Homecoming Date.

The other day as we were sitting down for dinner, a knock came at the door.

(For fond memory's sake I must mention that we were trying have a blessing on the food. The knock at the door was the second interruption of that short-and-simple prayer that evening.)

It was Michaela's friend Haven.

I love this.

Haven had asked another friend, Anna, too.

She said she wanted to have a senior-girls-night and didn't want boys asking them to the dance to mess it up.

Best idea ever.

That Homecoming date stuff can be... messy... at least around here. (Reminder here and here.)

Rethinking, Rearranging, Reorganizing

I have an affinity for the prefix "re-".  I like it.  (I use it three times in the header of my Singing Time blog, too...)  It connotes endless do-overs, in which the done-over is better, more useful, or sometimes just different (for those of us who crave change every now and then).  

Renewed.  Refreshed.  Such happy words.

With the completion of our basement, I have been confronted with an overabundance of reorganization projects.  Even as I pause momentarily for a blogging break, I am overwhelmed with what to do with this... where to put that...  what project can handle brief spurts of effort in between the sporadic schedule of motherhood... how far can I get on any given task in 10 minutes?.. 20 minutes?.. an hour, tops.  

Everything had a place prior to the basement project (most of which was in the basement), but now I've had to rethink and rearrange.  Believe it or not, I think deeply over each object... it's value (do I want need to keep it?), and where would be the best, most practical place to store it.  Some things that were up, are now moving down; some things that were down, are movin' on up.

The main problem with household reorganization is that I am the only one who ends up knowing where anything is.  The secondary problem would be that, due to the newness of the rearrangement, I may have bouts of organizational amnesia.  There are also those occasional times when I realize that, even after the deep thought (which is difficult in my peri-menopausal state anyway), the new home of a particular object may not be as practical/accessible/desirable as I had anticipated, necessitating yet another rearrangement.

Sometimes in my efforts to simplify, I make things really complicated.

I've been rethinking bathroom cleaning supplies the past two days.  With bathrooms now on three levels, I thought I would make separate containers of cleaning supplies for each bathroom (kind of... the girls would share between their two).  That way, if someone (hopefully not always myself) has a minute or two to clean, they will not need to waste their precious little time hunting down supplies.  They will be handy.  No more excuses for nasty bathrooms, including my own.  I still need to add a thing or two, then TRAINING will be necessary.  Expectations set.  Procedures explained (like how to mix the cleaning solution from concentrate, since our current procedure seems to include pouring half a gallon of concentrate in the sink to wipe down one solitary toilet -- so we'll be saving money, too.  Bonus).

My next two projects to tackle:
the crawl space (major editing needed)
and the garage (still only room for a single vehicle).

I've been debating between a yard sale or just loading up here and there and dropping at the nearest Goodwill.  So late in the season, I'm leaning towards the latter.  I don't think I can hang on to all our crap edited-out items until Spring.

We have some schedule rearranging to do, too.  More on that tomorrow.

Good-bye, Hello

Yesterday we said good-bye to Sadie.  Despite her long hair and shaggy-dog appearance, we found her to be most endearing.  Before Bill left for work (yes, he's no longer just "working," he's actually working -- more on that another day) he shared a few final moments with her.

(The "baby-talk" is annoying, I know.  I just can't seem to help myself.)

She's the kind of dog (minus the shag) we would love to have.  The whole family enjoyed her, and she didn't throw up or have a single accident in the house.  She could be rambunctious and fun, or mellow and sedate.  We will miss her.  Good thing we know where she lives.  Her "momma-Chris" (not to be confused with "momma-Tina") mentioned the possibility of breeding her, and the idea of getting one of her offspring thrilled Mar to no end.  It would be pricier than we had planned, but would give us some time to save up (and stretch the time until D-day... Dog day).  We will think on that for a while.

We also said hello to some carpet yesterday.  Hallelujah.

Initially I was concerned about the seam (placement, visibility), but on the advice of several close friends (including the closest), I have decided to get over it.  Let it go.

Done.  

We started moving Tay into the bedroom last night.  He has looked forward to no longer living in a glass house.  His bedroom has been in the windowed french-doored office, in a highly trafficked area of the house, for the past 9-1/2 years.  Hello, privacy.

