Branson Vacation

This morning I wake to find myself in Branson. I know…Branson. This week was meant to begin with a car trip to Virginia but a winter storm and 12 inches of snow nixed that. At first, I was decidedly certain that fate hated me. I had gotten it into my head that salvation lay in Virginia, somewhere different and away. But, refusing to stay home during my first week off from work in over a year, we began to formulate a plan B. With little time to plot a new course, John and I settled on Branson as there were packages galore and we had never been. Perhaps the strong stereotype of Branson being reserved for the old and the hillbilly was baseless.  You know, like other stereotypes of women being emotional or Star Trek conventions filled with 50 year old men who live in their parent's basement. So, off we set to a hotel boasting indoor water parks and the world’s largest banjo. Relying heavily on technicality to sustain different and away. Hotels with doors on the outside and the distinct feeling one needs to break out the black light don’t really fit the romanticized version of getting away. That said, about three hours into the car ride, it was clear that what I had seen as disaster was a blessing in disguise. It was as though God looked down on us poor souls and knowing we were out of our freaking minds to consider 21 hours in a car with a 3 year old, graciously said let it snow and saved us from ourselves. Lesson learned.  Always fly.  Having made it within 30 miles of Branson, we began to see our first glimpse of the city by way of billboard. The old man holding an infant playing a double necked banjo sealed it. Stereotype true.  Really, I had grown suspect of Missouri itself. An hour out of Branson we began to see routes that were letters instead of digits. Route Z. Route PP. A state unafraid to stand in the face of route numbering convention and say let’s turn this mother on its head. A state that had a higher population of people who could recite the alphabet than count to 100. The first official Branson attraction to come into view was a neon lit buffet named Yakov. I don’t think the humor there needs any help. And then there is the moment you drive over the hill and see the strip in its pearls on pigs glory. Grand Country Inn. Radiators and indoor/outdoor carpet but free unsecured wi-fi. Something only in perspective when you realize what a hotel snob I am. I can literally feel my white trash reputability rising. Is this what the world views as down home American? Yosemite Sam and 4 generations of Presleys? And no, not the King of Rock and Roll variety. Still, as I look out at my day, chiding my son to stop picking up the phone to call "all our friends", I have the hopes of lazy rivers and Silver Dollar city to keep me warm. And the belief that if I somehow get stuck in hillbilly hell, I have friends like you to come save me from the twice daily jamborees.　

Are you awake?

Joshy has talked in his sleep since he was a toddler.  Not babbling, but full conversations.  A moment ago, he asked for a drink of water.  Thinking he was awake, I took him a cup.  When I reached his bed, he sat up, eyes wide open and asked me if I could hold "this".  So, I mimed taking the imaginary object out of his cupped hand and replacing it with the water, which he gulped, handed back to me, and then laid back down, perfectly asleep.  Whatever was going on in his dream, he clearly was thirsty.  John is much like him in that.  I can have full conversations with him, thinking him awake.  The upside?  Sleep John generally agrees with me.  The downside?  Awake John rarely remembers.  Ben is more like me.  Asleep or awake.  And if awake unnaturally, usually grumpy.  Awake unnaturally and without a diet coke, flat out mean. 

Happy Christmas EARLY Morning

4:15 - Sounds erupt as Joshy finds the stocking on the end of his bed and the microphone inside. 
4:30 - Benjamin joins in, repeating announcements of the candy in his stocking while Joshy opens the wrapped things inside. 
4:45 - Half asleep instruction to leave the bath paints IN THE BATHROOM.  Drifting back to sleep to the sound of Benjamin talking about painting something yellow.
5:00 - "We got tooters.  We got tooters in our stocking."  (fart sound)  "Ahhahahahahahahah"
5:05 - "Mama.  Mama.  Thank you for the tooters."
5:10 - (fart sound) "Ahahahahahahahah"
5:30 - The deflation of all hopes of sleeping till 6 and a drowsy trek down the stairs.

Merry Christmas to parent's everywhere on the one morning where children's excitement over whoopie cushions makes sleep deprivation worth it.

After this first picture with Ben grumpily pouting, I was excited when the next shot featured two non-scowling kids.  It was only after editing it that I noticed.  Ben!  Why do you keep sticking your hand down your pants??

They had a wonderful Christmas.  More presents than they know what to do with.  And, unfortunately for us, many noise makers in the bunch.  Harmonica, recorder, guitar...  We are going to have to think long and hard when comes along on our car trip. 

Toy of the Year

Not a big shopper, in combination with big promoter of Nick Noggin, commercial-less TV, I was apparently out of the loop regarding the new cool thing.  Sing-a-ma-jigs.  So, when one showed up as a birthday present for Ben, I had no idea what it was or how addictive a freaky looking stuffed animal with a hair band for a mouth could be.  One squeeze of the belly and it starts jibber jabbering.  Squeeze the hand to change modes and now it is singing a song.  Long after the kids lose interest, you sit there, squeezing the stomach in the perfect rhythm to have each syllable of the song timed as it should be.  Every squeeze the next syllable comes.  Singamajig doesn't miss a beat.  Squeeze their hand once more and you have access to a scale of notes that, when paired with another in the same mode, belt out in perfect harmony.  We have two in our house and while the kids were playing whatever version of battle below, mom sat upstairs in the room, taking a break from wrapping presents, making two quazi-bears sing.  You have to wonder who thinks of these things.  They are attractive by no means and the synthesized voices bear no resemblance to reality and yet, one squeeze is all it takes to suck you in.  Perhaps genius and madness are only a thin line apart after all because only crazy or brilliant created this thing.  Either way, I'm sold.  Follow the robotic sound of Clementine and there I will be.  Oh..my...dar...ling...oh...my...dar...ling...  Nite...nite...

