My Favorite from the Week:
Yesterday George (still three) was playing some sort of game with Sarah involving fighting bad guys, monsters, etc.
All of a sudden, he yelled, "OH NO! There's a GHOST!"
And then, more calmly he said, "Wait, it's ok--it's the Holy Ghost."
Then he proceeded to walk over to the area where the Holy Ghost "was," so he could give his explanation for the misunderstanding. "Hi, Holy Ghost, I'm sorry we scared you. I thought you were with Jesus."
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
If ONE MORE PERSON falls into a well...
I remember when the Eldest (we'll call her Bean) was George's age. She had the most vivid imagination and spent a lot of time in an imaginary world with imaginary friends and animals. Most notably, Anne of Green Gables, Gilbert (whom she lovingly referred to as "Yogurt"), Marilla, Matthew and Diana, the entire VonTrapp family from the "Sound of Music," and Sleeping Beauty. I loved when she was Maria. She "carried" all of the VonTrapp children around in her hands, as if they were each 2 inches tall. And she would say, "come with me, Leisel, Fredrick, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta and Gretl." Very hilarious to hear coming out of a tiny 3-year old's mouth.
Anyway, since I was, apparently, living in her imaginary world with her, I was frequently referred to as one of the supporting characters in her life. She would walk out of her bedroom first thing in the morning and announce, "Mommy, I am Anne of Green Gables, and you are Marilla (or Matthew, or Diana, etc.)!"
George is just like Bean was as far as imagination is concerned. He is always in an imaginary world, with imaginary friends. The types of characters he becomes, and interacts with, however, are very different from the ones Bean did--hers were more "girly and romantic." His are more...well, labor intensive.
For a long while, he was Bob the Builder, and I was Wendy, and he would act out construction jobs with his little "Bob the Builder" vehicles--Scoop, Muck, Dizzy, Roley, etc.
Lately he has moved into the Firefighter's vocation. He is obsessed with anything to do with firetrucks, firefighting, hoses spraying water, helicopters dropping water... His favorite TV characters are "Fireman Sam" and the various people in Sam's life. Everyday each person in our house also becomes a character from the show. We get our assignments in the morning.
George is usually Sam--the main, most important, and very smart, hero. As he greets the rest of us, we find out who we are for the day: "Hi Elvis." Or, "Hello, Station Officer Steele!" We are expected to respond in kind: "Good morning, Sam!"
Occasionally, we will get chastised when we respond this way because, every once in awhile, he isn't Sam. "I NOT Sam, I Charlie (pronounced 'Ch aah lee' because he's picked up the Welsh show's accent)!" Like we would know...
My favorite is when The Dad is greeted as "Penny." He, for obvious reasons, prefers being "Station Officer Steele." I enjoy being Elvis. Because it is a cool name. And Elvis sings about putting out fires.
When George ISN'T Sam, I am usually bestowed the honors. Mainly, I think, because everyone else--Elvis, Station Officer Steele, Penny, and Norman--leaves for work or school, and it would be kind of anticlimactic to have the main character gone for the day.
Chewy is the only one whose role is consistent: he is always "Firehouse Dog."
Getting to the point (slowly).
When I was drawn into Bean's world, it involved a lot of conversation--talking about what she was doing, where she was going, who she was in love with, and then watching her act out various things.
I think the most intense experience we had was when she was Anne of Green Gables and was up on a chair. She told me that she was going to jump and throw herself into Yogurt's arms. Except that I wasn't Yogurt that day--I think I was Marilla. Or Matthew. It doesn't really matter. She was seeing Yogurt below her, but I was seeing the hard, marble floor. As I recall, I had to "talk her down" by explaining how the Scarlet Fever had made Yogurt too weak to catch her and that I would have to do it. It ended well.
Other than that experience, play was very tame. Highly entertaining, but very tame.
Tame is not how one would describe George's imaginative play:
A fire breaks out every few minutes, and Sam immediately bursts into action, grabbing his helmet (and mine), sliding down the pole, gathering all sorts of ropes and hoses and stuff, and then running my helmet to me. At which point, I am directed to put my helmet on because "we are going to a fire at ______________ (fill in the blank here--I think every part of our house has caught fire), and Elvis, you need to come with me!"
He then runs very deliberately* down the hall, yelling for me to follow him (his "Firehouse Sam" run is the best--he leans forward a bit, and pumps his arms, and adds a little jump to his run--like he is on the moon without gravity. Apparently, this is how firefighting men run. It's very manly.)
I am expected to don my helmet and follow him, at which point I am handed a hose or rope, or told to go back and get the helicopter because "the fire is too much and we are going to need the water from the helicopter!" I have to say, I'm pretty good at flying the helicopter.
We put out the fire, and then Sam takes my helmet and equipment, goes back to the station and puts it away. I go back to whatever I am trying to do--fix dinner, make my bed, do laundry, etc. For about 3 minutes. At which point, another fire breaks out, and we are on our way again.
In addition to fires, people are falling into wells at epidemic proportions around here. Seriously, if one more person falls into a well, I may quit my job as a fire fighter. I can't take it anymore. I think Norman (pronounced "Noooh man"--again, the accent) fell into the well at LEAST 20 times yesterday. And he wasn't the only one. Mandy and James fell in quite a bit also.
Every time we get a "well call," I think to myself, "AGAIN?!?! Seriously, people. It is a WELL. You can SEE it. It's not like it is invisible."
When people fall into wells, we have to take the chain and Sam's phone, and I have to lower the rope/chain into the tub, er, well. Then Sam climbs down the chain into the well, grabs the person, climbs back out and then makes a call to Station Officer Steele to let him know we got Norman out again.
Needless to say, I am WORN OUT. I don't know how the real fire fighters do it all day. The well situation alone is enough to drive one to drink.
And as you can imagine, I'm also not getting much done around the house. I tend to do better if I have a string of minutes all put together into a nice hour or so, not a whole bunch of disjointed, three-minute packets.
I'm trying to be patient, but when the "ALARM" goes off and Sam comes running with his hose to "put the fire out" every time I light the gas stove to cook dinner because "the pan is on fire,"** I have to admit, I get a little testy.
But I do enjoy being told, "Elvis, you're a HERO!" every time I help rescue someone from a well.
And then I grin and think to myself, "no, I don't think I'm a hero..."
Speaking of things that are hilarious to hear coming out of a three year-old's mouth, my favorite firefighting experience so far has to be when I was in the bathroom and Fireman Sam came running up to me, carrying a little purple stapler. He held it up and yelled in a voice only a hero uses (though 4 octaves higher):
(which jaws we now use regularly to get people out of wells. I'm still not sure how they really help, unless the person gets random metal slabs wrapped around himself as he falls into the well...but according to Sam, we need them. So I oblige when he yells for them as he hangs from the rope, executing yet another successful rescue.)
I remember when the Eldest (we'll call her Bean) was George's age. She had the most vivid imagination and spent a lot of time in an imaginary world with imaginary friends and animals. Most notably, Anne of Green Gables, Gilbert (whom she lovingly referred to as "Yogurt"), Marilla, Matthew and Diana, the entire VonTrapp family from the "Sound of Music," and Sleeping Beauty. I loved when she was Maria. She "carried" all of the VonTrapp children around in her hands, as if they were each 2 inches tall. And she would say, "come with me, Leisel, Fredrick, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta and Gretl." Very hilarious to hear coming out of a tiny 3-year old's mouth.
