The kids wore their costumes to school today. Jachin, however, also packed a pair of regular clothes, in case his plastic stormtrooper costume got too hot. And indeed, he came home this afternoon in plain clothes. When the time came to get redressed for trick or treating tonight, he didn’t want to do it.

“Mom, that costume is too hot!”

“Really? Because it will be cold tonight. Were you really that hot at school today?”

“Yes! You know when dad goes running and he gets a big sweat spot between his boobs…?”

*doing my darndest not to laugh* “Umm, on his chest, yes. Daddy doesn’t really have boobs.”

“…well, when I took off my costume, I had a sweat spot like that on my shirt… only mine was HUGE.”

How could I argue about the sweat spot between the boobs? Tonight he went out in his stormtrooper helmet… and a lightweight cotton shirt and jeans. (Cotton breathes.)

In completely NOT keeping with the tradition of the “leather year” (but thank you for all of your fabulous leather gift ideas), I got my husband something plastic, kitschy, and radical. Perhaps you’ve seen the commercial for the Perfect Pushup, or perhaps you haven’t. Maybe the Perfect Pushup is one of those commercials you channel-flip through. But when I saw it a few months back, I knew that my husband had to have this revolutionary product. You see, Jon does a ton of sit-ups and push-ups every single night before bed, and frankly regular push-ups seem too easy for him and his buff guns as of late. So when I couldn’t really think of anything classy and leathery, I went directly to Amazon and ordered the Perfect Pushup. It arrived Tuesday, and Zoe and I tried them out. I did one push-up and fell over. And I’m not kidding. Zoe did about five or six. But in my defense, her push-up form was pretty crappy, and I was all trying to keep my butt down and back straight like a board, grasshopper. Anyhoo… I presented the Perfect Pushup to Jon yesterday when he got home work. At first he kind of gave me that look like great, you ordered something else from an infomercial… I told you to stop doing that. But I told him how it had great customer reviews on Amazon, and how when I tried it I could only do one, at which point he gave me another look that said well, that’s because you’re a pansy. But then he tried it, and he caught the vision. It’s freakin hard, dude.

Here’s a short video tutorial that we made last night with the kids demonstrating the Perfect Pushup. Ignore the fact that they are wearing bright, festively colored witch hats. (The hats I bought yesterday for Diana and I to wear to “Witchapalooza” on Saturday. Hey Diana: make your colored hat choice now!) 

(Jon is the one who pointed out to Jachin that the push-up things resemble the paddles of a cardio resuscitator.) 

Jon, very much in keeping with the spirit of the “leather year”, bought me a sweet new bag. It’s brown, and perfect, and has just the right number of compartments for all of my crap… err, I mean, “daily necessities”. He then told me the cute story of going out shopping with Zoe to pick out my bag. They went to Macy’s. Zoe noticed that items with a red tag meant that they were on sale. So Jon told her to look around for purses with a red tag at which point Zoe found a certain purse with a red tag, read it, and announced loudly “What? This purse is $119 on sale! These are the sale prices?!?” (You can tell that we are used to the cheap-o prices of Target.) She then proceeded to go around to each and every purse, shouting out the indignity of it’s price. The sales chick wasn’t amused.  But Jon was. They finally decided on an outrageously priced Fossil bag; the one I spoke of earlier.

 Last night Jon and I — both smartly dressed and sporting buff guns, because, y’know, I did one push-up and all – headed to Salt Lake to eat dinner at Fleming’s. It was the first time we’d been there, but it came highly recommended by some friends. It was fandamntastic. We had some crab cakes (which I love, love, love) that almost made me cry, and I normally don’t get that way over food. I mean, I’m the person who thinks movie theater nachos are fine cuisine… especially if you happen upon a theater that puts jalapenos in the cheese. Jon had some tender, juicy slaughtered baby lamb… err, I mean “fillet mignon”. He gave me a bite and I felt the slightest twinge of guilt about eating a baby lamb before thinking Holy crap, that’s tender!! I had some crab and shrimp scampi. For dessert we had creme brule and chocolate lava cake. The molten core burnt my tongue… oh, the sweet, sweet pain.

Here we are in a self-taken pic because I chickened out when attempting to ask the waitress to take our picture. (Hello, it’s a fancy restaurant! They don’t DO picture-taking.)

Today for math we did “regrouping”, which is not a new concept to Jachin. Telling him that 13 ones is the same as 1 ten and 3 ones is old hat. Nevertheless, it was our lesson outlined for the day. So there we were, sitting at the kitchen table, counting out numbers on his blocks kit. His mind was wandering everywhere, as it usually does when he is bored.

“Okay, Jachin,” I said, “show me 18 in two different ways with these blocks. First, using only the ‘ones’ blocks, and then using ‘ones’ and ‘tens’ blocks.”

