These are a few of my favorite things. Part deux.

A few more of my most recent favorite things. Summer edition, part deux.


A new take on painting, extra-terrestrial style. You may remember Spike and Leopold from my foray into appliques. Here they are awaiting a paint bath. I think my kids have grown tired and uninspired by blank white paper, so last week, I gave them something to paint and create a story with. Spike and Leo are oh-so inspiring, no?

Bubbles. How can you go wrong with bubbles? Wait. Bubbles do have the ability to cause super-ultra tantrums IF spilled. They also have produced many a sticky-slimy child. But on this particular day, bubbles were awesome.

Colored water. Hours of fun. Much more enjoyable than your average tap variety. I have heard you can use this activity to teach how the colors can mix together to make another color. Great idea...we just didn't happen to get that complicated. Just scooping and pouring.

Crazy buns. These make me happy no matter what the season.

And last, but not least...MY GREEN PEPPER HAS SPROUTED IT'S BAD SELF! Followed closely behind by 10 of his little buddies. Looks like we will be having fish tacos for 3 weeks straight based on the crop I am going to reap on my patio in a couple of weeks. Because truth be told, I don't do a lot of cooking with veggies, but I thought I was being all green, and hip, and Obama-esque when I planted my patio garden. Maybe the key to better eating is growing it myself...because I sure draw the line at raising livestock. And I'm pretty sure my city has laws against that kind of thing.

Happy summer!!

My powers are useless there.

Question.

So I make a weekly grocery store run every Monday morning, at around 9:30 a.m. During the school year, I get to make this trip with one child in tow. Summer months = four children along for the ride.

Fun times. Here is where I am SO THANKFUL that God created cheese and cookies.

This morning, the natives were particularly squirrelly. Maybe it was the weather under the 100 degree mark. Maybe it was the busy schedule we've been keeping lately. It could have been the speed I put in their cereal. Kidding. I would be much more likely to spike their meals with benadryl.

For whatever reason, they were all hand-sy and in each others personal space and not particularly paying any attention to me, and my stream of barking orders, which included not touching, throwing or licking several grocery store items/fixtures.

I think they have figured out that I am POWERLESS in the grocery store. Time outs don't work there, because if I leave a child to sit in a corner (are there even corners in a grocery store...weird), I'm pretty sure someone might label that abandonment. If I spank that naughty little bottom, well I'm pretty sure that would be considered abuse. Particularly if I pull their pants down to do it, in which case I can add indecent exposure to my list of offenses.

There is the threat of not riding in the fun "car" cart. Which works, if the child in question is indeed riding in the car...however, they have yet to make a 4-seater version of this cart, probably because it would be the length/width of a semi, so this threat means nothing if it is spoken to a child who happens to already be walking beside me. And if the child does happen to be sitting in the cart, well, look out. Here's where we enter the phase of wailing sobs and screams.

Awe-some.

I've reached the point in parenting where I don't care what anyone thinks. I WILL NOT reward obnoxious behavior with M&Ms or graham crackers, or whatever their drug of choice, simply to have a quiet grocery store trip. No sir-ee.

Which means, lately, that if the stars align ever so perfectly, I am the proud parent of the child who screams bloody murder in the grocery store.

Here is where threats to leave the grocery store do not work either. Leaving equals defeat (for me). And we physically need this food to survive. And if there is anything more painful than one trip to the grocery store per week with four kids, it's two trips to the grocery store a week. With four kids.

Dilema.

After pushing the cart one too many times this morning, I finally decided to take control back from Little J. The promise of a consequence was issued, in the form of a spanking at home. Commence loud wailing.

Enter the grocery store employee who tried to cheer my screamer up with smiles and stickers. Lady! That is not okay. I've just spent the last hour in a power struggle with a 3-year-old who believes he rules the roost and that I am just a hired hand created solely to birth and serve him.

WHERE'S MY FREAKING STICKER?????

I smiled, my polite you-have-no-idea smile, continued to ask the boys not to touch/throw/lick several more grocery items and fixtures, wheeled all kids out to the car and drove home. Where Little J received the discipline he was promised.

My question is this: I've always thought the consequence for a bad behavior should be immediate, so that the youngster equates the offense with the correction. This has meant, that at times, I either have to ignore a problem or give an idle threat...neither of which seem appropriate. Three year olds are capable of making the connection between a bad behavior and a consequence issued 20 minutes later, right?

That's my parenting thought/question/failure/frustration for the day. I think I hit my quota.

What to do in 100 degree heat.

7 wrapping paper tubes + Lots of packing tape, equals:

The most AWESOME marble run of all time. Okay, maybe not of all time, because I am very deficient in building kid play structures (see previous posts on lego and the super fort). However, for my time, talent and ability level, this is as good as it gets.