Chicago

I realize that I never spoke of the trip I took to Chicago for a conference in September this year.  I had never been before and was lucky to find myself in the windy city during unseasonably warm weather.  Staying downtown, I was quickly finding myself quite in love with the city.  Only there 4 days, I had convinced myself by the time I had left, that I was ready to make a change.  Ready to start over somewhere new, somewhere urban, somewhere a train took me to work.  I am not at a point to leave now, in the midst of school and with a job I love at a company I truly believe in.  In an industry I find consistently fascinating.  But, sitting on the rooftops next to Wrigley Field, Chicago seemed to be under a different sky, one of endless possibilities.  As I sat, wet from the rainstorm rolling through, the field bright green against the grey sky, I was entranced by the taste of a different world.  As I look back now, I don't know that Chicago proper is what endeared me but the idea of different, itself.  The allowance to believe, for a moment, that all our ills can be dispossessed by state lines.  But Chicago itself, well, I despise the cold, more than most anything, and as you recall, unseasonably warm was part of that mental picture I had built.  Reality of winter looks more like this:

What it did show me, however, is that there is a part in me that is ready to find a new world where John and I can step out and find a new footing.  But for the time being, here is where we need to be.  Here is where I want to be.  But who knows what the next 10 years will bring.  I may find my perfect mix of urban and industry, somewhere on the equator, where winter never comes.  In the meantime, here are some pictures from the trip.  Two girls, completely buying into the belief that the reality of a city can be captured in a tourist's eye view.  You know it isn't true, but it feels far more magical that way. 

It was bound to happen sooner or later

Let me begin this post with a recent picture of Benjamin.  It was taken a few months ago, but serves the purpose well.

Now to the story.  Yesterday, while I was at work, the boys were off school and home with John.  As is the usual routine, after lunch, they went upstairs to take their naps.  Having settled down in their beds, John went about his business.  Later, going to check on them, instead of the sounds of mouth breathers, he hears hushed whispers coming from the bathroom.  Turning the corner, he finds two little boys, one with scissors in hand and the other missing considerable amounts of hair.  Joshy had managed to find the shearing scissors in the cabinet above the toilet and Benjamin was getting the full barbershop treatment.  And John didn't catch them after simply a trimmed bang, no Ben was sporting full on monk.  All my baby boy's curls were gone, hair cut to the scalp excepting along the edges.  Hence the monk-esque feel.  John calls me at work, ducking in the bathroom so Joshy doesn't hear him talking in a hushed whisper, and through a voice, strained by resisting laughs, explained how my eldest had cut my youngest's hair and that it looked horrible.  And, in fact, the pictures that I am about to attach, do not do it justice.  When seeing it live, half the back long, half in patches, it was almost painful to look at.  A walking billboard for "my parents don't love me".  Even now, I can't help but laugh because it literally looked like he had stuck his hand in a light socket or perhaps half his head contracted mange.  Joshy, of course, said that he was trying to help Ben, and while I am sure there was some truth buried in the attestment of good intentions, when we offered to give him the same haircut as Ben, he wasn't quite as certain about how good Ben's hair looked after all.  It was more like a drawn out "no" as both hands clutched his hair. 

That brings us to today, when mama went to Target to get a hair trimming kit to finish what Joshua Reuben started.  Benjamin was actually quite a good customer, wiggling far less than his older sibling is prone to do and shedding no tears through the process.  About half way through trying to make something of the monk do, Joshy was insistent that he, too, needed a haircut and then soon John was in line, as well.  So, mama cut three boys hair today.  One because he couldn't be seen in public, one because he can't have his brother get anything he doesn't get also and one because if I am doling out haircuts, might as well tame the fro.  During Joshy's cut, as I reached the top of his head and turned him about to face me, I asked, "Joshua, Did you cut your own hair also?".  Right smack dab in the middle of his hairline, an entire chunk of hair was missing.  Not shorter, missing to the scalp.  He insists no, and then I touch his scalp and remind him that I can see where the hair is gone.  Out comes the admission.  Thank goodness he didn't keep going because I would have had to completely buzz it and Marcellus boys do not look good bald.  They look like Timothy McVeigh.  A bad experience with John and "a 3 all over" taught me that.  Still, as they say, all's well that ends well, and I would say it ended decently well.  Three trimmed boys, gelling Ben's new big boy haircut as he and Joshy chant over and over, "We will not cut each others hair."

(They had just finished eating their popsicles, hence the red face, and were apparently cold, hence the floating heads.)