His eyes scanned my face, then he looked me in the eye and said, “Wow, none of your zits have gone away. That face stuff you’re using sure doesn’t work.”

*sigh*

“As true as that may be,” I said, “please show me two ways to represent 18.”

“There’s one,” he said, pointing to my chin. “And there, and there, and there. Oh, and right there. And there. And there.”

“Yes, yes. I get it. I’m hideous. Show me 18.”

“You have, like, 18 zits.”

“Okay, fine. Tell me two different ways we can group my zits. First with all ‘ones’ and then using ‘tens’…”

So he did.

Sometimes I am brilliant as well as hideous.

Tonight was one of those nights that was just perfect. Calm. Peaceful. Lovely. We all went to Jachin’s monthly pack meeting, where we shot off some homemade rockets until it became too dark to retrieve them from the near-black parking lot of the church. Jachin’s rocket was lost, a casualty of the dusk. We’ll go back in the morning and search the parking lot and nearby field to see if we can salvage the foam and construction paper-made wonder.

After pack meeting, we rode our bikes home in the dark, chilly air. There was a bright, full moon rising over the mountain. I’d take a picture of it, but my cruddy photography skills would do it little justice. At home we made hot cocoa and pulled the dining room chairs out onto the deck to chat and watch the stars. We found the big dipper, and the little dipper, and something that may have been Mars or Venus, and we discussed whether a wish is null and void if you accidentally wish upon a blinking airplane.

I looked down the row of dining room chairs at my awesome family: my sweet hubby beside me; Jachin, in his adorable cub scout shirt, huddling over his steaming mug; and Zoe, shivering because she thought her 80 degree mug was too hot to hold… so she set it down on the deck to chill.

Our chatter grew quiet and we gazed out at the stars and our beautiful, newly grown grass, and I think the same thought came into all of our heads at once. Jachin was the first to speak up.

He sighed and said, “Life. Is. Good.”

I sighed and said, “Yeah, life is good.”

Zoe sighed and said, “Life is warm and cold.”

Jachin gave her a weird look through the dark and said, “Life is good even if that made sense.”

Oh, the wisdom of five year olds, because life is warm and cold. But man, when it’s warm, it’s good.

A few years ago there was a news story about a little boy whose mother died in their apartment. The little boy, being scared of getting placed in foster care, continued to go to school, cooked meals for himself, and even paid the power bill. He was only 7 or 8, but he knew what to do to take care of himself. A week or so went by before anyone realized that the mom was dead. I felt incredibly sad for this little boy, but I was also so impressed that his mom had done an obviously phenomenal job at teaching him to be self-sufficient.  (He also sprayed the dead body with Lysol so the neighbors wouldn’t suspect anything, which was very icky… but still kinda impressive.)

What would happen if I died, I wondered. Would my kids know what to do? In actuality, if I died, my husband would come home at dinner time and they would continue to be raised with adult supervision. There would be no reason for them to have to pay a power bill by themselves. But still, I resolved to teach my kids to be self-sufficient. Therefore, my kids can: 1) cook a hotdog in the microwave (so they won’t starve), 2) dial 911 (so actual assistance will come), and 3) use a debit card (because money fixes everything…)

Today Zoe and I went to WalMart at lunchtime to do some grocery shopping. Being September 18th, it was also the release date of the most recent Barbie movie: Barbie as the Island Princess. We picked that up, too. By the time we got to the checkout, I was aggravated (as I always am when going grocery shopping). I moved all of the items from the cart to the belt, including the Barbie movie. Zoe screeched that she wanted to put the Barbie movie on the belt, so I moved the movie from the belt back into the cart, at which point she took it out of the cart and placed it back on the belt. In the very same spot where I had originally put it. She then climbed back into the cart to be higher in the air so that she could reach the debit pad… because once you have taught your children to use a debit card, you have relinquished any and all future rights to carry out any transactions on said card. I removed my debit card from my wallet and she snatched it from me. The screen on the pad asked: Was your cashier friendly today? Zoe pressed “No”, even though the cashier guy had made it a point to say hi and asked if we had found everything ok. In my mind I said a little prayer that the guy wouldn’t be written up for being unfriendly. Then Zoe slid the card through the card reader. It beeped at her because she slid it too fast.

“Do it a little slower,” I said.

“I know!!” she screeched. “Don’t tell me! I know!” If I instruct her, it lessens the amazingness of her being able to do it herself.

Next, it asked for the pin number. She knows this number, but sometimes she forgets. I started telling her the numbers.

“I know!” she yelled. She put in three numbers and hit “enter”. The pad told her that a pin has four numbers. She was mad. She hit “cancel”.