And I say that because at one point, when it seemed to all be going to h-e-l-l, I decided that more packing tape was better. That it would somehow heal all deficiencies...because, as I learned, wrapping paper tubes DO NOT bend very well. Which is all fine and dandy if you just want one long tube to shoot marbles down the stairs with the speed of bullets.

However, thinking that was not safe for my little monsters, who need not have a toy similar to a fire-arm, I needed some turns in the track to slow things down a tad.

But when I forced the tubes to bend, some broke apart. Which was fine, because I just packing-taped it. However, we had a slight issue with the marbles adhering to the exposed tape.

Oh well. You live and learn.

The stuff that's all mixed up.

You must make this. We created it to consolidate pantry items, and ended up striking snack gold. The kids even ask for it by its assigned name.

The stuff that's all mixed up.

So, we've made a couple of batches of it to date, but I must say, the last concoction is the best. The. Best.

Somehow we ended up with something like 10 pounds of peanuts. I blame Sam's...and hoarding. Any-hoo, the peanuts are the base. We then added a healthy dose of craisins, also of the Sam's variety, which explains why we have zero pantry space.

Here's where it starts to get good, because up till this point I have been mentioning things I consider healthy. But now, you want to take some chips...chocolate, butterscotch, white chocolate. If you've got 'em, mix em.

At one point we put pretzels in there. Good move.

I must admit, when Mike first made this, I steered clear. I mean, it resembles trail mix, which I generally find lacking in sweet and overpowering in sunflower seeds. You can't just mix healthy junk, add a few M&Ms and expect me to swoon. That's a farce.

However. A few days ago, Mike added Heath bits to this mix. And I do love me some heath.

Also, I believe we happen to be out of M&Ms, cookies of any sort and my favorite varieties of sugary cereal. So, what I'm saying is that I was game for anything.

This mix is perfection. Sweet, crunchy, salty perfection. The un-trail mix.

No joke.

I suppose all I needed was some inspiration. And a deadline.

Because Project Bedroom is on. Like Donkey Kong.

Here are some fabrics, purchased with the company of three young children. Who don't particularly care for fabric stores. Now do you see that I am serious?

Love the chocolate dots. Love the blue. LOVE the wacky floral...but it may be too much for the room, particularly for that lovely giclee above the bed, for which we have created this entire bedroom makeover. Wacky floral may just be the bridesmaid that steals the show...in which case, wacky floral will only be used sparingly.

I've also been holding on to the goodies for this project for quite some time...and since they were intended for the new-and-improved bedroom, I figured now was a good time. Have a looksy:

Thin wood circles, purchased for 99 cents each. Two sheets of scrapbook paper. Mod Podge. Two wooden letters and some acrylic paint in light blue.

So, I tried applying the paper to the circles in a new way. This time, I put a light layer of "the Podge" on the wood circles and just stuck the whole piece of paper over it. Worked out the bubbles with a pampered chef scraper as they came up. When things seemed settled, I took out my cutting board and rotary cutter (used, until this point, for sewing projects), turned the circle upside down, and used the rotary cutter to cut the excess paper from the circle. This produced a good, clean cut.

Once the excess paper was trimmed, I turned it right-side-up and applied more Mod Podge. Love that stuff. While that was drying, I painted the wood letters. When all pieces were dry, I heated up my handy glue gun and attached the letters to the circles. Wa-la.

I have additional plans for these...but this is your teaser until the room is finished. I'm cool like that. I'll give you little sneak peaks for the next couple of weeks, just enough to keep you interested...but hold off on how it all fits together until the big reveal!

Just getting started, peeps.

Brown.

Check out this giclee (that's a fancy word for wall art) that we invested in last year. We bought it in Colorado (a place both Mike and I LOVE) and we both liked it upon first sight. That pretty much fits all of our criteria for artwork. My thought was that pale blue walls would really make the orange...POP!



Only now, you can see that our pretty picture actually lives here. Blah. Those brown walls with the brown bed frame are really killing me softly, one neutral tone at a time. You'll see, by the two blobs of paint, that I had every intention of transforming the room. And really those big blobs are two different colors, but it seems I was debating over a drop's worth of blue tint because I CAN'T TELL ONE IOTA OF DIFFERENCE!

And then I saw something shiny and lost interest.



And let's even talk about this nook, if that is indeed the term you can use to describe half of a room. I know, it was considerate of me to clean up before my photo shoot...however, this is how the place looks 100% of the time. The piles you see are the dry cleaning, and all of the random stuff which has no home. I suppose that chair is the squatting place for vagabond crap.