Anyway, since I was, apparently, living in her imaginary world with her, I was frequently referred to as one of the supporting characters in her life. She would walk out of her bedroom first thing in the morning and announce, "Mommy, I am Anne of Green Gables, and you are Marilla (or Matthew, or Diana, etc.)!"
George is just like Bean was as far as imagination is concerned. He is always in an imaginary world, with imaginary friends. The types of characters he becomes, and interacts with, however, are very different from the ones Bean did--hers were more "girly and romantic." His are more...well, labor intensive.
For a long while, he was Bob the Builder, and I was Wendy, and he would act out construction jobs with his little "Bob the Builder" vehicles--Scoop, Muck, Dizzy, Roley, etc.
Lately he has moved into the Firefighter's vocation. He is obsessed with anything to do with firetrucks, firefighting, hoses spraying water, helicopters dropping water... His favorite TV characters are "Fireman Sam" and the various people in Sam's life. Everyday each person in our house also becomes a character from the show. We get our assignments in the morning.
George is usually Sam--the main, most important, and very smart, hero. As he greets the rest of us, we find out who we are for the day: "Hi Elvis." Or, "Hello, Station Officer Steele!" We are expected to respond in kind: "Good morning, Sam!"
Occasionally, we will get chastised when we respond this way because, every once in awhile, he isn't Sam. "I NOT Sam, I Charlie (pronounced 'Ch aah lee' because he's picked up the Welsh show's accent)!" Like we would know...
My favorite is when The Dad is greeted as "Penny." He, for obvious reasons, prefers being "Station Officer Steele." I enjoy being Elvis. Because it is a cool name. And Elvis sings about putting out fires.
When George ISN'T Sam, I am usually bestowed the honors. Mainly, I think, because everyone else--Elvis, Station Officer Steele, Penny, and Norman--leaves for work or school, and it would be kind of anticlimactic to have the main character gone for the day.
Chewy is the only one whose role is consistent: he is always "Firehouse Dog."
Getting to the point (slowly).
When I was drawn into Bean's world, it involved a lot of conversation--talking about what she was doing, where she was going, who she was in love with, and then watching her act out various things.
I think the most intense experience we had was when she was Anne of Green Gables and was up on a chair. She told me that she was going to jump and throw herself into Yogurt's arms. Except that I wasn't Yogurt that day--I think I was Marilla. Or Matthew. It doesn't really matter. She was seeing Yogurt below her, but I was seeing the hard, marble floor. As I recall, I had to "talk her down" by explaining how the Scarlet Fever had made Yogurt too weak to catch her and that I would have to do it. It ended well.
Other than that experience, play was very tame. Highly entertaining, but very tame.
Tame is not how one would describe George's imaginative play:
A fire breaks out every few minutes, and Sam immediately bursts into action, grabbing his helmet (and mine), sliding down the pole, gathering all sorts of ropes and hoses and stuff, and then running my helmet to me. At which point, I am directed to put my helmet on because "we are going to a fire at ______________ (fill in the blank here--I think every part of our house has caught fire), and Elvis, you need to come with me!"
He then runs very deliberately* down the hall, yelling for me to follow him (his "Firehouse Sam" run is the best--he leans forward a bit, and pumps his arms, and adds a little jump to his run--like he is on the moon without gravity. Apparently, this is how firefighting men run. It's very manly.)
I am expected to don my helmet and follow him, at which point I am handed a hose or rope, or told to go back and get the helicopter because "the fire is too much and we are going to need the water from the helicopter!" I have to say, I'm pretty good at flying the helicopter.
We put out the fire, and then Sam takes my helmet and equipment, goes back to the station and puts it away. I go back to whatever I am trying to do--fix dinner, make my bed, do laundry, etc. For about 3 minutes. At which point, another fire breaks out, and we are on our way again.
In addition to fires, people are falling into wells at epidemic proportions around here. Seriously, if one more person falls into a well, I may quit my job as a fire fighter. I can't take it anymore. I think Norman (pronounced "Noooh man"--again, the accent) fell into the well at LEAST 20 times yesterday. And he wasn't the only one. Mandy and James fell in quite a bit also.
Every time we get a "well call," I think to myself, "AGAIN?!?! Seriously, people. It is a WELL. You can SEE it. It's not like it is invisible."
When people fall into wells, we have to take the chain and Sam's phone, and I have to lower the rope/chain into the tub, er, well. Then Sam climbs down the chain into the well, grabs the person, climbs back out and then makes a call to Station Officer Steele to let him know we got Norman out again.
Needless to say, I am WORN OUT. I don't know how the real fire fighters do it all day. The well situation alone is enough to drive one to drink.
And as you can imagine, I'm also not getting much done around the house. I tend to do better if I have a string of minutes all put together into a nice hour or so, not a whole bunch of disjointed, three-minute packets.
I'm trying to be patient, but when the "ALARM" goes off and Sam comes running with his hose to "put the fire out" every time I light the gas stove to cook dinner because "the pan is on fire,"** I have to admit, I get a little testy.
But I do enjoy being told, "Elvis, you're a HERO!" every time I help rescue someone from a well.
And then I grin and think to myself, "no, I don't think I'm a hero..."
Speaking of things that are hilarious to hear coming out of a three year-old's mouth, my favorite firefighting experience so far has to be when I was in the bathroom and Fireman Sam came running up to me, carrying a little purple stapler. He held it up and yelled in a voice only a hero uses (though 4 octaves higher):
"It's OK Elvis! I've got the JOBES (jaws) of LIFE!"
(which jaws we now use regularly to get people out of wells. I'm still not sure how they really help, unless the person gets random metal slabs wrapped around himself as he falls into the well...but according to Sam, we need them. So I oblige when he yells for them as he hangs from the rope, executing yet another successful rescue.)
*
It is nice when George has someone else besides me to play with.
He loves that cousin of his!
This video shows his "hero run"--complete with pumping arm action.
He loves that cousin of his!
This video shows his "hero run"--complete with pumping arm action.
**
The pan is on fire, yet again.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Here is a post I found in my drafts from last year. Almost a year later, I have to admit that George is making slow progress at not thwarting all my efforts. However, he is still only three, so it may be awhile...
Because, really, when you see a nice, full-sized roll of toilet paper, sometimes you just have to grab the end and run it from one bathroom, across the house, to another bathroom, taking care to go through all the halls so that you empty the entire roll along the way.
Anyway--the post from last year:
My Reality
As I watched George dump the newly sorted laundry onto the floor, I thought to myself, "why, WHY the adversity at every turn?!? And from a member of my own family! Who thinks he is helping, no less!
(Hmmmm...as I typed that, I just realized I have had those exact same thoughts about the fully grown man I am married to...who I love very much. Hi, sweetheart!)
As I often do in these sorts of situations, I turned it into a metaphor-for-life-moment--you know, in case I ever have to give a talk in church on adversity, or patience, or long-suffering, or refined in our trials, or child rearing (of course, if people read this blog, they will know better than to ask me to speak on child rearing...).