Benjamin Keith

Today is Benjamin's birthday observed.  The actual day is Monday and on that 13th of December, he will be three years old.  We are on the cusp of an entirely new phase of life.  No more toddlers.  No more babies.  We are on the horizon of life with kids, who wind up in your bed with their freezing cold feet pressed against your leg.  Benjamin and I sat having a conversation last night about whatever superhero happened to be at the forefront of his mind and it still surprises me how much his speech has exploded over the course of this year.  Today we are taking him to Toys R' Us for the birthday tradition of letting them go to the "special toy store", only gone to once a year, on their birthday, and let them pick out their own presents.  Since we never go there, it is fun to see their faces when they are faced with an entire store of nothing but toys.  Three years old is the first year they get to go, so Ben is excited.  He is already planning on getting a "Woody toy" and a pig and a dinosaur.  Clearly he has Toy Story on the brain.  That is what he was talking about last night.  Not a superhero.  He was explaining how Buzz Lightyear flies through the sky.  -50 good parent points for clearly phasing in and out of paying attention. 

  

Happy Birthday, Benjamin Keith.  You make my heart happy.

Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades...

Today as I was driving to a baby shower, I passed through a few suburbs of Oklahoma City and one of the city signs said:

Welcome to

Warr Acres

Almost the capital

of Oklahoma

It made me laugh.  Whoever came up with that as their town motto is either incredibly funny or incredibly sad.

The bike of John's dreams...

I was attempting to take what turned out to be a horribly blurry picture of some tree lights with my blackberry when it told me the memory was full.  So, hopping into there to delete a picture or two, I saw this picture of John that I had meant to show off long ago.  I believe I mentioned how for Chesapeake's 25th Anniversary, they had the Orange County Choppers build them the first natural gas powered motorcycle to come out of their shop.  The bike moves from building to building throughout the year and it happened to be in the lobby of my building when John ran up to work with me one Saturday.  I could see it in his eyes, as he stopped dead in his tracks, that we were about to detour in that direction.  After examining it closely, with the respect of someone who loves that show, he hopped on and I snapped this shot.  I have to say, he looks ridiculously hot on this thing.

"There is no such thing as luck. There is only adequate or inadequate preparation to cope with a statistical universe" - Robert Heinlein

Today I had a lunch meeting with one of our bankers.  I was wearing a pair of black shoes with a thin heel whose pad had been lost to the uneven pavement across the street, where everyone who arrives later than 7:00 ends up parking.  When I walk across tile or pavement, you can hear it scratch like nails on a chalkboard if I fail to pick up my feet.  But that embarrassment aside, as we were walking to the banker's car, I managed to step my heel perfectly into a seam in the cement.  Now, those of us who wear thin heels have all had this happen before and it puts a little hiccup in your step, but you pull your foot free and you move on.  Not this time.  I pulled my foot and it didn't give, my forward momentum almost dropping me to the ground.  I stopped and pulled again.  No budging.  Finally I slip my foot out and gracefully reach down to tug it free.  Nope.  So now I am holding the shoe with both hands pulling as hard as I can, making mini-jumps in my attempt to free my shoe.  On one final jump, the shoe breaks free and Laura goes flying backwards, luckily catching herself before landing on the pavement.  Super classy.  Last night when taking off my sweater I tore a hole in it.  Last week I found a hole in a different sweater while wearing it...at work.  I popped a button off the back of my pants when getting into my car.  I regularly walk around with a tag hanging out or some sort of string.  I have broken the heel off two consecutive pairs of shoes within two months.  I have lost a sweater vest.  I have a bruise up my arm from where I hit myself with the string of a recurve bow while shooting an arrow at a target.  I took a huge bite out of a bran muffin I had thought was banana nut.  That one, karma, was below the belt.

All in all, the running joke at work is that if something bizarre is going to happen, it will most always happen to me.  If there is someone who is going to get trapped in the elevator for 15 minutes in the morning with a pregnant coworker prone to panic...all together now...it is me.  And yes, it was me. 

Glitter Mandate

Shouldn't there be some rule for online stores that mandates that all pants involving glitter clearly state so in the description?  Preferably in big bold letters?  If there was, then the shipment I received from The Limited today would have not involved me looking like a disco ball exploded below my waist.  Why, you ask?  Because I wouldn't have purchased the pants that said WARNING: DISCO BALLS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS GARMENT.  Who wears silver glitter pants anyway?  Can you see me being taken seriously in a business meeting when only one thigh high pair of leather boots away from being picked up by Richard Gere?  So, now I have to go through the effort of returning the pants and finding some that don't make rainbows by reflecting the sun's rays.  All effort that could have been avoided by the glitter mandate. 