Let's not even talk about that weird duck or the lamp that is obviously void of it's cover. There are enough issues here to prove the point that our bedroom sucks. And it's really, really brown.


So. Today's productive nap time was used to clean out the top drawer of this dresser. At this pace, I will have this room done by 2020, no problem. However, I will note that I MOTIVATED today, and took a painful run on the treadmill in my free time. So, I did get something done, it just wasn't my brown bedroom.

But this is my project/current obsession. And there are plenty of opportunities to get creative, because look at the place. It is brown.

Have I mentioned that?

I did actually buy the blue paint months ago. Wow, it may even be over a year ago at this point. And the white bedding is new as well. So it's just the walls and the accessories and the accents. Let's get 'er done.

And some sort of timeline...shall we say, 2 weeks?

What have we here?

Thank you happy, sleepy drugs. Otherwise known as codine with a Tylenol chaser. No, that's not accurate. It's a Tylenol/codine cocktail. And here's how tired I was last night when I hit the hard stuff: I drew it up in a baby syringe, as if I was 2 and lacking the ability to drink from a cup.

In my defense, that is the company I keep.

But I woke up this morning (without having to be pulled from bed, kicking and screaming), with little trace of the flaming throat of yesterday. Alleluia.

Which meant that today's nap time was devoted to cleaning. For some reason, I was all pumped up to tackle some serious organizing/cleaning projects. And since that bug comes along once in a blue moon, I went with it.

Our bathroom was the obvious pick for my attention...because it is the least likely choice for guests, which means it gets cleaned, well, not often.

And after I scoured away all evidence of disease spores and general slobbiness, I moved on to the bedroom. And here's where I got deep. Our end tables.

I can't remember the last time I opened those drawers. Case in point, the picture at the top of this post.

From left to right: my Costco membership card (had NO idea I was ever a member at Costco...can't even tell you where one is), the instructions for ibuprofen dosing following my delivery of G (over 6 years ago), and an actual favor from our wedding in 2000.

Wow.

And apparently I went through a stage where I was REALLY in to room and linen sprays. Only I couldn't have been that into them, because I found 3 bottles hiding in this drawer, all of them full.

Let me tell you, I threw everything out. PROGRESS! Even I find it ridiculous to keep ibuprofen instructions, and that's saying something. First of all, it's way to weak for my needs. I'll take the Tylenol with codine any day.

So. I tell you this, because I think I have decided that the bedroom is my next project. Start to finish. I bought new, white bedding last summer with the intention of putting a little lovin' into my bedroom.

No, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.

I MEANT that nothing really matches in there. I've always hated the paint color (even though I chose it). We have an awesome print above the bed, which we bought over a year ago. And let me tell you it looks STUNNING with the two large blotches of blue paint I have slapped next to it as a test.

Queen of unfinished projects. Right here.

But starting tomorrow, I am coming clean with the bedroom. And first up, a picture of how awful it really is. And a game plan.

A lot of nothing.

"I'm not tired. I just don't like them touching me," she said. As the red-head aimed the squirty dinosaur at her face and fired away.

And thus started the meltdown that was World War III. Check it in your history books, in about 50 years. Denckhoff household. June 2009. Red squishy T-rex.

But seriously.

We learned that a full day of summer camp plus a one-hour swim practice may have been a bit much. Limit reached, point taken. Probably doesn't help that it's 97 degrees outside and you literally melt when you are outside for longer than 30 seconds.

No joke. My nose and ears are 3 inches lower and a little lob-sided now. Oh well.

So G is in a full day of summer camp all week...which means I have the afternoons to myself while the itty-bitty's nap. Ah, my mind is running wild with projects and projects and projects.

Sewing! Monogramming! Recovering the garage-sale cornices! Cleaning the bathrooms (NO!)!

But, Alas! All that mental running and thinking and whatnot made me tired and I fell asleep to the season finale of "Americas Next Top Model". I blame the wicked sore throat I am nursing. It makes me think that hell might be a tonsil, based on the burn back there.

I haven't run much in the past two weeks. This is a fear for me, because I am an all or nothing kind of gal. And lately it's been a lot of nothing. That needs to change, but for now, I fear that my limbs will liquefy in the heat and leave me a hot puddle of skin and sweat on the side of the road.

I am currently wondering what a fire extinguisher would feel like in my throat. I mean, if I survived the poisoning/chemical inhalation that comes with it. Little J's Tylenol with codine is most likely in my future.

Good Lord. I just watched the latest in the Jon and Kate saga. And if it's possible, I think my throat hurts a little more for them.

The happy sleepy drugs are definitely in my future.

And on that note, I am out. With promises to bring my sexy back tomorrow.

Details, details.