To top our evening off, we watched our friend, neighbor, and fellow ward member on Wipeout.  Too bad he was eliminated in the second round.  Good-bye, Dave You-Can't-Handle-the-Crandall.  
There are quite a few stories behind the story, but the best one is that, once he was selected as a contestant, Dave was told taping would be held on a Sunday.  He told them he wouldn't be available to tape on Sundays, and they responded with a "thanks anyway."

Then they called back.
They had arranged to tape on another day, just for him.  How awesome it that?

And to finish this sunny day on a high note, we were tagged.  Flower tagged.

I just thought I would share because I love this idea for a fundraiser.  

I am not a fan of fundraisers, but if it's absolutely necessary, I would go for something like this any day over purchasing overpriced frozen pastries or windshield-cracking car washes.
Wouldn't you?

S-T-R-E-T-C-H

We have the particular curse blessing of long legs in our family.  I believe it comes down the genetic line from my dad, to me, to each (and every one) of my children.  Bill and I only differ in height by an inch or two (depending on what shoes we each wear), but I find it quite annoying humorous that every time I go to drive any car after Bill has driven it, I have to do a complete adjustment of the seat and mirrors.  I have determined that this is because, even though we are fairly even height-wise, I have longer legs (which means I'm short-waisted too... another curse blessing).

So how do 5 (FIVE) children all inherit this wonderful trait?  Shouldn't there be some kind of 50/50 ratio or something?  But don't worry, Bill hasn't been left out of the genetic swimming pool... all five kids inherited his teeth.  

But we're talking legs today.

Not only do we have to hunt high and low for jeans with tiny waists (for the children, not me -- I also have the curse blessing of age, and a genetic disposition for a thick middle), but they must be unusually long.  Like XXL in most cases.  I have rarely (if ever) found jeans long enough at a discount store, so a hefty price is often paid to acquire a sufficient inseam.  

Even with diligent searching and occasional finding, after a few rounds in the dryer on laundry day, some of those expensive long legged jeans start shrinking (or could it be that the girls keep growing?).  So this is what a typical jean load on laundry day looks like around here:

We call it "stretching."  

Once the jeans are removed from the washer, I painstakingly stretch each leg (done by stepping on the hem, then pulling upward), then hang them to dry.  To the dismay of my children, who perhaps need to appreciate my efforts more, the jeans do not have a Downy-soft feel, due to missing the dryer stage of the laundry process.  They are a little scratchy, but after about 10 minutes, they loosen up and feel fine.  How do I know?  Because I have to stretch my unusually-long-legged jeans too.  

Just to make it clear, this is not my favorite laundry-day activity.  It is a necessary evil, lest we all look ridiculous in our floods.  (I love that Bill just needs the regular lengths, and I can toss his jeans in the dryer any ol' day.)

God, forgive me when I whine.  

I have two legs (make that 8 that I currently "stretch" for), the world is mine.

Gimme S'more

Tonight we had the night off.  Yep, that's right.  No meetings, no home teaching, no nothing.  Nothing but some good old quality family time.  While we were in UT, I spotted the ginormous marshmallows my mother-in-law had told me about at a local Walmart.  And in case you were wondering, yes, we have a Walmart here in our little town of Parker.  They just don't sell these beauties:

Yum-O.  So I bought them with the intent of finding some time, while in UT, to build a fire somewhere and roast them.  They were so irresistible.  But it didn't happen, so I brought them home.

Tonight was the perfect time to break them out, along with:

Since we are not the lucky few who have a handy fire pit in our backyard, we were resourceful and used this:

I wasn't sure it was going to work, but the results were almost as good as if we were 

in the mountains (we're even higher than the mile high city, you know),

in the cool night air (ahhh... it finally cooled down),

around a fire (okay, it's a stretch),

watching the sunset (it was beautiful tonight),

feeling the closeness of family ties.

Almost.

Just look at that golden color.

Shilo went for the fudge-stripe variety (boy, was it messy),

Mauri and Lex made the Reeses/graham cracker kind.

I couldn't pass up a giant roasted marshmallow either (that Bill so kindly finished roasting for me, since I was taking pictures).  Best ever.