DWTS

I have recently developed a new addiction to add to the ranks of diet coke and music on iTunes.  Dancing with the Stars!  I really don't know how it happened but I remember a time when I didn't watch DWTS and then my next memory involves me watching the show and then re-watching all the dances on YouTube over and over...and over.  Here is where I should stop sharing and yet I continue on.  I will watch the videos and look only at the boy and then re-watch only the girl.  I look at their reactions during the judging and their interaction with their partner.  Then I look at past seasons to compare their reactions to their other partners.  I watch the backstage confessionals that weren't aired.  I even saved one of their twitter accounts as a favorite on Internet Explorer.  And I HATE twitter.  It is a problem and with the close of the season, the reality of the problem is quickly setting in.  No more new information, no additional dances to analyze again and again.  I so badly want to be on that show but as John politely informed me, I am missing the key ingredient...being a star.  So, now we have a new goal, friends and family.  I need to come up with a way to become a B level star so that I can get on that show.  I am open to ideas.  I wouldn't say that I have a stand out talent in any of the so called "performance" arts and I really don't care for attention or entertaining others, so that leaves scandal or reality tv.  Survivor is out because I don't wear scarfs as tube tops.  The Bachelor is out because John couldn't see the value in making it to the final round only to be found out as having a husband.  Something about all the making out.  That leaves The Amazing Race which seems doable but would require the effort of getting a passport, which seems like a hassle, and Big Brother, which I have never watched, but seems to runs some claustrophobic potential.  Wonder how leave of absences for Reality Television works.  Especially when only done to get on a show that would require a further leave of absence.  So what I need is a way to have the cameras come to me.  A documentary?  With all the cable channels, I'm sure there is some space for a series about a 30 year old girl who works a normal treasury job with two kids, a husband and an ill-advised idea of going back to school.  I mean, who wouldn't watch that?  We could start a campaign.  Make Laura famous by word of mouth.  Each person tells 10 people who in turn tell 10 people, ad infinitum.  I despise forwards but since I cannot vanquish the complete foolishness inherent in them, let's use it to my advantage.  Tell them some magic fairy will grant them their wish if they promise to unquestionably view me as a celebrity, not too famous but just famous enough.  If Paris Hilton can be famous without a skill, why can't I?  All it takes is people believing it to be so.  And getting arrested for cocaine...

In the meantime, here are some of my favorite dances of the season.  I can feel the void in my life already.

Happy Thanksgiving

It is hard to believe that Thanksgiving is here.  Or was here.  Only moments ago it was fall and now we are on the one month countdown for Christmas.  As time moves more quickly, it is easy to become numb to it and before you know it, the days grey together and become one running blur you can't quite get your hands around.  I know this because my blur just set me down one day after Thanksgiving.  We spend Thanksgiving proper at my mom's house.  Playing games, watching football and eating copious amounts of food.  I like when we spend the evening there because I have time to sit down and peck at the piano a bit.  Reading sheet music is not like riding a bike.  It is much more like reading Hebrew and after 8 years post Hebrew II, I am fairly certain I wouldn't be able to tell you the difference between "to make" and "to kill".  Although writing about it now makes me yearn to know it again.  There's something about knowing a language where you read right to left.  It is like you are part of a world completely opposite to your own.  A world where having 5 wives and hoards of children wasn't worthy of a series on TLC.  A world where there was no Thanksgiving or 8 to 5.  It was more like sun up to sun down.  Whenever I want to complain, I think of 14 hours tending herds.  Give me financial markets any day. 

Last week, Joshua's school put on a short program for the parents.  The thing I like about the school is that they mean business when it comes to programs like this.  A class gets up, sings their songs and then on to the next grade.  In and out in 15 minutes.  Done and done.  Joshua's kindergarten class dressed up as turkeys to perform their songs.  His face lit up when he saw his dad and me there in the audience.  Even though I knew it was important for us to be there, I still found myself surprised at how clearly the pride and excitement was written across his face.  John taped the performance and I use tape loosely as it was done with his phone.  Phones are crazy now.  I use mine to email and call.  But in fairness, I do use John's for Angry Birds.  So addictive...but SO fun.  You have to wonder who sat and thought, "OK, so there are these pigs and they steal some bird's eggs and then build structures of wood, glass, and stone and then the birds hurl themselves at it in anger".  I probably would have looked at them with a "riiiiigggght".  Then I would have proceeded to kick myself after missing that gravy train of an idea.  Simple, addictive and with more levels than one can dream.  A mobile home run.

Here is the aforementioned video of my son, the turkey, and his comrades in turkey fun. (He is the third from the right and, although you can't hear it well, is thankful for his toy motorcycle.)

I just heard my husband say...

"Ah...snap".  You know, I've never thought of myself as a lesbian but since it seems I am married to a 13 year old girl, I apparently am.  A cradle robbing lesbian.  Who'd of thought...

Down with AAC

I am so aggravated because I have just wasted an hour and a half of my life trying to find a way to get my iTunes music converted to mp3 files without having to pay for it.  I already paid for the songs the first time around, I see no need to pay $60 for a means to play them wherever I want.  I have downloaded nearly 7 different software trial versions thinking I would be sneaky and convert them all at once and then uninstall the program.  Well, clearly I am either not quite so sneaky or the programmers are not quite so stupid because yes, you can download them during the trial...and end up with 1582 one minute versions of your 1582 songs.  And of course they don't give you a heads up.  You know...just to drive home the lesson.  You can hear their chuckles with your first "what the...uggghhhhh".  So essentially there is now an entire market subset benefiting from iTunes monopoly over the portable media market.  It is ridiculous.  I am on the verge of readiness to pirate the software to illegally convert the protected music I ALREADY OWN.  The only thing stopping me is the certain virus that comes with the pirated license key that throws a thousand pop up screens while blaring "I AM WATCHING PORN".  My computer hasn't successfully updated from April 2009 until today.  This very day.  They have finally patched whatever it was that was blue screen of death-ing my machine.  The last thing I need is the red screen of "you should have known better than to download pirated software from illegal Russian sites".  Today's battle may have been lost but the war is not over.  And yes, while it will probably end with me paying $29.99 for someone to profit from my misfortune, their profit will only come as the last straw.  And let's just say that I've got a lot of straw. 