The screen on the pad then asked her “Was the store clean today?” Zoe pressed “No”, even though the store had been pretty ok, even by WalMart standards.  She slid the card again and then — again — put in three numbers. The screen told her — again — that a pin has four numbers. She gave an exasperated “Ugh!” She pressed “cancel” again. At that point, she somehow selected Spanish instead of English. The screen asked her “Was your cashier friendly today?”… only in Spanish.

She yelled at the top of her lungs: “NOW IT’S IN STUPID SPANISH!” and hit “cancel”.

I turned and smiled at the Hispanic lady standing behind us in line. She smiled back, but I believe she wanted to punch me and spank my daughter. She turned and said something to her friend, in Spanish, which I didn’t understand…  but it was probably something about how I was rewarding my bratty daughter for her racist remarks by buying her a new Barbie movie.

Finally, Zoe slid the card, managed to put in four correct numbers… in their correct order, and completed the transaction without offending any other gender, racial, or socio-economic classes.

If I ever really do die, I hope Jon makes it home from work before the kids have to take themselves grocery shopping.

Last night there was some major teasing and arguing amongst my offspring. Jachin led the teasing, while Zoe whined and smacked. Those are the usual, default roles.

I separated them and sent them to their rooms for bedtime. It was late anyway. I then went in and tried to have a heart-to-heart with Jachin. I asked him why — oh why — does he constantly tease his sister. This is what he told me:

“She’s the one that started all the mayhem.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, assuming he meant the mayhem of the evening. But no… he was thinking bigger.

He said, “When she was born it totally changed the ways of my life!”

These may be the sweetest, sassiest socks ever:

And what happens when your daughter wears the sassiest socks “evah”? She gets some attitude. Especially with her dumb mom. Here she is (while wearing said sassy socks)telling me to zip it:

Because moms always say silly things to embarrass you. And in public, even. How humiliating.

Plus, moms are slow. See?

Sometimes slow, silly moms just need a good push from their cool daughters, while the cool daughters wear sassy socks and do big eye rolls.

I had no idea that the ‘tween attitude started so young…

Maybe the socks kick-started it…

Much less sassy: the boys.

Jachin (right) and his friend, Byron (my BFF Diana’s boy)

Every woman (or little girl) who is blessed enough to have gorgeous, naturally curly hair will always– always — want straight hair. I had beautiful curly hair my whole life… until babies, and all of the body-changing hormones that accompany babies. Post babies, my hair went pretty dang straight. But as a young girl and a teenager I always wished for beautiful, straight hair. The grass is always greener, right?

So this morning Zoe woke up extra early for church, coming into my room and telling me that she woke up plenty early for a straight hair day. (A straight hair day requires a washing, conditioning, a proper “blow-out”, and way more hair product than I really like to put in my 5 year old’s hair. But she really wanted it, and she did wake up plenty early.)

The results were nice:

She walked around all day swishing and primping. She asked everyone she saw, “What do you think of my hair?”

She even came to me and showed me a picture of her inspiration: Sleeping Beauty. Sleeping Beauty really has some sweet, straight hair. (And a pink dress.) The likeness is striking:

Yeah, they’re practically twins.

Wow, people. I’ve been out of it. All of the symptoms were there. I knew I was ill. I knew that I should have gone to the doctor last week, but I kept putting it off. And then yesterday I could bear it no longer; I broke down and went to the doctor’s. Diagnosis: A raging bladder infection that’s moved along nicely to my kidneys where it is currently setting up camp and making my lower back feel as though it will surely explode if I breathe or bend my torso at all. I have flu aches. I have a fever and chills. It’s a nasty thing. So while in the doctor’s office (with both kids in tow), I got a shot of antibiotic in the rump. I bent over the table and looked in the opposite direction of my kids (just in case I actually winced or made a painful face) while the nurse stuck me. Zoe shrieked the whole time like the nurse was actually removing my kidneys right there in the exam room. She closed her eyes and shouted over and over: “Mom, tell me when it’s over, tell me when it’s over!” Jachin kept saying, “Stop screaming! But no, it’s not over!” Apparently, he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He watched the whole thing in fascination (he admitted it to me later). But on top of the shot, I also have to take a round of oral meds, too. I truly feel like crap.

Last night at bedtime, I curled up on my son’s bed. The normal bedtime routine is to read or tell stories (in the dark) for a half hour or so. Rumpelstiltskin is a favorite. I really have that one down; the voices and everything. But last night I just wanted to close my eyes and die. So Zoe said, “Mom, since you are feeling crappy, we will tell you a story.” Then Jachin said, “Yeah, a FUNNY story.” And trading off every few lines (read: Zoe told most of the story while Jachin threw in a few zingers along the way), they began:

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who wanted to marry the prince…

…yeah, and she lived on a farm…

… So she went to the castle to talk to the King and Queen. And the King and Queen were like, “Why should we let you marry the prince?” And the young girl said, “Because I have lots of talents. Like, I can turn straw into gold!”

