Fall Back

This morning the boys got in bed with me and we read Roald Dahl's "The Twits". I put on my best British accent for show and we stayed in our pajamas the whole time. That is what I did with my extra hour today.

Highlights from the Historic Sandy Community Garden Pumpkinfest last month...

Alter Ego

My friend Sacha popped in tonight and chastised me for not posting more often. Ok, it's true - I'm not as regular as I used to be. So in the spirit of keeping this blog going (and placating certain parties), I offer you a brief entry.

A few nights ago Brooks and the boys were bonding by way of some online interactive applications. One of their favorites takes the user's image via a webcam and, in real time, turns them into a Transformers character. They all have a good time - blah blah blah - then off to bed, right? Well, no one tells me that the application is still running when I sit down an hour or so later to check my email.


Not one to miss an opportunity, I strike a menacing pose for the camera and make a screen shot. This image could serve as some kind of disciplinary device to coerce my children into behaving. "Hey!" I'll hiss as they're fighting in Sacrament Meeting, "Remember what MamaBot does to little boys who hurt each other." Or perhaps I'll post it on the lid of the toilet seat as a friendly reminder. And then when they find themselves strapped to a rocket blasting off to the planet Nebulon, they can't say I didn't warn them...

Doll House

We came home from a mini camping excursion yesterday to discover that someone had been in our house while we were gone. How did I know this? Well, there was the doll hand sticking out of the hallway junk drawer for starters. Then I notice a doll face pinned to each cup of my brassiere (which I notoriously hang over whatever door handle happens to be closest to where I'm undressing). The only person I can think of who 1) knows we are out of town and 2) can get into the house via the spare key is our carpenter. While he's been doing work on our house for over a year and is practically one of the family now, the thought that his sense of humor extends to playing with my underclothing kinda creeps me out. "Please, God - don't let it be Steve. His work is amazing and I really don't want to have to fire him over one little slip in judgment." To make matters worse, doll heads and appendages keep appearing everywhere I look - under the toilet seat, on top of ceiling fan blades, in the cold cut drawer of the refrigerator. This is one phone call I definitely don't want to make.














Let me fast forward a few minutes to the part where Brooks admits that he knew all along who has done it. In fact, he was in on it from the beginning. "Jenny, there are only two people in this world with a sense of humor bizarre enough to do something like this and they are both related to you."

"Lindsey!! And Vicki?" This is sheer genius, I have to admit. My sisters are very clever women but a joke on this level is unprecedented. I take my hat off to them for the forethought and creativity. I'm still discovering heads, arms, and legs in ice cream containers, sleeves of oven mitts, water-filled Kerr jars in the pantry and pockets of my hoodies.





They were practically in tears of laughter when I called them to offer my congratulations. I only have two things to say, ladies:

1) somewhere in Sandy there's a very embarrassed carpenter and
2) everyone falls asleep eventually.

Jeepers Creepers

I think this photo speaks for itself.

Amy Chamberlain is perhaps one of the smartest women I know. And I happen to be lucky enough to call her my friend. Among other things, she is a gifted writer by God-given talent as well as formal training. She is so gifted, in fact, that even her every day emails are fit for the press, though she would beg to differ. She lives with her husband and son Christopher in Dubai but comes home during the summer for a couple of months where she and "C" stay with her parents. The following is printed from an email with her permission (emphasis added) and finds a welcome place among the other entries on the humorous and hair-pulling realities of parenting.

"Times Tables Make for Good Times"

Because Christopher doesn't do any chores here at Grandma and Grandpa's, and because his overall work ethic is questionable at best, I am forcing him to learn the times tables this summer (also I should mention that his school has neglected this job thus far). C has taken to this activity with the same gusto that he'd take to having his fingernails pulled out. Our five-minute daily sessions follow the same basic emotional arc, which I will share here for your enjoyment:

Stage I: Anger. "I'm NOT going to sit here and learn these stupid times tables and you can't MAKE me." Duration: 30 seconds.
Stage II: Bitterness. "This is the meanest thing you have ever done to me." Duration: 15 seconds.
Stage III: Fleeting, Weak Effort. "I guess I can do this...I think 3 times 4 is twelve. Or something." Duration: 5 seconds.
Stage IV: Tears. "(self-explanatory)" Duration: 2 minutes
Stage V: Reluctant Acceptance. "All right. Fine. Let's hurry and get this over with so I can play my PSP. Show me the next card." Duration:2 minutes and 10 seconds.

Christopher, not to put too fine point on it, my friend, but what your mom has outlined here looks a lot like the five stages of grief. Having passed though these myself many times in any area related to math, I can confidently say that you are welcome at my fire anytime. Given, of course, that it generates enough light by which you can operate your PSP.

"I'd like to thank my family and friends..."

One of my very favorite cousins got married last weekend so I drove to California with the boys to participate in the festivities. It turns out that the reception was held at the home of Keith Merrill who happens to be an LDS filmmaker. Most of you won't know this but I knew Brooks would so I called him to brag.

"You'll never guess whose house I'm pulling up to right now," I say feeling smug.

Showing off his superior person's knowledge of cinematic trivia, he replies, "Well, just make sure you get to see his Academy Award before you leave."

It's his nonchalant tone that gets me. He knows I have no connections to make such a personal request so I immediately put my Great Brain to the task of pulling it off. Within fifteen minutes I had found, photographed, and emailed the proof to him.

"Check your email," I say in triumph over the phone. His hearty laugh sounds in my ear a moment later.

Winkel:1 Briggs:0