Following Jessica's Lead

In response to Jess's post number one, here are my 15 facts...

1.  I hate text language used in email.  In fact, I hate text language all together.  Is writing an "x" instead of "anks" really saving you all that much time?

2.  While on the topic of email, I hate forwards.  I don't want to be snowballed or kissed or blessed by some angel who proves how many people in my contact list are true friends. 

3.  My favorite feeling out of doors is to have the sun warm on my face but the wind cold against my skin. 

4.  I love handwritten notes.  In a world powered by technology, I refuse to lose the the history and magic captured in handwriting.

5.  I generally pick my restaurants by the desserts they offer.  Olive Garden wins a lot.  I adore the Black Tie Mousse Cake.

6.  When someone remembers something about me that is inconsequential, like my best friend when I was 10 or the way I eat my salad, it makes me feel more special than most anything else in the world.

7.  My favorite candy is Hot Tamales.

8.  I have a small addiction issue with Diet Coke.  And by small, read big. 

9.  I HATE taking showers.  More specifically washing my hair.  Every time I wash it, I feel depressed knowing that if I live to 100, I will have to wash and fix my hair 11,972 more times. 

10.  I love listening to the lyrics of songs, finding the little twists and play on words.  I feel like I found a little treasure.

11.  Sister Hazel is my favorite band, of all time, forever and eternity and the first time I saw them live, I cried.

12.  Every morning I wake up and am thankful that I married the sweetest nerd there ever was.  And no, nerd is not a mistype.  The guy has created a program on his computer named Catharine that says Hello to him in the morning.  It is a little creepy actually.

13.  I have gotten myself stuck behind a copier, wedged underneath a sofa, foot stuck in a car, fallen out of a golf cart, fallen out of a door way, fallen off a curb, walked into a pole, walked into a door frame with wet paint, etcetera, etcetera...  Gravity, randomly placed architecture and small spaces dislike me.   

14.  I am easily annoyed with planning things for large groups.  As soon as there is more than one reply to the email, I am done.  Just tell me where to be and I will be there.

15.  I would rather get a root canal than go to any event that involves mingling.

...and the first 15 shuffle songs that come up on my iPod when I select all music and shuffle (and a link to play it if it is one you like, too).

1.  Sunshine by Todd Snider

2.  Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Allison Krauss

3.  Awakening by Switchfoot

4.  On a Night Like This by Dave Barnes

5.  I'm Finding it Hard to be a Gentleman by The White Stripes

6.  Shame by Sister Hazel

7.  You and Your Heart by Jack Johnson

8.  The Bird and The Worm by Owl City

9.  From the Inside by Linkin Park

10.  These Exiled Years by Flogging Molly

11.  Just to Get High by Nickleback

12.  If it's Love by Train

13.  About a Girl by Nirvana

14.  Pride and Joy by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble

15.  Keep on Lovin' You by Steel Magnolia

Sporadic will be the state for awhile

It has been quite some time since I have posted, I know.  I hear it from time to time from those who had liked keeping up with pictures of the boys.  In truth, I haven’t taken any pictures to post.  I find myself exhausted all the time and when the time settles in the evening, any mental energy once used to plot the humor of my day onto paper was long since drained.  I have 12 hours finished for school and another six by December.  My work is still as demanding as it ever was but it is not a busy that I disdain.  I am tired from the stress and the stress itself I do not enjoy but the job is one that I love.  However, leaving work for a 4 hour class two nights a week wears thin after a few months.  Joshua is rounding out his first soccer season and the twice a week practices have been borne by John.  The two games a weekend proved to interrupt the time usually meant to capture the nothingness absent all week.  The house has descended into unmanageable clutter.  The joy of watching Joshy play has been the saving grace.  My only nights free are Tuesday and Wednesday and those often find themselves used for working late or accomplishing the few things that no longer find time elsewhere.  I have gone weeks without seeing the boys in the evenings and at the end of a long day, John and I sit and stare at one another with the resolution that he and I must power through as I will regret if I stop what I have started.  In the process of hiring a few new positions for my group, I realized that a college degree today is what a high school degree was 20 years ago and a master’s equivalent to undergrad.  Anyone without a master’s degree was screened out before they sent the batch of applicants for my review.  This year I had to fire my first employee.  He had a master’s degree and yet had none of the work ethic or enthusiasm I would hope for.  But that is when it sunk in.  He was green and slow to learn but his piece of paper would push him to the top of a pile, ahead of me, if we were fighting for the same stack.  And so it was decided that I would go back to school.  I wanted to protect my family if the worst were to happen and not end up at the bottom of every pile.  After these classes I will have whittled away my first six months of a two year run.  I can’t promise that you will hear much from me during this year and a half of remaining climb.  It will be sporadic and potentially uninteresting at best.  Still, I will try and put up pictures of the boys from time to time and rely on Jess to post pictures of the rest.  Like John in impromptu Kiss makeup and the boys gently holding Hadley as her head drops off to the side.  I love my boys.  They are kind and show me unending love.  I will do my best to continue to let you watch them grow.  It hits you in stages.  Ben is now potty trained and that trumpets the end of diapers.  For our lack of planning and consistency, it somehow still happened.  Joshy is starting to read.  Ben still belts out Soul Sister.  I don’t know that life is normal but it has found its rhythm for the time being.  And as I sit here, surrounded by comforter, computer in lap, sun speckling through the windows and the sound of two boy’s voices responding to the TV’s request for them to say “echo”, I am content.  A quote I stumbled onto a bit ago has become something I have held onto.  “Face reality, not as it was, not as you wish it were, but as it is”.  And “as it is” is not too bad and as always, for the part not preferred, this too shall pass.    