…Wow, that’s impressive…

So they took her high into a tower to a room that was filled from the floor to the ceiling with straw. And they said, “Okay, girl, if you can turn this straw into gold then you can marry the prince”…

…there’s no way she can do that…

…Be quiet! I’m telling the story! So the girl was crying because there was no way that she could turn all of the straw into gold…

…told ya…

…Jachin! Be quiet! I am telling the story!  So she was crying and then a troll-y little man climbed through the window and said, “Why are you crying?” And the girl said, “Because I told the King and Queen that I could turn all of this straw into gold, but I can’t…”

…”because I’m a big liar-butt”…

…”and they won’t let me marry the prince.” The troll-y little man said, “Oh, don’t worry. I can do that. But I’ll need some payment.” But the girl didn’t really have anything to give to the troll-y little man. So the troll-y little man said, “Well, how about if after you and the prince get married, you give me your first kid.” And the girl was thinking that she was never going to see the troll-y man ever again, so she said, “okay”. And then she went to sleep…

…thirty years later…

…Jachin, it was not thirty years later! It was the next day! Sheesh! So the next day the girl woke up and the room was filled from the floor to the ceiling with gold. And the King and the Queen opened the door and said, “Wow! You can marry the prince now!” So they got married…

…thirty years later…

…Ugghhh! Jachin, it was NOT thirty years! It was, like, two! So two years later the girl was a princess. And she and the prince had a baby. And the princess was sitting in the nursery rocking her baby. Rocking, rocking. And in through the window came…

…superman!…

…no, in through the window came the troll-y little man. And he said, “Hello, princess. Time to pay up.” And the princess said, “What are you talking about?” And the troll-y man said, “You have to give me your baby now.” And she said, “Oh, no! Please, please.” And the troll-y man said…

…”Fine, fine, stop your whining, princess”…

…He said, “Okay, here’s the deal. You have three chances to guess my name. If you can guess my name, you can keep your baby. If not, I get to take your baby and keep it.”

…”Yeah, and you can’t whine about it anymore”…

So the troll-y man said, “So what’s your first guess?” And the princess said, “Oh, ummmm, I don’t know. What could it be? Could it be ’super-diaper-baby’ ?”

…HAHAHAHA!…

And the troll-y man said, “Nope. Not even close. I’ll be back tomorrow night for your second guess.” And he climbed back out the window. The princess called all of the guards to run into the woods to find the troll-y man and get his name, but the guards came back and said, “Sorry, princess. We couldn’t find him”…

 …those must be some very darks woods…

…So the princess was very upset. The next night the troll-y man came back in through the window and said, “Hi princess! What is your second guess?” And the princess did not know! But she had to make a guess so she said, “Ummm, could it be…”

…”Bob”?…

…Hahaha! But the troll-y man said, “Nope. It’s not ‘Bob’. I’ll come back tomorrow night for your last guess.” But as soon as the troll-y man climbed back out the window, the princess put on a long cloak and she grabbed her scepter-wand-thing-a-ma-jig, and she followed the troll-y man into the woods. She searched all of the trees until she finally saw one that had a light coming out of it. She stooped down and looked in through a little window in the tree and saw the troll-y man, in his little tree house, dancing and singing in front of his fireplace…”

…no, no. He was singing and dancing and playing his new game called “Dance, Dance Revolution” on his XBox!…

…Jachin! He does not have an XBox!…

…Yes, he does…

…Ahhh! Fine! But it wasn’t “Dance, Dance Revolution”! It was “Guitar Hero”!…

…Hahaha…

…and he was singing and dancing and rockin out on his guitar singing “Oh Rumpelstiltskin is my name, but she’ll never guess it! Never, ever, guess it. And the baby will be mine!” (meedly-meedly-meedly guitar riffs) And the princess said, “Yeah! Woo hoo! I know his name!” And she ran back to the castle. The next night the troll-y man came through the window again and he said, “Hello, princess! This is your last guess. What is my name?” And the princess pretended for a minute to not know it and she said, “Oh, umm, I don’t know. What could it be? Umm, could it be… could it be… Rumpelstiltskin?” And the troll-y little man yelled,  “Whaaaat?? How did you know that?” And he kicked the wall and he yelled and grumped and climbed back through the window and no one ever saw him again. And three years later the princess had another 10 babies. The end….

…What? 10 babies? That’s impossible!…

… heehee, I know. That’s, like, 50 twins or something!…

They were right. It was an awesome story. Very funny. The Timpanogos Storytelling Festival started today. I think I may sign them up at the amateur level…

Oh wait, it’s just Zoe on the piano… again.

This is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour. I did tell her to practice…