If I thought I was tired last week, I am now officially wiped. The 2nd annual scavenger hunt was officially held yesterday, which means that the efforts of WEEKS worth of work finally manifested itself in the form of 9 very difficult clues and one very long list of random trivia/mathematical problem solving.

Confused?

Well, so were a lot of people. Last years hunt was all rhyme-y and fun...and was completed way under the 3 hour time limit. Point made.

You like it hard.

But apparently not too hard. Because there is a line (quite a large one, actually) between fun competition and mind games so complicated that you may lose your will to live.

So. We now know that latitude/longitude coordinates, clues hidden in my blog (see here), license plate numbers and bible verses are not sufficient evidence for you to find the clues randomly hidden in 9 very discreet St. Louis locations.

Of the 9 locations, the winning team hit 6...and that was after calling twice to find the exact location of two of these clues, after searching for over 45 minutes. The rule is that each location is worth 5 points...and if you call and give up finding your clue, we will tell you EXACTLY where it is, but you forfeit your points for reaching that particular location. Once we sent our teams on their way at the start of the game, Mike and I planted ourselves near the first spot, which half of the teams would hit. And we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then the phone rang, and Mike spent the next 45 minutes directing 7 of 9 teams to their first clue. When most teams were hitting their second location over an hour into the game, we knew no one would finish.

So, I am proud of the work of art this sucker was. The scavenger hunt process is enormous. It starts with a year's worth of idea collecting. Most things that won't work, but can't be determined until sufficient research is done to map out logistics. Ideas that grow in creativity as you have a vision for how to creatively lead 40 people to an exact spot. Selecting 9-10 of the best locations, writing the clues, figuring out the best way to plant the clues, trying to eliminate all possibility of human error. There are so many things that can potentially go wrong. And about an hour before the game starts, you just have to leave it up to chance and hope and pray it all works as planned.

This year included a suitcase (dangling 15 feet on a cable) off of a bridge, a piece of dry cleaning with a location and a license plate number, golf balls at the bottom of a pool, my blog address on a piece of poster board sitting on a roof top (and visible only by the top level of the parking garage next door). It was intense.

Maybe a little too intense. Because apparently, when you're mind gets blown, it generally doesn't leave you in the greatest of moods. Point taken.

And this was a hard one for me, because as a general rule, I don't like to pour hours of myself into something that makes people angry, or irritated, or generally unhappy. It matters not one iota to me that no one finished, but more the spirit of the way it all played out.

So many lessons learned here.

I now know that if the Da Vinci Code was real life, it probably would not be fun.

Community.

Ahhh. The fellowship of women.

I've been surrounded by it my entire life. All of the kids who lived on my street growing up were girls. I had great friends in high school. And then I went away to a small college in Indiana and joined a sorority. Which meant I ate, studied and slept with women (in a space the size of a shoebox), 24/7.

But then I entered the real world, where it is hard to make new friends. Which I never really had to do, because every other new stage in my life was shared by hundreds of other gals going through the same thing. Friends I had in high school were friends I made in elementary...and I don't really remember how or why we met or what kept us friends, but it probably had to do with sharing some sort of snack or being invited to a birthday party. Or talking on the phone for at least one hour every night...I seem to remember a lot of that. And ta-da...instant BFFs. College was much the same, only this time it was some article of clothing being shared, with some form of cheap beer, and definitely a garlic cheeseburger involved, I'm sure. Oh, and did I mention that we lived in a SHOEBOX! Because that is surely a way to get to know someone...real well.

But adulthood. That's a tricky one.

In the absence of an obvious common ground, or a room similar to the size of a mouse cage, friendships come much more difficultly. It takes some searching. Some effort. I so apologize to all of the friends I have ever had before the age of 26...was I ever intentional with you? Did I pursue you and did you know that I VALUED your friendship??

Because I think I sucked at being a friend until then.

I think I went along with the flow and worried I would miss out on something. I think I tried to be what you wanted but paid very little attention to what you needed. I was insecure. I was selfish. I expected a lot from you and yet was too emotionally insecure to give much in return.

And then I had children. And it was a humbling experience, and I realized that I would never have survived that experience without women who were real, and honest, and vulnerable with me.

No shocker then, that women are kind of a passion of mine, because I'm pretty sure there are a good percentage of us who long for female friends, but have no idea how to find them, or are too intimidated to pursue them, or have a million excuses why not to put in the effort. Which all boils down to, I think, a fear that we have of putting ourselves out there are being met with some sort of rejection.

Perhaps I am wrong. Or misjudging. It's just a hunch.

Women are great at listening and sympathizing and encouraging and enjoying each other...we have a good time together and yet can talk ourselves out of making the time, and taking the steps to really build a strong and lasting relationship. Family saps our energy. Work is demanding. It's hard to get out of the house. It's easier to keep our friends casual. There will be time when our kids are older.