We have enough for another round.  FHE treats tomorrow night.

Will It Ever End?

I probably have not had the best attitude about being the room parent this year. I've done it a little grudgingly, with a "Do I have to?" frame of mind. This week was teacher appreciation week, and as I dutifully sent out emails, collected money from children, and organized breakfasts and lunches for Mar's teacher, I had in the back of my mind that once I was done this week, my term was over. Complete. Finished. Next year someone else can have the honor.

And, I have discovered, that I am the queen of cheese.  What can I say, I'm not creative and I do things most times out of complete desperation.  From the money I collected from families of some of the kids, here are the gifts we gave to the teacher:

Monday's theme:  Surf's Up

Tuesday's theme:  Hang Loose

(This is an expandable cooler -- if you can't tell)

Wednesday's theme:  Sandcastle Building

Thursday's theme:  Fun in the Sun

(Another mom kindly offered to take the gift this day... I think Mauri told me it was some cute little something or other with sunglasses, green tea and a Starbucks gift card -- the teacher's fave.)

Friday's theme:  Tropical Paradise

(The tag says, "Thanks to you, it's been a fruitful year!")

Like I said, cheese.  But at least it's done.  I just wanted the items to be somewhat useful,  and the teacher to feel appreciated.

Then, yesterday, as I was driving to the airport to pick up Britta -- home for a few days to attend a friend's graduation -- I got an email.  Field Day is coming up, wouldn't it be fun to have the class make tie-dye shirts?  Would I be willing to help with that?  Okay, I'll do it.  And then I'll be done.

Me and My Brilliant Idea

Again I woke up to snow (can you believe it?), so rather than post some hum-drum "out my front door" pictures (I've done that too many times in the recent past), I thought I would share something much more colorful.  With an explanation attached.

A long time ago, in a home/neighborhood/school district far, far away, Taylor brought home his first art masterpiece from school.  I proudly hung it in a place of distinction for all to enjoy.  Then he brought home another... and another.  As I tried to look into the future, a future that contained a number of children yet unknown, I contemplated the potential amounts of artwork that could possibly come through my door.  Oh my.  Then I had a brilliant idea.  Okay, I may not be able to take full credit because I honestly don't know where the idea came from... a scrapbook buddy?  a neighbor?  a mother with more experience than myself?  could I have possibly come up with this idea all by myself?  most likely not.  Regardless of where the idea came from, it has been the best idea ever for school artwork storage.  

Take pictures. 

The art is preserved, and then you can discreetly dispose of the large, oversized actual renditions once the family has adequately appreciated them for a respectable amount of time.

I have followed this procedure over the years with much success.  I have occasionally been a little backlogged, which is why this lovely creation of Mauri's from 1st grade was preserved in digital history only yesterday.  Here is what the original picture looks like:

(Because I know I will never remember which child made it and how old they were, I write out those tacky little labels that can later be cropped out.)

  

Lexee - 5th grade

Shilo - 4th grade

Mauri - 3rd grade

(In the not-too-distant future I hope to get one of those nifty negative-to-digital converters, then I will be able to access those countless 35mm pictures with our memories - artwork included - from 1988 to 2003.  I can't wait.)

And my not-so-fully random story for today: Last night we had dinner at Panda per Shilo's request. We had attended her final choir concert, so naturally, we needed to celebrate. As we opened our fortune cookies they contained things like, "Luck will soon come your way," and "You will find an unexpected treasure." You know, good stuff like that. Then I opened mine.

"Admit you were wrong. You are only human." WHAT?? Are you kidding me? Is that even a fortune? Mar woke up laughing about it this morning, so I guess it was good for something (other than making me feel like you-know-what).

Post Post:  If you read this post earlier, you may remember that I had labeled the first picture shown as artwork Mauri made in 2nd grade.  As I looked back through my earlier pictures I found that I had already taken a picture of it labeled "First Grade."  Somehow that picture ended up in the 2nd-grade-artwork-pile still needing-to-be-captured, which I did yesterday.  I have consulted with Mauri, and yes, she made it in first grade.  It really IS a good system... subject to mom error.  I'll admit it, I was wrong. Maybe that, "You are only human," will come in handy after all.