I pondered on the whole "there must be opposition in all things" line of thinking. Thought through "we become stronger when we have forces opposing us..." Followed the "we must be patient in our trials" path.
Eventually, I simply thought, "I feel like I am in an "X-TREME CHALLENGE" reality TV show and George is my host."
It goes something like this:
George, with a gleaming white, Ryan Seacrest-type smile:
Sherry Cutler, you've proven in the past that you can finish the laundry in a reasonable amount of time--and do a good job, too! But how about when I dump the sorted laundry out onto the floor and take all of the clean, folded laundry off of the shelves and shove it back into the dirty laundry piles?!? (Camera pans to George's now intense face) CAN YOU DO IT IN A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF TIME NOW?!? AND STILL DO A GOOD JOB?
Me (camera coming in for a close up as I sit crying in a heap of laundry):
NO! NO! I CAN'T DO IT! IT CAN'T BE DONE!
Or
George:
Sherry, you've got to get your kids to a soccer game, dance class, piano lesson and baseball game tonight. But before that, you've got to feed everyone dinner. In the past, you've shown that you can fix dinner, get everyone fed, and still get them all to their activities ON TIME! This is impressive, Sherry, but how about if I put my feet on top of your feet, and wrap my arms around your legs so that everywhere you go, I go too? HOW ABOUT THAT? CAN YOU FIX DINNER, GET EVERYONE FED, AND GET PEOPLE TO THEIR ACTIVITIES ON TIME IF I DO THAT?
(The camera moves in to reveal George and me, BOTH crying in a tangled mess on the floor, because he got all wrapped up in my legs, tripping me and causing me to fall on top of him)
Me:
Apparently not. Let's not try THAT one again, K?
How about:
George:
Sherry, you've got to finish that newsletter today. Tomorrow is the deadline, but you are almost done. A simple task, right? Well, how about you work on that, and I play quietly with my toys, giving you a false sense of security so that when you look up and I am GONE, and nowhere inside the house, you are SHOCKED because I was just RIGHT THERE two seconds ago!
This particular challenge brings in different elements than the others because not only is it physical, as you race around trying to find me, but also mental and as you try to decipher where I have gone, and (here is the best part) emotional as you feel that sense of PANIC, wondering how far away from home I've gone! (Hee, hee, hee!)
And though you may put on your game face, and pretend that you won't come after me, we all know you will, don't we? Because, I am TWO, for cryin' out loud, and who in their right mind would let a two-year-old wander all over the neighborhood by himself?!? We wouldn't want to have to bring in the authorities, now would we?
(The camera zooms out from a close-up of George's face with intent to reveal his whole body, only to find that when it gets to the spot where George's whole body is supposed to be, HE IS GONE!)
(The camera then tries to pan to me, to show my reaction, but finds that I also AM GONE! Because I am already outside, leaping over the neighbors' fences, trying to figure out whose backyard he is in...again.)
...aaannnddd the newsletter, of course, doesn't get done.
Because, really, when you see a nice, full-sized roll of toilet paper, sometimes you just have to grab the end and run it from one bathroom, across the house, to another bathroom, taking care to go through all the halls so that you empty the entire roll along the way.
Anyway--the post from last year:
My Reality
As I watched George dump the newly sorted laundry onto the floor, I thought to myself, "why, WHY the adversity at every turn?!? And from a member of my own family! Who thinks he is helping, no less!
(Hmmmm...as I typed that, I just realized I have had those exact same thoughts about the fully grown man I am married to...who I love very much. Hi, sweetheart!)
As I often do in these sorts of situations, I turned it into a metaphor-for-life-moment--you know, in case I ever have to give a talk in church on adversity, or patience, or long-suffering, or refined in our trials, or child rearing (of course, if people read this blog, they will know better than to ask me to speak on child rearing...).
I pondered on the whole "there must be opposition in all things" line of thinking. Thought through "we become stronger when we have forces opposing us..." Followed the "we must be patient in our trials" path.
Eventually, I simply thought, "I feel like I am in an "X-TREME CHALLENGE" reality TV show and George is my host."
It goes something like this:
George, with a gleaming white, Ryan Seacrest-type smile:
Sherry Cutler, you've proven in the past that you can finish the laundry in a reasonable amount of time--and do a good job, too! But how about when I dump the sorted laundry out onto the floor and take all of the clean, folded laundry off of the shelves and shove it back into the dirty laundry piles?!? (Camera pans to George's now intense face) CAN YOU DO IT IN A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF TIME NOW?!? AND STILL DO A GOOD JOB?
Me (camera coming in for a close up as I sit crying in a heap of laundry):
NO! NO! I CAN'T DO IT! IT CAN'T BE DONE!
Or
George:
Sherry, you've got to get your kids to a soccer game, dance class, piano lesson and baseball game tonight. But before that, you've got to feed everyone dinner. In the past, you've shown that you can fix dinner, get everyone fed, and still get them all to their activities ON TIME! This is impressive, Sherry, but how about if I put my feet on top of your feet, and wrap my arms around your legs so that everywhere you go, I go too? HOW ABOUT THAT? CAN YOU FIX DINNER, GET EVERYONE FED, AND GET PEOPLE TO THEIR ACTIVITIES ON TIME IF I DO THAT?
(The camera moves in to reveal George and me, BOTH crying in a tangled mess on the floor, because he got all wrapped up in my legs, tripping me and causing me to fall on top of him)
Me:
Apparently not. Let's not try THAT one again, K?
How about:
George:
Sherry, you've got to finish that newsletter today. Tomorrow is the deadline, but you are almost done. A simple task, right? Well, how about you work on that, and I play quietly with my toys, giving you a false sense of security so that when you look up and I am GONE, and nowhere inside the house, you are SHOCKED because I was just RIGHT THERE two seconds ago!
This particular challenge brings in different elements than the others because not only is it physical, as you race around trying to find me, but also mental and as you try to decipher where I have gone, and (here is the best part) emotional as you feel that sense of PANIC, wondering how far away from home I've gone! (Hee, hee, hee!)
And though you may put on your game face, and pretend that you won't come after me, we all know you will, don't we? Because, I am TWO, for cryin' out loud, and who in their right mind would let a two-year-old wander all over the neighborhood by himself?!? We wouldn't want to have to bring in the authorities, now would we?
(The camera zooms out from a close-up of George's face with intent to reveal his whole body, only to find that when it gets to the spot where George's whole body is supposed to be, HE IS GONE!)
(The camera then tries to pan to me, to show my reaction, but finds that I also AM GONE! Because I am already outside, leaping over the neighbors' fences, trying to figure out whose backyard he is in...again.)
...aaannnddd the newsletter, of course, doesn't get done.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
(this happened a few weeks ago, but I forgot to post!)
Nativity and Toddlers Post 2012
(...to distinguish from the post here, and the one here):
I was in the kitchen, doing the breakfast dishes. George, who hadn't been awake when we were decorating the house for Christmas the night before, had just discovered the nativity set on the side table in the family room.
George, running into the kitchen holding one of the figures: Mommy! Who's this?
Me: That is Mary, she is the mother of Jesus.
George: Oh! Jesus' Mommy.