Phooey.

And I say that, because I have the same tendencies. The same ability to second guess myself. To think there are a million reasons why not to be friends with me.

Crazy, I know. Because I am awesome. Just kidding, are you still awake????

Any-hoo...this summer I have been coordinating a women's fellowship night for our church, once a month. Tonight was our second shin-dig, and it was awesome. Lots of women of all ages gathering to chat and eat, and listen to a speaker talk about the "community" of women. Which doesn't just happen...it needs to be intentionally pursued. Intentionally. Great friendships don't just happen, girls.

So what I love is that both of these get togethers have brought a lot of women out, women I see every Sunday, but have never approached or spoken to, because I think we need something in common, someone to introduce us, something to make it okay for us to know each other. Women who are older than me with so much wisdom to impart because they have walked this path. Women who are younger than me (Egad! When did I age?) who could use the friendship of someone who has survived the first years of marriage and children.

Women are amazing. Especially when we aren't second guessing ourselves! So ladies! Pick up the phone, drop a note in the mail, comment on someone's facebook page, join us in July when we do it all over again!

Amen?

Shellack.

Friends.


I am going old-school, and posting on a craft G and I did a few weeks back. I meant to put it up sooner, but it got lost in the shuffle. However, I rather like it, and think it will make excellent artwork for G & L's room.



Tonight I am tired. Really. Tired.



And I blame Sams Club, because I took 4 children in there this morning...and at checkout, I snagged myself one of those brilliant styrofoam cups they have at the cash registers. Diet Coke #2 (and 3 and 4, because this sucker is at least 44 ounces) and it's not even 10:30.

Only, when I wheeled all four tykes (plus two cases of bottled water, milk, go gurt, strawberries, raspberries, chips and hot pockets) to the concession area, you can imagine my shock to see an "Out of Order" sign on the diet coke dispenser.

While I was fighting my body's natural instinct to send itself into a stroke, I did happen to see the caffeine free version.

Fine.

So, I have been working off of a tub of diet coke, sans the goodies that make mommy alert and responsive. And at 9:15 p.m., I am paying for it.

Have a peek at my life on a more productive and creative day:

I saw a torn-paper collage somewhere recently, and thought it would be a good project for G. And when canvases went on sale at Hobby Lobby, we were on it.

So, we created a house. Picked out different green papers for the grass, different blues for the sky. And then big bold colors for the house, to make it pop. Black worked the best for this, but OBVIOUSLY, a six-year-old girl needs some kind of pink to call it a respectable piece of art. Duh.

I did the cutting for the house, and we planned to glue it all together kind of crooked and crazy. I may have used a low-rent glue stick to tack the pieces of the house together, but all of it is glued to the canvas with a few layers of mod-podge. Love that stuff. It's like shiny glue. Thinking I'd like to try it as lip gloss because it is GLOSSY! But the stickiness might ruin it for me, and when it locked my lips in place, I'd probably look pretty goofy.

Anyway, we started with the grass and sky...painted the canvas with the mod-podge and laid the torn pieces down. And then gave it all a really good shellacking. That is an awesome word.

Shellacking. Shellack. Shellackity, shellack, shellack.

Yawn.

Sometimes the paper has a tendency to bubble and want to come up...this is why G is using her hands, to just spread the mod-podge and work the bubbles out.

The finished product...ta-da!

On the books for tomorrow: swim practice for G (following a 4-hour-clinic tonight...did I mention she is 6? And apparently on steroids?), a bunch of errands I can't even name yet, some sort of cleaning. Probably a meal or two. Definitely a diet coke...and this time it BETTER be real. A fun night with gals from my church. A shower.

Shellack.

Night-night.

34 years.

I love you most of all.

Especially today, and particularly in the past hour, when, apparently I experienced deja vu SEVERAL times and ended up severely disciplining one of your boys for unruly and overall obnoxious behavior. During the sacred naptime.

And I say this, because I know he inherited this spunk from you. And not from my people-pleasing, rule-following genes.

But today, I love it because I know that 30 years ago you were doing the exact same thing, with your identical blonde hair. And even though Big J is Asian in his features, his coloring is all you, baby. He is a mini, Asian, you.

So this spunk...I know it will eventually turn to fire-play and war games and all sorts of daredevil stunts that involve things with wheels. And of course, accidents with some sort of toy that has yet to be recalled...think lawn darts. And if I think they are CRAZY now, just wait until you are showing them how to do flips from the trampoline into the pool.

