. . .like you need a hole in the head.

Casey called to say he'd be bringing Anderson home from his cousins' house.  Since this was the plan, I said, "Okay."
"Didn't my parents call you?"
"About what?"
"Anderson cut his eyebrow open on a scooter.  Could you call your dad to see if he can take a look at it?  We'll meet him over there."

It's nice to have a surgeon in the family and living next door.  And lucky when our injuries coincide with my Dad (and Mom) being home between missions.

Anderson rode in the backseat of our car while Grandma Songer held his head and coached him in Lamaze breathing.  Grandpa Hale confirmed that he would need stitches, and then offered to do it himself.  While he gathered his supplies, Anderson lay on Grandma's couch and was comforted with sippy cups and a blanket fresh from the dryer.
Two-year-old Rosalie, who heard us talking about getting Anderson warm, attempted to put her coat over him.  The pink blur moving towards Anderson's face was met with a hasty, "No, no!" and a strong-arm.  She burst into tears.  (And learned that no good deed goes unpunished.  Wish we could try that again.)

Surgery on the kitchen table:

Anderson was very brave.  The injection of the anesthetic into the wound produced some complaints but he held still anyway.  When he felt his forehead go numb and learned he wouldn't feel any more pain during the operation, his big sigh and grin of relief were comical. Six stitches later, he got a candy bar and went home for dinner.

We wonder what kind of scar he will have.  My dad says scars make men look more attractive.  Clarissa called him "The Chosen One." 

Anderson's third eye:

 

Romance vs. the eight-year-old boy

Tonight our family watched Sydney White--a modern version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs--(yes, that is the correct spelling of dwarfs, Mr. Tolkien.)    And I DON'T recommend it for children, but this is not a movie review.  This is a psychological snapshot:  It's the end of the movie.  Sydney has fallen asleep in the library after pulling an all nighter to finish a major paper.  Tyler Prince is searching for her everywhere--she'll be late for her presidential election debate!  At last he finds her.  Her face is so peaceful in sleep.  How will he wake her?  Hmm...
Anderson knows! He shouts it out, "SLAP HER!"

To the Rescue

Meredith burst breathlessly through the door to tell me, "Mom! Chloe was doing a cannonball on the trampoline and Rosalie moved into her spot and Chloe accidentally, um..., like..., squished her flat."
 Mirthfully, I mean mercifully, I found her saddened but unflattened.  After a few minutes of lap time she was ready to go outside again.

 The  next time Meredith burst through the door to tell me that Rosalie's boot was stuck in the snow and she was "crying her head off!"
By the time I got to her she was, luckily, still capitated, but wailing.  When I got close she was quick to tell me what was really bothering her. "I peed!"
 I appreciated the warning, as it altered my rescue plan somewhat.

And now she's back outside again.  The day is just too beautiful--49 degrees!--to stay inside.  And rescue workers are standing by.  

Sugar Cookies and Sex Appeal

Today when we walked into the chapel for Sacrament meeting, I noticed two things: One was the number of young men and women in formal wear and the other was the alluring smell of white cake in the air. If you know me, you know which one was the more interesting to me. (Here's a hint--I'm a sugar addict.)
After I thought through the possibility that it might be Mother's Day, or a new holiday in honor of early-switch-from-Daylight-Savings, I realized that there was probably no dessert in my near future. So I turned my attention to the Prom dresses. It was interesting to see that more young men than young women from our ward had gone to Prom. At least, I counted four tuxes and only two ball gowns.
Can I say that I still think it's weird that there is this tradition here in Utah to wear your Prom clothes to Church the day after? I mean, sure they're expensive and you normally only get to wear them once, but they are a little flashy for Sunday worship. One was FUCHSIA with a huge tulle skirt, and the other was cut DOWN front and back--and inadequately disguised with a loosely draped wrap. (Here is the too-low-cut dress.)

I tried to contain my judgementality by sketching some lovely future prom dresses for my daughter--I do believe you can be stylish, attractive, and modest at the same time. Because I can't really draw they ended up looking like something I knew my daughters would never want to wear. But for fun I told them they would get to have high-necked, long sleeved dresses made of wool. Or poison. (That's so boys can look but not touch.)