(runs back to the nativity)
George, grabbing the baby Jesus, and holding Him up: Mommy! Who's this?
Me: Who do you think that is?
George, excitedly: A BABY! It's a baby!
Me: Yes! That's the baby Jesus. Jesus when he was just a little baby.
George: Oh, Jesus baby.
George, setting Jesus down, and picking up someone else: Mommy! Who's this?
Me: That's a shepherd. He came with his sheep to see baby Jesus.
George, setting shepherd down, picking up wise man: Oh. Who's this?
Me: That's a wise man. He brought a present to baby Jesus for being born.
George: Oh! A present?!? For baby Jesus.
George, picking up yet another one: Who's this one Mommy?
Me: That's another wise man. He brought a present for baby Jesus, too.
George: OH! He brought him a hat! (I'm guessing whatever that wiseman is holding looks like a hat)
George, catching on, picks up another wise man: Is this a wise man, Mommy? He brought a present for Jesus?
Me: Yes, that's a wise man.
George, picking up another one: Who's this, Mommy? A wise man?
Me: No, that's Joseph. He was Jesus's father on the earth.
George, trying to wrestle the staff out of Joseph's hand to give to the baby Jesus: Him brought Jesus a present too! Look Mommy! It's right here!
Me: Please try not to break it.
George, immediately putting Joseph down: OK, Mommy. (that's a first, right there)
George, picking up the last piece: Who's this Mommy?
Me: That's an angel. She came to tell everyone that Jesus was born.
George: Angel brought a present too? She brought Him a car?
Me, not sure I heard correctly: What--did you say a car?
George: Yes, him brought Him a car. Lightning McQueen. Do you think Jesus would like my Lightning McQueen, Mommy?
Me, pondering a bit on this development: Yes, I think Jesus would have liked your Lightning McQueen...
George, getting more and more excited: McQueen would like Jesus! McQueen would
like to go see baby Jesus! See, Mommy?!? McQueen is seeing Jesus!
(...at which point, could tell that I was going to need a camera, so I grabbed it and ran into the family room...)
Look Mommy! So is Salty! And Mater! They all want to see baby Jesus!
And so, I bring you, this year's Nativity:
A little later, after McMissile showed up:
Since that time, George has been OBSESSED with Mary and Baby Jesus' and "Big Jesus." I must say, these are some of the best people to be obsessed with always, but especially at Christmastime.
He continues to re-arrange the nativity, a la toddler, and frequently carries Mary and Baby Jesus around with him on his adventures (see the second half of Nativity post 2008, if you do not understand what I mean by this...)
One of his favorite things to watch this year is a depiction of Jesus' birth and life, set to "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" arranged by The Piano Guys. It is beautiful. And George LOVES it. All it takes for him to come running is the first 3 notes. He knows exactly what it is. "The Mary show!" Mom, "It's the Mary show!"
Nativity and Toddlers Post 2012
(...to distinguish from the post here, and the one here):
I was in the kitchen, doing the breakfast dishes. George, who hadn't been awake when we were decorating the house for Christmas the night before, had just discovered the nativity set on the side table in the family room.
George, running into the kitchen holding one of the figures: Mommy! Who's this?
Me: That is Mary, she is the mother of Jesus.
George: Oh! Jesus' Mommy.
(runs back to the nativity)
George, grabbing the baby Jesus, and holding Him up: Mommy! Who's this?
Me: Who do you think that is?
George, excitedly: A BABY! It's a baby!
Me: Yes! That's the baby Jesus. Jesus when he was just a little baby.
George: Oh, Jesus baby.
George, setting Jesus down, and picking up someone else: Mommy! Who's this?
Me: That's a shepherd. He came with his sheep to see baby Jesus.
George, setting shepherd down, picking up wise man: Oh. Who's this?
Me: That's a wise man. He brought a present to baby Jesus for being born.
George: Oh! A present?!? For baby Jesus.
George, picking up yet another one: Who's this one Mommy?
Me: That's another wise man. He brought a present for baby Jesus, too.
George: OH! He brought him a hat! (I'm guessing whatever that wiseman is holding looks like a hat)
George, catching on, picks up another wise man: Is this a wise man, Mommy? He brought a present for Jesus?
Me: Yes, that's a wise man.
George, picking up another one: Who's this, Mommy? A wise man?
Me: No, that's Joseph. He was Jesus's father on the earth.
George, trying to wrestle the staff out of Joseph's hand to give to the baby Jesus: Him brought Jesus a present too! Look Mommy! It's right here!
Me: Please try not to break it.
George, immediately putting Joseph down: OK, Mommy. (that's a first, right there)
George, picking up the last piece: Who's this Mommy?
Me: That's an angel. She came to tell everyone that Jesus was born.
George: Angel brought a present too? She brought Him a car?
Me, not sure I heard correctly: What--did you say a car?
George: Yes, him brought Him a car. Lightning McQueen. Do you think Jesus would like my Lightning McQueen, Mommy?
Me, pondering a bit on this development: Yes, I think Jesus would have liked your Lightning McQueen...
George, getting more and more excited: McQueen would like Jesus! McQueen would
like to go see baby Jesus! See, Mommy?!? McQueen is seeing Jesus!
(...at which point, could tell that I was going to need a camera, so I grabbed it and ran into the family room...)
Look Mommy! So is Salty! And Mater! They all want to see baby Jesus!
And so, I bring you, this year's Nativity:
Since that time, George has been OBSESSED with Mary and Baby Jesus' and "Big Jesus." I must say, these are some of the best people to be obsessed with always, but especially at Christmastime.
He continues to re-arrange the nativity, a la toddler, and frequently carries Mary and Baby Jesus around with him on his adventures (see the second half of Nativity post 2008, if you do not understand what I mean by this...)
Let us all crowd in to see this baby!
One of his favorite things to watch this year is a depiction of Jesus' birth and life, set to "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" arranged by The Piano Guys. It is beautiful. And George LOVES it. All it takes for him to come running is the first 3 notes. He knows exactly what it is. "The Mary show!" Mom, "It's the Mary show!"
Mary, Baby Jesus, Holly Shiftwell from Cars, and George,
all watching "The Mary Show. on my iPhone"
Merry Christmas!
Monday, November 05, 2012
My One, My Only, Political Post for Election 2012
Sometimes on Facebook I post "benefits of having a two year old." Well, I have discovered yet another one:
George is very much into answering the phone. The other day, the phone was ringing, and I could hear the computer voice saying "call from Washington, DC, call from Washington, DC." This is normally when I jump up, and chat with my dear friend, Mitt Romney.
On this particular day, I just didn't have the energy. "He's going to have to get through this on his own," I thought, "I have no more ideas for answers to debate questions, or lines for speeches."
So, I decided to ignore the call. Well, George does not ignore calls. EVER. He ran over, and grabbed the phone.
George: "Hello! This is ME!"
(I'll mention here, that in addition to being "very much into answering the phone," he is also "very much into himself." He assumes that everyone who calls is calling to talk to him. Probably because everyone who calls DOES talk to him--trying to somehow get an adult on the phone...)
George's face went from "happy and excited" to "confused and slightly annoyed" (the same way we all feel when we answer the phone and realize it is a political message).