I love that you went to the emergency room on a regular basis as a child. Also loving that they were proficient in their care of you. Love that this means you are still not afraid to take risks...and that you will not let me limit the lives of our children by the what-ifs and accident possibilities and worst-case-scenarios that come as second nature to me. That you can be so calm without being lazy, so confident without being an arrogant. Confidence that comes BECAUSE you are faithful...to who you are without struggle to be anything different.

And if that wasn't enough, I love you because you inspire that in me. And our children, who mirror your spirit in the most amazing ways. Ways that go beyond what I can grasp and understand because they are sooo different from me.

So, though I am tempted to take a roll of duct tape to the boys room and help them stay quietly (if not immobile) in bed, I am embracing this feisty-ness as the untamed beginnings of the strength, security and confidence of their daddy.

Thank goodness for you. Happy Birthday, Michael.

Call me Jack Hanna. And other randomness.

I'm loving the wildlife preserve our house has become. Frizzle, the caged garden toad. Turdy/Muggs (may he rest in peace). Hot Dog, the turtle that lived. Oh, and the two freaking huge barn owls that perch in our dead tree at night.

And today, the baby robbins. Who hatched 6 feet from where my children park their Big Wheels. Check out this shot that Mike got...this baby OBVIOUSLY thought our camera lens was it's mama comin' in with a snack.

These things are so tendon-y and tiny and naked-like and practically transparent that I might not know they were birds...if they weren't sitting in a nest and guarded by a nervous mama Robbin. Can't wait to watch them "cute" up.

And just so you know that things are indeed growing and thriving in this household, here is a shot of my tomatoes. Actually, this was taken last week, and since then, tomato #2 has popped it's bulbous self out. Yea me! The peppers have several bud-like growths on them, which I assume will be the fruit of my efforts here in a bit...and by efforts I mean putting them in a pot, because it has been so rainy here that I haven't watered them in weeks!

A couple of other images to warm your heart: G swimming breaststroke in her very first swim meet! What you can't see very well in this shot? The ugliest swimsuit ever purchased for $60.

I took the kids to a park with water fountains last week, when the temperature was a bit to frigid for long soaks in a pool. Couldn't you just eat them up? I love this picture, and it's a good reminder of how young and sweet they are...even as we are finding chunks of G's food in the toilet these days (her sneaky way of finishing a dinner she doesn't care for). Seriously.

So, I seem to be a bit heavy of the G shots today, but here's another. Golf lessons. And "the look".

And last, but not least...I don't even know what to say about this, except that their are novels worth of inappropriate comments and one-liners running amuck in my brain. These shots were captured last night at our friend's surprise 30th birthday party. No, the surprise was not that he would get to jump naked into a pool and wrestle with 10 of his buddies (they were clothed, btw).

Did you know you could bring fun in a bottle? Because someone did, for real. A 2-liter soda bottle, minus its wrapper, filled with water. Are you picturing a clear, weighted tube that sinks? Then you would be right on. Because this game is like water football (or rugby, I guess it's a bit physical) with an invisible ball. Very manly, contrary to the photos.

And now I am off to plan birthday surprises and scavenger hunts!!!!

How the holy spirit works through gummy products.

A few pics from Friday's ice cream social.

Our church does an annual day of service every June, and our work-weekend kicked off with an outdoor worship service in Kirkwood park, followed by the social event of the season...our ice cream par-tay.

My role in this shin-dig was really in the planning (and the jar crafting)...in particular, trying to figure out how much ice cream will feed 250. My strength in party planning is NOT in figuring out quantities. Like the time I made people uncomfortable with the large vats of chicken salad I mixed up for G's 2nd birthday.

Two issues here: I have a serious phobia of running out of food. Probably because I grew up in Hawaii where every meal consisted of at least 20 main dishes and 10 varieties of dessert (no lie). And secondly, I DO NOT trust serving sizes.

So I went with 18 gallons. There was a logical reason for this, I think.

Sidenote, also important to note: My next greatest weakness is ice cream scooping. Ask Mike. In 9 years of marriage, I don't think I've ever scooped ice cream, though I eat it regularly. Something to do with unmuscular wrists.

My pal Betsy ran with the toppings. Lots of toppings. Oodles of toppings. And if I thought guessing ice cream quantities was tough, try taking a stab at the amount of gummy worms, crushed oreos and bananas that would be consumed per eater...impossible.

Ahhhh, mason jars. I heart mason jars. And I now own 24 and will be looking for a great place to store these. Precisely the kind of thing that defines me as a hoarder. Oh! And I now have possession of MANY tags for ice cream toppings...including nerds and andes mints. All business, baby.

The first ever banana-split-eating-contest. Okay, not in history, but for our church...proving the combo of ice cream, bananas and whipped cream can indeed be godly. Kidding. Anyway, I got a little nervous about 20 minutes before this shot was taken. Note to self: there will always be at least 10 people in a crowd willing to guzzle a lot of cream products.

