Every time I walk past a mirror in a store, as long as I'm not sporting the UMC, I get a little suprise.

I realize this may not seem like a big problem to some, but I really do have two different personalities. Last year, on the first really nice day, we were driving to church. After about 3 or 4 minutes, Jake turned to me and said, "Hey! Welcome back, Summer Alison!" I'm trying to revive her more often.

Slogging for eggs, hangin' with the Who's, and accidental ice cream.

What a perfect weekend!
We started it out watching Princess Diaries (obviously it wasn't Tate's week to pick.), and we caught them voluntarily sitting like this:



Saturday morning we were dragged by the kids to the annual eat-stuff-off-the ground party, also known as an Easter egg hunt. Usually we avoid putting anything in our mouths that were dropped in the outdoors by animals, but our friends, Eric and Shauna,


put on a very nice party. It quit raining just exactly as the party started, hence the boots and soggy bottoms.




The only down side was convincing Miles and Reid not to eat the candy until the actual hunt began.



We ditched out early to take Reid and the kids the the family showing of Horton, where we had lots of fun, because, in a theater full of children, who cares if your 4 year old laughs like a hyena with a megaphone?



After resting up at home, we dragged the kids to our very last class (we've been taking a six-week marriage and family class that's lasted for 4 months!) They got to play in the nursery with a very nice babysitter, so don't feel too bad for them. Lucy did have an accident, though, requiring a wardrobe change while at the church. Jake was in charge of discreetly removing the soiled article of clothing from the building, so of course, he chucked them onto the roof of our van "just until the class is over." Well, as we're entering the onramp to the freeway, I ask if he remembered to get them down. Needless to say, we turned around and spent the next little while hunting for the poopy panties on the road. When we spotted them, he put on the hazards and jumped out of the car (what a good dad!), and then proceeded to throw them in a bush on the side of the road. After I made him go get them, he tossed them in the back of the van and headed for home. It only took about 3/4 of a mile before it felt a lot like riding in a port-a-potty. We took the next exit, as Tate howled for mercy from the backseat, and pulled over at the first strip mall with trash cans. Well, as luck would have it, we were in front of a very empty Cold Stone Creamery (my FAVORITE, and I've not had it for over 4 years!), so we took the kids in. I don't know whether it was a severe case of the I'm-just-a-goofy-six-year-old's, or in protest of riding in the haz-mat mobile, but he decided to wear his easter-egg collecting bag on his head.


(side note-I'm trying very very hard to let him make his own choices lately, and saving my battles for things like behaving in church and sliding down the banister.)


Despite a few odd looks, we had a great time, everyone was well behaved, nobody fought, and most importantly, I got ice cream!!!!


What a perfect day.

Jake vs. the Big Ugly Man Coat

Starting at the beginning:
Two and a half years ago, as we prepared to move from Texas to Connecticut, I held a yard sale to get rid of stuff I wasn't keen on hauling all the way up here. I invited three of my friends to do it with me, partly to make it look like a better sale, and partly so I wouldn't have to sit by myself on the driveway all day. Well, my dear friend Amy Brown, brought a big, black, puffy man coat. I was pregnant (humoungo) and needed a coat, so we traded for some useless thing I had.
Jake HATES this coat. Each winter I pull it out because it is unimaginably warm and he groans and begs me to get a new coat. The only problem is, each coat he suggests is NOT warm and I have been unable to find one this warm in my size. (long long monkey arms are not currently available anywhere in a puffy down coat.) So, I continue to wear it, on all of the cold days, thinking it can't be all that bad.
Two days ago, on the playground after school, a friend comes up to me and congratulates me. "On what?" I ask. "On the new baby! You're pregnant right?" "NO! What?" "My son, Killgore, (names have been changed to protect the innocent) tells me that you're having a baby."
I finally get out of her that Tate told her son and another boy that I'm expecting. What the heck?! I hunt down the little booger and ask him what in the world is going on. Well, he was very embarrassed and I could tell he didn't want to tell me, but I finally weasled it out of him.
Tate, Killgore, and Francis were sitting in class, doing their work, and Francis says, "Hey Tate, how come your mom's so fat? Is it because she ate ten thousand hamburgers from McDonald's?"
(Little side note: remember that I posted a month or so ago that Tate congratulated me on our new baby? He was really embarrassed then when he realized I was just chubby and was afraid he'd hurt my feelings.) So, my sweet, thoughtful, tenderhearted son, who doesn't want to hurt my feelings, says, "No, she's having a baby."
Francis's reply was, "No, I think she ate all those hamburgers!"
Well, Killgore got so mad at Francis for talkin' smack about Tate's fat mom, that he started yelling, "You can't say that about Tate's mom! You hurt his feelings!" And as the story goes (from the mouth of a six year old mind you.), Killgore proceeded to pound Francis for insulting his momma.
After assuring my friend and the other two moms who had heard the same rumor that, no, as much as I'd like to be, I'm not expecting a baby any time this year. Apparently Teddy, er, I mean Killgore, has only seen me in my Big Ugly Man Coat recently. I have now become a "Your Momma's So Fat. . ." joke. So, you win Jake. I'm getting rid of it just as soon as the weather turns. (that is, until next year.)

Horton Hears A Who!

Watch the trailer here!