The "person" on the other end did not enthusiastically say, "Hi George!" or ask him how he was doing (answer: "I'm two!"). He didn't even ask if he could speak to George's mommy or daddy.
Instead, the "person" launched into a whole bunch of words and did not stop talking.
Despite his confusion, George continued to listen patiently. At one point, he looked at me and said, matter-of-factly, "Only three dollars, Mommy." (Only three dollars?!? Either some politician is getting desperate, or George mis-heard $30--or $300, for that matter)
The recording ended, and George handed me the phone. "Here, Mommy, it's for you."
Thanks, George, I'll happily take it from here.
Sometimes on Facebook I post "benefits of having a two year old." Well, I have discovered yet another one:
The Human Political Call Answering Machine
George is very much into answering the phone. The other day, the phone was ringing, and I could hear the computer voice saying "call from Washington, DC, call from Washington, DC." This is normally when I jump up, and chat with my dear friend, Mitt Romney.
On this particular day, I just didn't have the energy. "He's going to have to get through this on his own," I thought, "I have no more ideas for answers to debate questions, or lines for speeches."
So, I decided to ignore the call. Well, George does not ignore calls. EVER. He ran over, and grabbed the phone.
George: "Hello! This is ME!"
(I'll mention here, that in addition to being "very much into answering the phone," he is also "very much into himself." He assumes that everyone who calls is calling to talk to him. Probably because everyone who calls DOES talk to him--trying to somehow get an adult on the phone...)
George's face went from "happy and excited" to "confused and slightly annoyed" (the same way we all feel when we answer the phone and realize it is a political message).
The "person" on the other end did not enthusiastically say, "Hi George!" or ask him how he was doing (answer: "I'm two!"). He didn't even ask if he could speak to George's mommy or daddy.
Instead, the "person" launched into a whole bunch of words and did not stop talking.
Despite his confusion, George continued to listen patiently. At one point, he looked at me and said, matter-of-factly, "Only three dollars, Mommy." (Only three dollars?!? Either some politician is getting desperate, or George mis-heard $30--or $300, for that matter)
The recording ended, and George handed me the phone. "Here, Mommy, it's for you."
Thanks, George, I'll happily take it from here.
Sunday, November 04, 2012
I Know You'll Be Pinning This
Do you suffer from insomnia? Have you been looking for something to do while you are supposed to be sleeping, yet aren't?
Well, look no further! We have discovered a fabulous activity you can do to keep yourself diverted from the fact that you aren't sleeping...even though you are supposed to be. Sleeping that is.
And the best part is that you can do this using items you may already have around your house!
Step 1. Find a long, sturdy implement. Like a bat or a large stick. If you have neither of these handy, do the following: Remove the mattress from your bed frame. If you are lucky, you will find wooden slats that the mattress rests on. Grasp one of the slats firmly and pull. Don't be afraid to pull hard. Sometimes the slats are bolted in, and you may have to work at it. But eventually it should break free.
Step 2. Look around the room you are in--at the walls in particular. Is there art hanging on the walls? Basically, you are looking for something that is at least partially made of glass (like a photo frame), or other ceramic material. In this case, we chose the antique china plates hanging on the wall above the guest bed.
Step 3. Now comes the fun. Once you have your stick, or bed frame slat (as the case may be) and have selected the art on the wall you wish to use for your project, you are set to go.
Take the slat and knock the art off the walls. It doesn't matter if you don't manage to break the art as you are knocking it off, because you will have time for that in the last step. Just get it off the walls and onto a sturdy surface--the ground, or even a firm mattress works well (what we used).
Note: the antique plates were a nice choice for this project because they came off the wall easily.
Step 4. Now that the plates (or art of choice) are off the wall, here is your chance to really go at it. Take your slat and just beat the crud out of everything you knocked off the wall. If you are doing it correctly, the plates (or picture frame, or whatever you chose), will break into many, many pieces.
There you have it!
I hope the experience is as rewarding for you as it was for George--I mean, us. It was really fun to see the whole project come full circle like this--starting with me, going from antique shop to antique shop, painstakingly collecting plates one or two at a time. Then ever so carefully arranging them on the wall to look "just right." Followed by having them hang on the wall for a few years, and then, finally, when the time was right, having them broken into a bunch of shards.
Do you suffer from insomnia? Have you been looking for something to do while you are supposed to be sleeping, yet aren't?
Well, look no further! We have discovered a fabulous activity you can do to keep yourself diverted from the fact that you aren't sleeping...even though you are supposed to be. Sleeping that is.
And the best part is that you can do this using items you may already have around your house!
Step 1. Find a long, sturdy implement. Like a bat or a large stick. If you have neither of these handy, do the following: Remove the mattress from your bed frame. If you are lucky, you will find wooden slats that the mattress rests on. Grasp one of the slats firmly and pull. Don't be afraid to pull hard. Sometimes the slats are bolted in, and you may have to work at it. But eventually it should break free.
Step 2. Look around the room you are in--at the walls in particular. Is there art hanging on the walls? Basically, you are looking for something that is at least partially made of glass (like a photo frame), or other ceramic material. In this case, we chose the antique china plates hanging on the wall above the guest bed.
(Note: these are not the plates we used, but are hanging in the same room as those we used.
If we'd had a ladder, they would have been our next choice, I'm sure.
Step 3. Now comes the fun. Once you have your stick, or bed frame slat (as the case may be) and have selected the art on the wall you wish to use for your project, you are set to go.
Take the slat and knock the art off the walls. It doesn't matter if you don't manage to break the art as you are knocking it off, because you will have time for that in the last step. Just get it off the walls and onto a sturdy surface--the ground, or even a firm mattress works well (what we used).
Note: the antique plates were a nice choice for this project because they came off the wall easily.
Step 4. Now that the plates (or art of choice) are off the wall, here is your chance to really go at it. Take your slat and just beat the crud out of everything you knocked off the wall. If you are doing it correctly, the plates (or picture frame, or whatever you chose), will break into many, many pieces.
There you have it!
I hope the experience is as rewarding for you as it was for George--I mean, us. It was really fun to see the whole project come full circle like this--starting with me, going from antique shop to antique shop, painstakingly collecting plates one or two at a time. Then ever so carefully arranging them on the wall to look "just right." Followed by having them hang on the wall for a few years, and then, finally, when the time was right, having them broken into a bunch of shards.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
Decisions Made Ahead of Time
I learned, again, today, that it is not a good idea to leave a 2-year old alone for very long. OK, ever. Even when it seems like he is completely engrossed in his "Thomas the Tank Engine" episode. So engrossed that you think, "OK I'll just quickly go (fill in the blank here) in the other room and come back before he knows I am gone."
Those of you who read this blog are thinking, "you STILL haven't learned that lesson? Haven't you read your blog posts on this child?"
So I'm a slow learner.
Anyway, George was ENGROSSED in his "Thomas the Tank Engine" episode...well you get the idea.
I was in the other room, and heard, "Mom!!! Mommy! Mommy! Mom!!!!! Mommy!!! Mommy! Mommy!!!"
The calls did not sound like distress, so I called back "Son! What, son? Mommy is in here! Son!...," thinking he would come and find me.
All I got back was, "Mommy!!!! Mommy! Mommy!, etc., etc."