After the meeting I followed both Prom dresses up the stairs for choir practice. The smell of cake was so strong, I remarked on it out loud. That's when FUCHSIA informed me that it was the other girl's perfume. Other girl then said, "It's called "Sugar Cookie.""

I sat next to her during choir practice so I had half an hour to ponder the effect of that dress combined with that smell on any normal teenage boy. At some point I said to the girl, "I imagine that scent is really effective." Her reply?: "Oh, yeah!" I twitched with the impulse to jump out of my chair and go tell her date's mom.

By the time my son hits high school, I hope they've developed portable sensory deprivation chambers. 'Cause that's the only way he's going to Prom.

Valentine's Day Vignette

Yes, it's been a while, but here are some highlights from the day.

I Sink I Love You

It was a few days before Valentine's Day. Lissa came up stairs, after bedtime, to bemoan the fact that she still needed an idea for her Valentine's Box. I was reading my friends blog about her bathroom remodel and the idea was there--"How about you make a model of a sink? It could say "I sink I love you!"" I waited for a laugh, or even a groan (the true sign of a good pun.)
Nothing.
"What? I think it's a good idea," I said.
"That's just the first thing you thought of!" she complained. "What else could I do?"
"Sorry," I said. "That's all I've got."

After a day or two, she came around. Here is the result:


Don't you love the crystal finials on the handles? The white ribbon is supposed to look like spraying water.

It brought back memories, I'll tell you. In sixth grade I made a model of our wood stove and it said, "My Hearth Glows For You." My Dad helped me paint it with real stove blacking. My dad also made possible the drain hole in the base of the bowl of this sink. He's always a good one for helping my improbable ideas become real. Thanks, Dad!

Valentine's Package

My sister Kate sent homemade goodies, without which we'd have had none.

You can see that Meredith loved every bit of this package, from cookies to bubble wrap.

She was inspired to create a Valentine of her own.

You can always count on Kate to spread the love. Thanks, Kate!


My Favorite Things

My good husband bought me a box of Turtles. I LOVE turtles! And what's really great about it is that he doesn't really like them. He could have bought something we both like. Or something he likes, since I'll eat anything. But he thought about what I like instead. That's true love right there. Thanks, Casey!

So, yeah, another good Valentine's Day.

Things my kids say

Anderson, who needs glasses soon, has been told that they can be expensive.
"How much?" he asks.
We say, "Around $150."
He shouts, "Cool! I can trade them in for a DS!"

Rosalie, in the process of potty training, chants "I'm going potty trained!" over and over down the hall past the open doors of the Sunday School class, despite repeated shushings from Mom.

Grandma gave us a bag of Valentine's Day candy to share. I was eating them enthusiastically, in preparation for a month long fast from sugar starting the next day (in support of Anderson, who gets $100 from Grampa S. if he can do it.) Meredith (age 5) said, "Mom, don't you think you should save some of those for the other kids? I think you've had enough."
When I tried to remove a jelly bean that was stuck in my molars, she got suspicious and said, "You'd better let me hold the bag, Mom."

Those Crazy Inanimate Objects

Our microwave has started to show its age. It has become moody. It began by flashing the word SHELLFISH across its readout every morning, followed by asking us to enter the serving weight.

Poor thing has never yet been asked to do anything involving seafood. Have we been thwarting its life's ambition?
We simply pushed cancel and continued cooking our cheese roll-ups.

Then it began beeping insistently in the middle of the night. It would take Casey or me a few minutes to wake up sufficiently and stumble downstairs in the dark to investigate. Each time we were greeted by glowing green letters alternately flashing BEEF PORK BEEF PORK BEEF PORK!!!
We mostly eat chicken. And cheese-roll-ups.
This time the microwave refused to be canceled. We had to pull the plug. After three or four nights in time-out, the microwave backed down.

We've reached an uneasy truce. The microwave no longer wakes us up in the night. And we look the other way when it swears.


Some of the objects in our house have entirely too much personality.


(pillow monster by Meredith)