So, I was only off on my ice cream count by, maybe, 5 gallons. Which I will be (partially) consuming with my left-over quart of Heath bits.

Fancy G & S

Yesterday, G had a friend over for a playdate. And it was fancy.

You would think these girls have been friends for years. When the reality is that they have played near each other for the past few summers, with little interaction. Until yesterday.

And now I'm positive that G would make S her 4th sibling in a heartbeat.

Here's how the afternoon went:

Cookie making...FYI, slice and bake cookies are NOT easy to cut shapes out of. The dough is way soft. But we made it work, and what can't be fixed with sprinkles anyway???

Next, dress up in my beloved prom dresses (see picture above)...the pink one on S is my ACTUAL junior prom dress. Wow, I was not kidding around with the pink. Or the lace.

Table decorating...again, with my beloved banner paper and some markers. Amazing what six- year-olds can do on a decorating budget. Also some hydrangeas from the garden (whoa, that sounds a little too Martha-ish...my apologies). My china, which has now officially been used 4 times. And a little Kool-aid, which my husband pointed out looks like red wine, especially in the wine glasses I used. I was aiming for fancy, not alcoholic--sorry Dana!!!!!

Do you think they had fun? And what is this bizarre look that my daughter seems to have adopted for every picture?

Last but not least, we crafted. Because that's what we do around here. Shrinky dinks, some wire, some beads and a few jewelry clasps...and wa-la, you have a charm bracelet. And no, I don't just keep random jewelry supplies on hand for playdates--I had wanted to make G a charm bracelet for Easter, out of shrinky dinks she had made a few months ago...BUT, I ran out of time, and it never came to be. So, S was a great reason to dig through my mounds of stored crafts...lots of fun, and so easy (assuming they stay together, because I know nothing about how to make jewelry).

Time to jump in the shower and it's off to our church's ice cream social...then I can knock a major to-do off of my list!

Happy Friday!

Circus Flora.

Circus Flora. If you live in St. Louis and have not heard of, or attended this event, you need to get online and buy tickets. Now.

Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

I have heard soooo many people talking about this circus, that I finally drank the Kool-Aid this year and bought tickets for the whole family. I generally steer clear of events that require my young children to remain in any sort of seat/confined area for any long periods of time. Because there is nothing worse than a temper tantrum experienced in close proximity to others (just ask the plane full of passengers who rode with us to AND from Hawaii in '09). And since the circus generally fits all of this criteria, you can understand my hesitation. And general fear.

What sold me was $8. For a ticket. Sold!

I should mention that this was also the abbreviated "toddler" performance. One hour long, no intermission. Even better.

So we enter the big top, only to learn that it's a pretty small tent. And our $8 tickets have bought us seats 5 rows from the ring. These same seats at Ringling Brothers would easily have cost $70 a piece.

Circus Flora is more acrobatic that a traditional circus. There are dogs and horses, but no other animals. People! You do not need to see lions when you can watch a chihuahua climb a ladder!!Lots of flipping and hula-hooping and amazing maneuvers on a horse that I can't even talk about without starting to sweat. And then being able to see it all so close...that part is priceless. Because when a woman can jiggle 15 hula hoops all by herself...well, you'd lose some of the magic if you were 100 rows back and three stories up.

This was the sweetest, greatest, most awesome version of a circus I have ever seen! And I would go back and see the full show (sans kids, because one hour was enough for the tykes). Trust me, it's sooooo worth it.

And because there are a few of you who have been WAITING for this, I'm also including the orzo salad recipe. It is awesome...but let me warn you, it is pricey!!


Orzo with Spring Vegetables

Ingredients:
8 cups chicken stock
4 cups water
1 pound orzo
3/4-1 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 cups spinach
1 and 1/2 cups sun-dried tomatoes
1/2 cup sliced kalamatas
1 bunch green onions, sliced
1/2 cup basil, thinly sliced
1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted
8 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
juice of 1 lemon
salt and pepper

Boil broth and water...add orzo and cook al dente. Mix warm orzo with 1/2 cup olive oil (if you overcook the orzo a bit, it will clump together, but mixing it with the oil and ingredients will break it up again, never fear). Set aside to cool and then toss with other ingredients and dress with 1/4 cup olive oil mixed with lemon juice. If too dry, add remaining 1/4 cup olive oil. Add salt and pepper to taste...you can refrigerate or serve at room temperature (both are equally yum).

A few things: the pine nuts, olive oil, basil, feta and sun-dried tomatoes make this a more expensive dish. Keep in mind it makes a TON. Trader Joes sells orzo for a great price, as does Shop-n-Save, if you have them in the area.