So I decided to see what the situation was. I walked around the corner to the kitchen just in time to see a chubby little hand let fly a bunch of white flakes that landed all over the counter, joining the other white flakes that were already all over the counter, the stools, and the floor.
Oatmeal. Dry Oatmeal.
He was throwing dry oatmeal, in what looked like an attempt to make a snow globe out of the kitchen. He had taken the lid off the oatmeal canister all by himself.
And he was extremely proud.
He wasn't calling me because of a problem. He was calling me to show off his discovery!
He saw me, and the enthusiasm ramped up--he went into his gibberish that he still uses when he is excited and needs to talk really fast. Every 5th or 6th word is intelligible. "Mommy! alskd jflsakjg oiu aerh wrjlxz cmvlkjs Mommy! ekwlul vnoie alhepo gks djk Mommy!"
He was telling me all about it as he continued to throw little handfuls of "snow" hither and yon; the cutest happy and proud look on his face, as if to say, "see this amazingly fun game I have discovered, Mom?"
Have you ever had a surreal moment when time slows down and you can see what is happening, but other thoughts or ideas run through your mind at the same time, so that in a split second you are basically processing two things at once? That is what happened here.
As I watched him, all I could think about were the Mormon Public Service Ads where the kids are playing in the mud with a hose and they accidentally spray the dad, or the kids accidentally start the car rolling down the hill backward into a ditch, or the kid spills spaghetti all over the floor. And every time, the PSA cuts to the parent who is standing there, obviously upset, but also considering whether running in and beating the children is really the best option...
Of course they don't ever choose that option (let me add here that neither would I, nor have I). What kind of PSA would that be?!?
If you have seen the PSAs I'm referring to, you will know where I am going with this...
I thought, "If I am to follow the example of those PSAs, this is where I run in, grab handfuls of oatmeal and start tossing it all over the room with my son, while flakes drift down in slow motion, feel-good music plays, and a guy comes in with the voice over: "Family: isn't it about TIME?" Cut to George and me, having the time of our lives in the messiest dry-oatmeal-snow-globe-kitchen ever. But we don't care! Happier faces have never been seen!"
Then I snapped back to reality and started laughing because I LOVE those PSAs, and this situation would have made a FABULOUS one at that.
I looked at my kitchen, and realized* that this was not going to be one of those times I join the child and make a huge mess. A huge mess had already been made, and we have a party here tonight. One that does not involve skating through dry oatmeal covering the wood floor. Though maybe that is an idea for the future.
Thankfully, the options in life aren't simply: 1) yell at the child or 2) make a mess with him.
I went for something in between: 3) Me with a smile and feigned excitement: "Son! Are you having fun? Wow--that is a giant mess you are making! Cool! How about you come in Mommy's room?" ("Where I can keep an eye on you..." I thought.)
Fortuitously, it turns out that Chewy likes to eat dry oatmeal,** so he has been helping with cleanup.
___________________________________
*"realized?" As if I had to think about it for more than a nano-second, and then "come to the conclusion?" I didn't "realize" anything--I already knew the second I came around the corner that I would not be throwing oatmeal anywhere.
In fact, not throwing oatmeal through the air may have even been, for me, one of those "decisions made ahead of time." This is where a person makes a decision long before they ever get into a situation where making the decision may be tough. For example, deciding at age 8 that, "I will never do drugs." Or at age 23 that, "I will never eat octopus." (Though making the octopus decision during the "octopus-eating-opportunity" situation probably wouldn't have been hard--even with peer pressure.)
Yep--I'm pretty sure I made the decision long ago (in pre-mortal life, even) not to throw dry (or wet) oatmeal around any room. I feel in my bones that this is true. Because, when the moment arose, BAM! There I was with my decision: No oatmeal throwing. It is a very liberating feeling, knowing exactly what not to do.
This is why that surreal "vision of the Mormon PSAs" was so weird--I already knew what I planned to do, yet at the exact same moment, I was running those TV spots through my head, and people were throwing mud, and getting spaghetti wiped on them; I was throwing oatmeal, etc.
Hmmm...after seeing how much fun George was having, I may have to re-think my position on the oatmeal throwing.
(Don't worry. I still won't do drugs. Or eat octopus. I had to adjust my squid decision--I accidentally ate some in Korea. But the octopus decision I was able to hold completely firm on during that time.)
**We already know Chewy likes cooked oatmeal. He hangs out underneath George, in the hopes that George will throw some his way. Which George does. Every time. Because he loves to feed Chewy.
Too bad this also means that the dog is covered in stuck-on, hard-as-a-rock oatmeal until he gets to the groomer (the groomer loves this, btw). Because George, in addition to enjoying feeding Chewy, also likes to drop food on top of him--for sport. And Chewy doesn't mind. What's a little (or a lot) of oatmeal in the fur, when you have the chance at getting people food for breakfast?
I'll tell you though, it is not fun to pet Chewy after an "oatmeal for breakfast" day.
I couldn't find one of the ads I was talking about, but I LOVE LOVE LOVE this one:
I learned, again, today, that it is not a good idea to leave a 2-year old alone for very long. OK, ever. Even when it seems like he is completely engrossed in his "Thomas the Tank Engine" episode. So engrossed that you think, "OK I'll just quickly go (fill in the blank here) in the other room and come back before he knows I am gone."
Those of you who read this blog are thinking, "you STILL haven't learned that lesson? Haven't you read your blog posts on this child?"
So I'm a slow learner.
Anyway, George was ENGROSSED in his "Thomas the Tank Engine" episode...well you get the idea.
I was in the other room, and heard, "Mom!!! Mommy! Mommy! Mom!!!!! Mommy!!! Mommy! Mommy!!!"
The calls did not sound like distress, so I called back "Son! What, son? Mommy is in here! Son!...," thinking he would come and find me.
All I got back was, "Mommy!!!! Mommy! Mommy!, etc., etc."
So I decided to see what the situation was. I walked around the corner to the kitchen just in time to see a chubby little hand let fly a bunch of white flakes that landed all over the counter, joining the other white flakes that were already all over the counter, the stools, and the floor.
Oatmeal. Dry Oatmeal.
He was throwing dry oatmeal, in what looked like an attempt to make a snow globe out of the kitchen. He had taken the lid off the oatmeal canister all by himself.
And he was extremely proud.
He wasn't calling me because of a problem. He was calling me to show off his discovery!
He saw me, and the enthusiasm ramped up--he went into his gibberish that he still uses when he is excited and needs to talk really fast. Every 5th or 6th word is intelligible. "Mommy! alskd jflsakjg oiu aerh wrjlxz cmvlkjs Mommy! ekwlul vnoie alhepo gks djk Mommy!"
He was telling me all about it as he continued to throw little handfuls of "snow" hither and yon; the cutest happy and proud look on his face, as if to say, "see this amazingly fun game I have discovered, Mom?"
Have you ever had a surreal moment when time slows down and you can see what is happening, but other thoughts or ideas run through your mind at the same time, so that in a split second you are basically processing two things at once? That is what happened here.