Shhhhhh

This morning, Joshua had reached the limit of "alone time" in his room after waking up and so called out "Mama" to let me know it was time for us to be awake.  Then, in a loud voice, I hear Ben yell from his doorway, "Don't wake Mama up...she is sleeping."  As I lay there groggily, all I could think to say was "Thank you Ben".  Nothing beats a two-year-old who's got your back.

Hadley Joy

Hadley Joy Owens is officially here and...sleeping. She is precious and while a healthy 7 pounds, feels so light and little. I just remember Ben, going on 8lbs, and feeling much more...dense. We saw her Thursday night in the hospital and she slept for all of the two hours we were there. Not even the noise from two rowdy boys stirred her. Ben was the first to want to hold "it". He sat in my dad's lap and I set her in his arms and his little head, unprompted, leans down towards Hadley's face and whispers, "I love you". It was such an unguarded moment that could barely be heard and melted my heart with adoration for my little boy, normally charging with Wolverine or leaping from something to his certain harm, sitting there so gentle and tender. We all had our turn to hold her, ending with John.  Joshey's biggest concern was Jessi and making sure she was okay.  She most definitely holds a special place his heart and when Ben was off to twirl in the privacy curtain, Joshy was cuddled up with her on the bed, not ready to go.  Jess and Ross are here in town through Thursday and after that, I start getting use from a Pike Pass in driving back and forth to Tulsa.  Joshy has already made me promise that we will go up and visits on some weekends.  I am so proud of the boys, they will make for dear cousins.  And I am so proud of my little sister who is now a mom.  It is so hard to believe but I have no doubt in her.  She will handle it with grace and grumpy exhaustion as we all do and Hadley will love her life with a mom who brings laughter into each room she enters.  Even the labor room, when aided by enough medicine.  Let's all say together "Percoset is our friend..."

Hello Ben...

New Segment: Dilbert of the Week

Joshua-ism #2

*after Joshy rubbed something wet on John's cheek*

"What was that?  Spit??"

"No."

"Water?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

"My mouth."

Update

I am happy to say that summer session is out, I am done with my first two classes AND...drum roll please...I got an A in each.  The timing of the class was most unfortunate because it coincided with the time I was down a person in my department and struggling to find a good fit for the job.  There are many a night when I wondered what I had been smoking when I decided this would be a good idea, but on the other side, both with school and with work (extended a job offer on Friday that was accepted), there is a renewal of will.  I know that my blogging has suffered in reliability but with 60 - 70 hour weeks on top of school, writing...well...anything falls to the bottom of the list.  The list falls to the bottom of the list.  It is survival mode, exhaustion and random spontaneous bursts of tears.  Last weekend everything culminated with 40 hours worked between Friday and Monday but this weekend I am home, thinking only minimally about work and more about how much crap I bought at Target.  *yells with fist in air* TARGET!!! 

As we head towards August, we head towards Joshy entering Kindergarten and us trying to figure out how to catch up on our 30 hours of volunteer time we are backlogged in owing the school.  I am planning yet again to start working out this Monday after an insane four months have left me greasy inside and 10 pounds heavier.  Isn't there some rule that says every 12 hour day demands a chocolate shake?  Sometimes it is easy to forget that Joshy is only 5 and when I am asked politely in the morning if he can play his DSi, I am reminded of what a good boy he really is.  He speaks so pragmatically to Benjamin that it cracks me up.  Instead of forcing him to do something, Joshy "convinces" him to do something through persuasion and I have started to wonder if that is the better or worse of the two.  Force Ben would eventually tire of but persuasion will have Ben doing all sorts of crazy things, thinking it was his own idea.  Ben loves his big brother and everything Joshy says or wants, we hear a two year old echo saying or wanting the same thing.  Getting to play in Joshy's room lights Ben up and no matter how much he mimics Joshy and follows him around, Joshy never seems to get aggravated.  All their fights are generally about toys or someone poking the other.  Stop touching me.  I'm not touching you...Joshy says with his hand a few inches from Ben's face.  Let's remember, this is the boy who at two, when told to not say no one more time, looked at me with fire in his eyes and mouthed the word NO in defiance without any actual sound coming out of his mouth.  Ben is different because as soon as he gets in trouble, there are instant apologies and I love yous gushing from his mouth.  Joshy is not going to apologize come hell or high water.  I have no idea what parent he inherited that from... *crickets sound while I look incredibly innocent* 

John is still working at the State and busy with changing staff and projects of his own.  He has been such a good sport with my work load leaving the boys much on his shoulders.  We have finally signed with a construction company to come fix the damage from the hail storm.  It amounts to a new roof, siding, windows and shutters.  Also something about air conditioning rudders and a roof for the shed.  Too bad insurance doesn't cover landscaping.  It wasn't damaged but is just out of control.  Our backyard is like a jungle and with each passing summer, increasingly hard to maintain.  We really need to invest in a swing set...but unfortunately my Target doesn't sell it...so its unlikely as a spontaneous buy. 