Also, I buy the sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil, and I pour it all in the salad...therefore, I use less olive oil in my version of this salad. You'll know what's right...just go slowly when adding oil.

Peeps, I am heading into, perhaps, the CRAZIEST week of my 2009. Maybe my life. I have an ice cream social to decorate for, a birthday party for a friend, a women's fellowship to coordinate & attend...AND a scavenger hunt to officially get done. Oh, and it's Mike's birthday this coming week, and Father's Day next Sunday. I'm almost hyperventilating, just thinking about it.

Tune in, I'm sure there will be all kinds of crazy up in here.

Die enemy.

I have officially stepped on this cheeto 12 times. It lies in a very bad place in the kitchen, in the walkway between our table and island.

I should have picked the cheeto up 3 hours ago after lunch.

I should have picked up the pieces 2.95 hours ago when I stepped on it for the first time.

I even had 11 more chances to sweep it up and be done with it.

But I didn't.

And now out of principle, it sits. Which is really dumb, because I will ultimately still be the one to sweep it up sometime this evening after my husband, my four children and I step on it at least 18 more times.

I am in a battle of wills, against a cheeto.

But maybe, just maybe, if I wait and concentrate enough life force/hatred at the cheeto, it will grow legs and walk itself to the trash can, in a method similar to the Jedi mind trick.

I am a Jedi. I do hate that cheeto.

Maybe the dog will eat it. Wait, why hasn't the dog eaten it?

Where is the dog?

Move cheeto. Move.




Let me put on the record that I am speaking to a cheeto. In my mind. Which might even be scarier than having an actual out loud conversation. Do you think the Jedi mind trick is like a conversation that you have in your own brain? If so, I am mastering it. And the cheeto is seconds away from spontaneous movement.

If we step on it a minimum of 34 more times, I think we could grind it to a fine powder. And maybe that fine powder would magically disperse itself all over my kitchen. But if it's so small I don't notice, who cares? If a cheeto gets ground to a pulp on your kitchen floor and yet you can no longer see it, did it ever exist in the first place?




Where is the turtle (still in our yard, burrowed under a bush) and would he eat a cheeto?

What else is ground to a fine powder on my kitchen floors? Maybe it's time to MOP the floors.

Which would require me to dispose of the cheeto.

Sigh.

Denial. acceptance. grief. healing.

This is a post about coming clean.

And all of the guilt, fear, panic and release that comes with it.

This is the story of Muggs/Turdy. And Hot Dog.

Out of horrible guilt, I was going to omit the post explaining how we killed Turdy. Because we held on to him for a few days, fed him (or tried to), played with him, walked him. We loved him like he was one of our own.

Only he wasn't. He was a turtle. And so when we went left the house on Saturday morning, and set Muggs outside to soak in the sun, it seems that we were not necessarily being fun and humane by letting him enjoy the out-of-doors in the confines of our blue, plastic pool/jail.

We were actually cooking him.

And what we returned to was a peaceful, if not crispy looking Turdy. RIP. You can't even imagine the kind of guilt that comes with that sort of accident...especially when my children like to remind me that he's with Jesus, which only reveals the importance of this whole debacle in their tender hearts, as they believe there is eternal purpose and significance to Turdy's life (and passing). When really I know that we snatched a turtle from rural Missouri for "fun" and now he's dead.

Anyway. That's that.

Until Mike introduces Hot Dog. Darn these Monday golf tournaments. They seem to take place on the breeding grounds for box turtles.

Hot Dog is a bit more of a scaredy cat. Can't imagine why, seeing as his Grandpa slow cooked on our porch. But he tends to be skiddish and in and out of his shell a whole lot. So, after one night of playing with him, feeding him and REDEEMING ourselves in the turtle world, we are setting him free.

Especially since I returned home at lunchtime today to find him gone. M-I-A.

Visions of turtle steaks roasting in the pool were the first to come to mind. But I would never put him out there after Turdy. So where is he? And how did he escape the 3.5 foot plummet from our kitchen island?

When you look at your house from the perspective of hiding places for an 8 inch box turtle, you begin to feel a tad bit hopeless. And it's then that you realize a turtle slowly starving and decaying in your home is infinitely more horrendous than cooking him out back.

It took 15 minutes, but he was found. In here.

As far back as he could get, under the blue table. Covered in dust bunnies, and trying to play dead. So, we've painted his shell and are saying "Sayonara" to Hot Dog in minutes.

I'm done with turtles.

**FYI...orzo salad recipe tomorrow, folks. I just had to get this off my chest. And roasted turtles and cooking did not sound like a good mix of topics.