My boys are famous! Well, that may be a wee bit of an exaggeration, but I'm proud of them nonetheless. Jake's been working on Horton since we moved here. (his name is on the left in the credits under designers I think.) Miles was born during production, so he's under "production babies" on the right. And my little budding artist, Tate, is accidentally in the movie too. Way back when Jake was designing the kitchen in the Mayor's house, Jake's boss asked him to do kid-style artwork for the fridge. He suggested Tate do it, and Jake thought that was a great idea too. So, Jake gave Tate some pictures of the Mayor, and he did a few great (unbiased mother opinion) drawings. Well, the next month, Jake's boss came back to him and said the lawyers for Fox (lawyers! grrrr) said no way because Tate wasn't an employee. Tate was bummed.
Well, we went and saw it last week, didn't pay any attention to the fridge, and the next day found out that Tate's art accidentally made it in. So when you ALL GO SEE THE MOVIE, check the fridge in the background of the kitchen. The first few times it's shown, that's Tate's art. Then it switches to some other drawings, which belong to Jake's boss.
I know I just spent one sentence on Jake's part in the movie and two paragraphs on Tate's. But he's my little boy! Jake did a thing or two as well, including but not limited to, designing the kitchen, the dentist's office (my favorite scene in the movie!), the hall with all the portraits, the mayor's bedroom (I think), and a lot of other things which I should have paid closer attention to as he told me. Go check some of his work here. He also did the credits at the beginning (way to place those letters Honey!)
So, go see the movie!

Something's wrong with my baby.

I do it for the fans.

Several years ago, when we thought it mattered, Jake and I were debating who was more "important" in their field. That wasn't really ever stated just that way, but that's what it boiled down to. Anyway, at the very end of the conversation (you'll see why it was the end), Jake turns to me and says, "Well, do you get fan mail?" I started laughing at him so hard, the conversation was over, we both agreed that it was hilarious, and we've (I've) brought it up a handful of times in the years since.
Fast forward to this year. I have NO fans. I'm feeling a little job dissatisfaction as chief laundry folder, crap-off-the-floor scraper upper, and bum wiper. Miles is getting teeth or growing another head, I'm not sure which, but he's not been pleasant. Tate and Lucy complain and gag about everything I've made for the last 3 weeks for dinner. I'm feeling like it's not really fair that Jake gets to go do his FAVORITE thing every day, get paid for it, get told how good he is at it, get to talk to adults about anything but poop, and last of all, get fan mail (which, to be honest, he does get a fair amount of). Not that my favorite things aren't scraping crap off the floor and wiping bums, but well, they're not. Hence, job dissatisfaction.
Fast forward to this week. Jake calls me from work and says something to the effect of, "Thomas and I were debating who's wife makes better cookies, so I told him we'd have a contest (notice that Thomas's wife and I have absolutely NO part in this.) You have to send in a couple dozen on Thursday so the Art Department can judge." WHAT?! I already have 3 million things going on. Girls don't do this! We don't sit around at play group and say, "Oh yeah? Well, I think I can change a diaper faster than you. Let's race!" But sure honey, since you got into a "my wife's better than your wife" chest beating, testosterone driven contest like a bunch of howler monkeys in the jungle, seeing who can make more noise, sure I'll bail you out.
So, I'm sitting here thinking, who cares about my cookie making abilities? I don't. And then I think of my kids, who burn their mouths every time I make cookies, because they can't wait for them to cool. I think of Reid, who lights up just to see a full cookie jar when he gets home. I think of my "other" kids, Katherine and Jenny, who can be lured over just by hearing a rumor that I'm making cookies. These are my fans! Oh, and I did get an email once from my friend, Suzy, saying that her favorite food is my Candied Coconut Shortbread cookies. That counts as fan mail, right?
So, even though I shouldn't make another batch of anything that will add to my pants size, I just have to remember, it's all for the fans.

Daddy daughter date!

(my favorite part of this picture is that you can see her brain.)

Jake and Lucy went on a date Friday night while I stayed home with "The Pink Eye" boys. Not just pink eye, but "The Pink Eye", as Lucy calls it. Anyway, they went to go watch Reid, oh studdly stud from the Chemistry dept., play dodge ball against the students.

As I hear it, he did rather well and didn't shame the family name, but even so, Lucy did not want to give him a hug because, "he smelled like a goat."

Horton!

Jake and I went to see Horton Hears a Who! on Wednesday night!
Here's the story:

Someone (not me) forgot the tickets on his or her (his) desk in Whiteplains. Since we had to go back and get them, and since the doors closed once the screening started, we were 97% sure we were gonna miss it.

We were sad.



So sad.



Especially because I didn't even get a chance to carry around this cute little bag I borrowed from my very stylish friend.



Oh, and even more especially because I'd just subjected my stomach to a grilled chicken sandwich (From here on out referred to as the "booger burger") from Wendy's.



Yes, we were mighty sad.



But then, by some miracle, the traffic thinned, the cars parted, and we were free to speed through the streets of Manhattan toward the Zeigfield theater.
We were happy.



So, we gathered our things, I checked my teeth,



Jake checked his teeth,



and we lived happily ever after. (The movie was great)
Here's the Toys R Us in Time's Square!



Oh, and let me just say, a person can get mighty bored in a car on the road. A camera can be a great distraction.

We've been in hiding

Nothing exciting around here, just the day to day that keeps me from writing.
Taxes kept me busy for a couple of weeks, but Woo hoo - I'm done!

Oh, and what happens when the two year old won't eat his oatmeal and DAD's in charge?

Yep, the two year old gets whipped cream on top, which he scrapes off, eats, and still refuses the rest of the oatmeal. This would never happen if MOM were around.

Oh, and I have no idea what's wrong with Tate. It must be genetic.

Sleeping in the Toy Room

I should give some background here. Jake was playing "house" with Lucy and her little people while Tate made cookies (and I supervised). Lucy came in after about 20 minutes asking for a "washcloth". I never turned to see what she was doing, so when Tate and I went to investigate, we found this:

Sleepin_in_the_toyroom
Uploaded by parkerfamily

Lucy had covered him up so he could "sleep better".