In the evenings John and I have taken up playing Modern Warfare 2 in the hopes to hone our skills and beat my coworker I have been talking smack to which I completely cannot back up.  I am so glad I am not the bar type because I would have long ago gotten myself killed.  I have become quite addicted to diet coke and at any moment, you can find 4 to 5 large sonic cups scattered about my office.  Add the ones I drink at night and I am fairly certain the coke has replaced my body's water.  That's me.  Blood, chub and diet coke.  Reminds me of a t-shirt I saw that I want to get.  "I drink diet coke so I can eat regular cake".  Amen to that brother.  Amen to that. 

Jessica is about to pop and while over yesterday afternoon was starting some heavy breathing from time to time.  I told her to get her butt home because I was not delivering her baby.  She was here picking up the computer that John had modified with new RAM and perhaps a processor.  They were also testing out skype and as I walked in from the store, all I see is my mom's head on John's computer talking.  I understand the point of video chat, but it is a little creepy when not specific to a conversation.  It is like a floating head or an "ignore the man behind the curtain".  The upside will be that Jess can see the boys and we can see Hadley more often than if it was only during trips to Tulsa or them to OKC.  Technology is crazy.  The other day I was driving to lunch and an old school rap song came on and I remembered buying it when it first came out on those cassette singles you could get for $3.00 with only the one song on it.  Making your own compilation tape involved waiting for the song to play on the radio and quickly hitting record.  Now you can just sit with no wires attached and download songs for $0.99 from outer space. 

I hope this ridiculously long post finds everyone else well.  I so wish I could see many of you more often. 

Take care, L

Big Boy Bed

This picture is sub par at best, taken in the pitch black with a phone BUT look at my baby sleeping for the first night in his big boy bed.  He has his Toy Story blanket and his Sleepy Sheepy (a cow we all now refer to as a sheep in lieu of arguing its species with him) and is sleeping as sweetly as ever.  My little men are growing up.

Target: How I love to hate thee...

I have decided that Target is a most dangerous place.  You walk in to get cleaning supplies and walk out with a toddler bed, two night stands, all new bedding and sheets, four pillows, a Toy Story throw, two pairs of shoes and a bottle of 409.  All it takes is one step inside and the black hole of Target Brand products taunt you with their name brand similarity and yet sensible pricing.  What is a comforter without a matching sham?  What is the perfect pillow case without a new pillow?  You roll down the center aisle gathering wall art and black baskets, picture frames and small decorative clocks.  To make it even easier, Target has thoughtfully put all the items you never knew you needed right on the end of each aisle, perfectly within arms reach.  Joshy recognized the red bulls eye of Target by the time he was a toddler and we would sit in the car each trip and practice reading the letters in the word Pharmacy or Market.  Target means icee.  Target means Starbucks.  Target means walk of shame into check-out nine with your overloaded basket of unplanned goods.  Still, it is okay Target tells you.  You'll find a way to afford this.  You'll see.  You're right, Target.  Who said you have to feed kids every night or clothe every part of them and if I don't get this particle board nightstand now, what if they are sold out when I come back or worse yet, replaced by something of better quality and durability for a higher price.  And so you check out and close your eyes as you swipe your card, pretending you didn't hear the dollar amount the clerk just said loud and clear.  And as he hands you the receipt that is half your height and with a smile says how you saved a total of seven dollars today, all you do is nod as you crumple it into your pocket and head towards your car to unload boxes into your trunk and back seat.  And as you drive away, Target's lure over you begins to fade and you realize what you have done yet again but then you think, those shams really will look good with my paint color...

Joshua-ism #1

Tonight John found some of the RCA plugs broken off in the tv and turning around, asked if the boys knew anything about it.  Immediately Joshy says "Ben did it" and points to him.  John looks at Joshy skeptically and says "Really?  Did you see him do it?" 

"No." 

"Then how do you know he did it?"

"I read his mind." 

DSi

Reuben has been actively wanting a DSi for the last few weeks.  He generally doesn't ask for specific things but the boys in his summer class have them and he has been playing Mario Kart with them for the past month.  I didn't really realize it until the day he came up to me and greeted me with "Hello, I'm(a) Luigi" in the voice familiar from my days with Mario Brothers 3.  So, today John bought him one and as soon as it was turned on, he knew exactly what to do.  In fact, I am watching him right now from across the hall plug in his charger and hook it up to the system.  He had run in a few minutes ago to show me that he had finished in "three".  When John tried to find the place to stick the stylus, Joshy told him that there was already one in there and that was the extra.  He is no n00b.  Yes John, that was for you.  And yes, that is an arrow on his forehead.  The Last Airbender toys have made it into Happy Meals and he is the Avatar.  Personally I would go with Water Bending but mostly because I really don't want to drown and that seems to negate the threat. 