As I watched him, all I could think about were the Mormon Public Service Ads where the kids are playing in the mud with a hose and they accidentally spray the dad, or the kids accidentally start the car rolling down the hill backward into a ditch, or the kid spills spaghetti all over the floor. And every time, the PSA cuts to the parent who is standing there, obviously upset, but also considering whether running in and beating the children is really the best option...
Of course they don't ever choose that option (let me add here that neither would I, nor have I). What kind of PSA would that be?!?
If you have seen the PSAs I'm referring to, you will know where I am going with this...
I thought, "If I am to follow the example of those PSAs, this is where I run in, grab handfuls of oatmeal and start tossing it all over the room with my son, while flakes drift down in slow motion, feel-good music plays, and a guy comes in with the voice over: "Family: isn't it about TIME?" Cut to George and me, having the time of our lives in the messiest dry-oatmeal-snow-globe-kitchen ever. But we don't care! Happier faces have never been seen!"
Then I snapped back to reality and started laughing because I LOVE those PSAs, and this situation would have made a FABULOUS one at that.
I looked at my kitchen, and realized* that this was not going to be one of those times I join the child and make a huge mess. A huge mess had already been made, and we have a party here tonight. One that does not involve skating through dry oatmeal covering the wood floor. Though maybe that is an idea for the future.
Thankfully, the options in life aren't simply: 1) yell at the child or 2) make a mess with him.
I went for something in between: 3) Me with a smile and feigned excitement: "Son! Are you having fun? Wow--that is a giant mess you are making! Cool! How about you come in Mommy's room?" ("Where I can keep an eye on you..." I thought.)
Fortuitously, it turns out that Chewy likes to eat dry oatmeal,** so he has been helping with cleanup.
___________________________________
*"realized?" As if I had to think about it for more than a nano-second, and then "come to the conclusion?" I didn't "realize" anything--I already knew the second I came around the corner that I would not be throwing oatmeal anywhere.
In fact, not throwing oatmeal through the air may have even been, for me, one of those "decisions made ahead of time." This is where a person makes a decision long before they ever get into a situation where making the decision may be tough. For example, deciding at age 8 that, "I will never do drugs." Or at age 23 that, "I will never eat octopus." (Though making the octopus decision during the "octopus-eating-opportunity" situation probably wouldn't have been hard--even with peer pressure.)
Yep--I'm pretty sure I made the decision long ago (in pre-mortal life, even) not to throw dry (or wet) oatmeal around any room. I feel in my bones that this is true. Because, when the moment arose, BAM! There I was with my decision: No oatmeal throwing. It is a very liberating feeling, knowing exactly what not to do.
This is why that surreal "vision of the Mormon PSAs" was so weird--I already knew what I planned to do, yet at the exact same moment, I was running those TV spots through my head, and people were throwing mud, and getting spaghetti wiped on them; I was throwing oatmeal, etc.
Hmmm...after seeing how much fun George was having, I may have to re-think my position on the oatmeal throwing.
(Don't worry. I still won't do drugs. Or eat octopus. I had to adjust my squid decision--I accidentally ate some in Korea. But the octopus decision I was able to hold completely firm on during that time.)
**We already know Chewy likes cooked oatmeal. He hangs out underneath George, in the hopes that George will throw some his way. Which George does. Every time. Because he loves to feed Chewy.
Too bad this also means that the dog is covered in stuck-on, hard-as-a-rock oatmeal until he gets to the groomer (the groomer loves this, btw). Because George, in addition to enjoying feeding Chewy, also likes to drop food on top of him--for sport. And Chewy doesn't mind. What's a little (or a lot) of oatmeal in the fur, when you have the chance at getting people food for breakfast?
I'll tell you though, it is not fun to pet Chewy after an "oatmeal for breakfast" day.
I couldn't find one of the ads I was talking about, but I LOVE LOVE LOVE this one:
Friday, January 27, 2012
Other than when he was a brand new baby, I can count the number of times he has fallen asleep on me on one hand. Two--maybe three times.Once he could hold his head up well enough to look around, he was too busy to be falling asleep--or even cuddling, for that matter--on Mommy. He has not been a snuggly baby in the least. Just busy, energetic, enthusiastic, happy (except for those few, choice colic-y months) and, well, destructive. :-)
As he is getting older, he is becoming more and more affectionate; though still preferring enthusiastic patting of people on their bottoms over kisses (hey--it's where he can reach when people are standing up). And he does like to give hugs if it involves running to the person and hugging/getting hugged really hard.
I must disclose here, that there is a line of "enthusiastic patters" and "hard huggers" that I descend through--it is called "being a Herd." Or maybe that should that read, "being 'Herd'," because those of us in this family line also tend to laugh loudly and can be extremely exuberant in our interactions with people.
Many of you will know exactly what I am talking about, others of you won't, other than remembering that you have been either hugged hard, or patted to death, by me. Or both. Can't keep my hands off people, apparently...
Anyway, he comes by his "signs of affection" honestly.
I'm hoping he begins to enjoy giving kisses--he certainly gets enough of them, but he is very judicious in handing them out. Maybe this is so the receiver appreciates them to the fullest. I know I do when I get one.
I guess I digress. Today he woke up from his nap angry. I sat down with him and started (what else?) patting him. Two amazing things happened: 1) he snuggled. 2) HE FELL ASLEEP. I was shocked. I had Goose grab the camera and document the whole thing, because it may not happen again.
I did my best not to move, and relished every second of the half hour he slept on me. One of those "Mommy Moments" I will remember forever.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Merry Christmas from, well, wherever we are...
4:10 p.m.
Me: “Honey, it’s 4:10. We are running out of light. We were supposed to be there by 4:00.”
The Dad: “I thought Leesh was coming over here.” “Where are we going?”
Me, as if it was obvious: “Will Bigby’s farm.” (where else would we go?)
The Dad: “Will Bigby’s farm? How would I even know that?” “Why would we go there?”
Continuing frantic putting on of clothes, doing hair, putting on makeup, and chasing of George.
4:23 p.m. Made it to Will Bigby’s barn.
The Dad: “Did you ask Will if we could take pictures here?”
Me: “No.”
The Dad: “Did Leesh?”
Me: “I don’t think so—when they took their picture here, they just came and did it.”
The Dad, with not a small amount of exasperation, starts hunting in his phone for the Bigby’s number.
Leesh pulls up, and we pile out of the car.
Me: “Did you get a hold of Will?”
The Dad: “He says, ‘well, if you are already here…’ No, I talked to Ellen. She said it was fine.”
The Dad, to Leesh: why we would want to take our photos at Will Bigby’s?
Leesh: “Because they have all this cool old stuff!” (of course)
The Dad, with his very logical mind, does not get it, but thankfully, he is patient with his wife and her ideas.
We make our way down the slippery hill to the barn.
And we take some shots by the cute, rustic window.
Me (and Leesh): Ooooh! Let’s take some by the fence!
The Dad, holding George, moves to another window, kind of by the fence.
Me: “No, Honey, over here.” He doesn’t move. “Over by the fence.” “Honey, over by the fence.” (see how I nag.)
The Dad, moving slowly and reluctantly to the fence (patience of wife’s ideas wearing thin): “To me, this says: “here we are, living on our pig farm.”