Dear Queen...

After watching Young Victoria, I began to muddle about on the internet trying to find more information about her time as queen and stumbled onto this.

"You can write to Her Majesty at the following address:

Her Majesty the Queen

Buckingham Palace

London SW1A 1AA

If you wish to write a formal letter,  you can open with 'Madam' and close the letter with the form 'I have the honour to be, Madam, Your Majesty's humble and obedient servant'.

This traditional approach is by no means obligatory.  You should feel free to write in whatever style you feel comfortable."

I laughed and thought, I am so going to write the queen.  It made me wonder what people wrote about and then think about people who write fan letters to stars. I have never thought to write one but I wonder if anyone who reads this has. I dreamt once about writing Jennifer Anniston but that involved asking for $1mm. Some sort of pay it forward situation that conveniently involved the paying off of my mortgage and possibly something involving cows. I have this vision in my head of the star and their special room with their bags and bags of fan mail but I wonder how much people really receive. How would you even go about knowing where to send one?

Reese Witherspoon

Hollywood, CA

Is it like the bin in the post office for all the letters kids write to Santa?  Or Elvis?  Do you always get a signed picture back?  If so, John, we need to write Bob Barker.  I can't believe that you lost that picture in Dirty Santa.  One day my grandchildren will look up and say to me, "Grandma, why do we spay and neuter our pets?" and I will say, "Bob Barker, sweetie.  Bob Barker" as I lift my hand and extend my arthritic finger towards the picture.  I know, I know, but it really is my own fault for popping my knuckles. 

You know you are married to a computer nerd...

...if you are woken up to your husband excitedly telling you that he has found a way to hack the iPhone to accept any carrier.

...when half of your extended family have his cell phone on speed dial for any and all computer issues they encounter.

...when you have a closet so full of piece meal computer parts that, if B movies turn out to be true, they could rise up and take out most of the city.

...if you know what Linux is and how to partition a computer to operate it along with standard windows.

...when you can watch Big Bang and understand ALL of the references. 

...when you have had a conversation with him from two rooms in the same house via instant messenger.

...if you knowing how to work command prompt is "hot".

...if he can solder a computer together in under 5 minutes but fixes a car door with a package of pledge wipes.

...if his defense for arguments is "he read it on the internet". 

...when your children learned what a mechanic was by playing one in a FPS.

...when you know the term FPS.

...when you have a life full of so many wonderfully weird and perfectly happy days where you never know what is going to come along next but are sure whatever it is will be modified or enhanced until it never works again.

I'm on a boat

The reunion officially starts each year with the Saturday morning pontoon boat on Greenleaf lake. This year was a year of fishing and the most successful yet. We caught four fish total (2 of which were caught by me, who will be referred to as Master Angler from here on out). Luckily though, Master Anglers are not required to remove their own fish from hooks. Catching and touching are two different skill sets altogether.

The boat is a mixed bag for John Nathan. While, like the rest of us, he enjoys the time out on the lake, his fear of the "scareball" tends to counteract said joy. He puts on 4 different layers of sunscreen in most instances and this year in a last minute "I ain't playin'" move, he went for the umbrella. All this time I have been getting him computer games for his birthday and should have been investing in parasols...

(Like father like son)

(Hadley's first pontoon ride)

(Mom taking a page out of Jess's book and self taking a pic of her and dad)

(I LOVE this smile)

(But all that excitement wears a boy out.)

As we approached the sun's peak, we decided it was time to jump in and cool off. The water was the perfect temperature but without an anchor on the boat, we found ourselves playing a little bit of catchup everytime it started to float away. Due to the migration, we eventually ended up closer to shore and with shore comes plants. At one point they had grown so thick that we needed to drive the boat with swimmers hanging on to get out of the marshy area. The entire time Jess and Joshy are screaming from the plants up around their legs. Jess is hanging on to John's neck, keeping herself afloat by pushing John under. He is trying to hang on to the boat to not get left behind, I am trying to drive slow enough to not leave any collateral damage in my wake. You wouldn't think some water plants could create so much drama but that's easy for the Master Angler to say now. Put me back in the water with the leafy tendrils and I am freaking out all the same. Seriously, it is just gross.

(Reason #102 why it is a bad idea to take a dog scared of the water into the lake with you.)

(Here is the problem. What goes in....must come out...)

One of the best things is looking back and seeing how much the boys have grown. Hard to believe the different three years makes.

Joshy

2010

2009

2008

Ben

2010

2009

2008

As the last requirement of any day on the boat, we wrapped up the journey by getting stuck in the sand. The boys watched as papa walked along the sand bar to try and formulate how we planned to get outselves out. When in a boat, waste deep water is generally not a great thing.

Not to take away the suspense, but between Ross and Dad, they got us going and unlodged from the sand. The rest of us pitched in by...doing nothing. Do I feel bad, you ask. Not really. That is why there is social order. Master Angler at the top and then pretty much everyone else. Yah servents...yah.