Fast forward to later that night, as I’m staring at photograph after photograph, trying to figure out how I’m going to have to:
a. switch three heads, if I use that one, because…why are they making those faces?
b. change the color of Chewy’s leash, if I use this one, because it is red, and we have a blue motif.
c. move Goose over, if I use that one, so it doesn’t look like my bottom is in the crook of her neck.
d. remove the vein poking out on my head if I use this one, because…why am I becoming a person that has veins poking out on her head?
e. move The Dad’s smile from a different picture if I use this one, because he is doing his square “grin.”
f. etc, etc.
Because, you know, we want this to be realistic. Like how we are EVERY DAY—happy, without wrinkles or poking-out veins, no weird faces, and combed, cereal-free hair. Getting up at the crack of dawn as a family on our pig farm, wearing lovely sweaters in coordinating colors with our old jeans, so that we can feed the pigs and mend fences and stuff. And though it is snowy, we don’t wear coats. Or gloves. Well, a couple of us throw on cute hats and scarves--we aren’t CRAZY. But mostly we have our love of one another to keep us warm...because that is how it is EVERY DAY, on our pig farm.
The Dad, coming up behind me, and pulling me out of my thoughts: “What are all of those structures in the background? Can we Photoshop those out, or fuzz the background or something?”
Me: “How about we just tell people we live in a Hooverville?”
This world--full of avatars, photo editing, plastic surgery, and entitlement teaches us that “perfection” is attainable here, now, immediately. But is this perfection or an illusion?
I’m inclined to believe that this quest for beauty, riches, and lack of want or pain, isn’t the type of “perfection” Christ speaks of when he says “be ye therefore perfect even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”
I strongly suspect it is Satan’s counterfeit of this commandment. Satan is all about twisting the important, and making it seem like something else. He is the master of illusion.
The "pig farm." The family photo. An excellent opportunity for me to be reminded of what is really important...
and it isn't worldly "perfection."
What is really important is for me to use faith and obedience and repentance to come to Jesus Christ, so that through the Atonement, someday I may be perfected in Him.
It is Godly Perfection.
And it won't happen through anything I do, but through what He Has Done. Boy, do I have such a long way to go.
So, so grateful for the Atonement. And for Hope.
Praying that each of you feel the love of the Prince of Peace, whose birth we celebrate this time of year.
Merry Christmas!
Loving the Baby Jesus
This reminded me of a post I wrote about 3 years ago, when The Dad looked like this. (I remember that particular time being somewhat brutal...)
But I digress. I thought the nativity post was worth a revisit, since I now have a two-year old that loves the baby Jesus.
I wish I had captured the interaction George was having with the nativity before I grabbed the camera. It was really, really cute. He was so excited to find the baby Jesus...
This reminded me of a post I wrote about 3 years ago, when The Dad looked like this. (I remember that particular time being somewhat brutal...)
But I digress. I thought the nativity post was worth a revisit, since I now have a two-year old that loves the baby Jesus.
I wish I had captured the interaction George was having with the nativity before I grabbed the camera. It was really, really cute. He was so excited to find the baby Jesus...
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Brian Regan = The Dad?
Today George and I were watching the clip about refrigerators from my last post. Better to sit around and watch clips about the problem, rather than work on it right?
Anyway, George laughed obligatorily whenever he heard the audience laugh. It is important when you are two not to let on that you have no idea what someone is talking about. Just laugh right along with them, and no one will know.
Suddenly, the light of recognition filled his little face. He knew who that guy was! He stared yelling "Dad, Daddy, Dad!" over and over, while pointing at the video clip.
Ah, HA! So that is why The Dad goes out of town periodically. Also why he refuses to go to a "Brian Regan" live show with me.
It's a little like Superman, I guess. Mild mannered Cisco Systems Manager 3 by day, Brian Regan by night and when he is out of town.
Hmmm...I wonder why he isn't funnier around the house?
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
$10,000..."keeps all your food cold"...
The current situation at our house:
The cute people who owned the house before us had a built-in cabinet made for a special type and size of refrigerator...a Subzero, which, to it's credit, lasted 20 years.
Unfortunately, time going by=higher prices for a less superior product.
So the title of this post? Seriously accurate. $10,000. For something to keep our food cold. If we go with the new Subzero refrigerator that fits in the cabinet.
Trying to find other options--which, I'm discovering, aren't many.
Sigh.
NOT. PAYING. $10,000. FOR. A. FRIDGE.
The current situation at our house:
The cute people who owned the house before us had a built-in cabinet made for a special type and size of refrigerator...a Subzero, which, to it's credit, lasted 20 years.
Unfortunately, time going by=higher prices for a less superior product.
So the title of this post? Seriously accurate. $10,000. For something to keep our food cold. If we go with the new Subzero refrigerator that fits in the cabinet.
Trying to find other options--which, I'm discovering, aren't many.
Sigh.
NOT. PAYING. $10,000. FOR. A. FRIDGE.
Monday, August 01, 2011
Office Assistant
Our Dad works from home. He has a great set up. His own office off the garage. Most of his interaction with co-workers happens via email, phone or Telepresence (if he goes to the office in Salt Lake).
Here is an email conversation from this morning between the Dad and one of his colleagues:
PC to K:
Sorry about that.
Perhaps working from home isn't always what it is cracked up to be.
Update:
Apparently, K wasn't the only one who received a call from George. Unable to reach him directly, George went ahead and left a voice mail message for the Dad's manager, J, who saved it, and plans to play it during various conference calls, as needed.
Poor the Dad. He tries so hard to keep people at work from knowing that his family lives with him.
Our Dad works from home. He has a great set up. His own office off the garage. Most of his interaction with co-workers happens via email, phone or Telepresence (if he goes to the office in Salt Lake).
Here is an email conversation from this morning between the Dad and one of his colleagues:
"On Aug 1, 2011, at 9:01 AM, kgholsto wrote:
I got a call from George (I think). He didn’t bother to introduce himself. It was a brief, but pleasant conversation. Please give him my regards.
Regards,
K
Sorry about that.
The basement flooded this morning and while I was dealing with that, it appears that I left my office door open. I returned to find George (21 months) sitting on top of my desk pushing buttons on the phone. I appreciate you taking the time to speak to George.
I am just glad I don't have SJ on speed dial....or a home Telepresence room....
PC"
Update:
Apparently, K wasn't the only one who received a call from George. Unable to reach him directly, George went ahead and left a voice mail message for the Dad's manager, J, who saved it, and plans to play it during various conference calls, as needed.
Poor the Dad. He tries so hard to keep people at work from knowing that his family lives with him.
Monday, June 27, 2011
A guest post from the Eldest of the Children (since I never post anymore):
No Fear.
No Fear.
We’ve been doing some swimming this summer and George loves it! Gooseberry and I have helped George learn about jumping in from the steps, the side, another person etc. Well he is very good at it and doesn’t mind getting his face wet, the problem is that he also doesn’t mind if someone is watching. I don’t know if he just has a sense of trust that either Gooseberry or I will always catch him or if he figures he can always just swim to us. But multiple times now he has gone ahead and jumped in without warning, luckily someone has always been close enough to hurry and grab him.
Here are some pictures:
WARNING: the baby in this clip is wearing no pants due to the fact that he jumped in the water without being dressed in proper swimming attire.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
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