one person's trash

My kids are treasure hunters. Not that their treasures are worth much in terms of money. My boys' treasures can be found wherever we go. Most of the time they're on the ground, hidden under clothes rounders, in those dark and dusty places we'd just as soon not think about let alone come in contact with.

Over the years they have made laundry an event that helps me figure out all the different places they've been. We're talking the colored size-indicators from store clothing hangers, nuts and bolts with or w/o rust, anything metal and weapon-worthy, rocks are highly valued, empty bullet casings (not sure where they find these), bottlecaps, paperclips, rubber bands, pinecones. One particularly horrifying find was during a walk and one of my innocent little guys excitedly brought something over to me asking what it was: a used tampon applicator. Gag! I completely freaked out, like he was going to be electrocuted until he tossed it back on the ground. Can't some people secure their garbage please? And now I was having to come up with a creative way to explain my crazed disgust to my little boy. Explain tampon to an innocent, please.

raindrops on roses

and these are a few of my favorite things....

Last week Jake learned to ride his bike. This would have happened earlier except that he has a lame mom who kept procrastinating this rite of passage due her 6-year-old. I will say that there is an unexpected benefit to delaying: if you do, your kid will learn in about 10 minutes. You'll think your kid's a genius and parental effort is utterly minimal. All of you out there learn from this and stop those shenanigans of holding on to your squealing 4-year-old's bike seat. Just delay and redirect until they're 6 and can take the training wheels off themselves.

Ava has discovered Barbie movies (shudder). Swan Lake and Nutcracker are among her favorites. It's nice to hear Tchaikovsky coming from the living room as consolation. But even more than that I love to see her dance. She has discovered the barefoot contortion of simulating dancing on point in nothing but her princess undies. I love to see her face crumpled up in confusion about why she can't stand 100% upright on those little piggies and watch her round little belly stick out with the effort. Now we get to hear things like: I've got to dance. (and suddenly she's up from the dinner table answering some silent and very urgent invitation to express herself); will you dance with me? (anyone will do); I need to dance. And I think she really does.

Last night she caught the last few minutes of Dancing with the Stars with me. I looked over and saw that she was giving it her best shot, waving arms, lifting legs, dressed up in her monstrous Princess Aurora dress and sparkly red Dorothy shoes two sizes too big. I liked her outfit better, too. At least there's no danger of body parts falling out unexpectedly.

Speaking of raindrops on roses, it is the favorite bedtime song in our house right now. Thanks to homegrown renditions of The Sound of Music performed by the Bolen and Greenan kids I know all of the words. It's great.

thank you, sir

which is what you must say after your karate teacher (called Shihan, for his rank) orders you to do 20 pushups.  The idea being that the pushups make you stronger, and you're grateful for the opportunity.  The pushups are the first activity in the ceremony to advance in rank.  The higher the rank, the more rigorous the physical requirement at the advancement ceremony -- on the day a person gets their black belt they run 5 miles and then do 100 pushups and 100 situps at the beginning of the ceremony.  Wimps not invited.

We found the greatest karate school!  After a few years of being asked if they could take karate, the boys saw their cousin Gabe do some of his karate moves and that was it.  That was the final straw.  There was no more asking.  It had to happen.

Does anyone know how much money it costs to have one kid do karate, let alone 3?  It's mind boggling.  I started searching because I was finally convinced that the boys REALLY wanted this.  But I wanted a good studio and good instruction.  We have found the perfect place.  Matt and I call it the Mr. Miagi studio.  It's not flashy and doesn't hand out advancements in rank according to a schedule or even very frequently, for that matter.  The students really earn them.  They are taught by instructors who love what they're doing, are experts at it many times over, and worked really hard themselves to get to where they are.

I love it because this school doesn't just tow the karate line that the kids have to keep up their good behavior outside of school, they actually check to make sure it's happening.  When a student is ready to advance, the school schedules a meeting with the parents where the parent has the opportunity to rat their kid out.  Whoa!  I see opportunities with this.

I am so happy to see how happy the boys are.  Each one loves it and they're good at it.  Really, they've been halfway trained in karate their whole lives with natural boy wrestling and the lightsaber fighting they were raised on from infancy.

This week Zach, Spence, and Jake each got their first advancement.  Gold belt is next and weapons training.  I can't help it, I get excited for them!

(I can't load the pictures!  Ugh, I'm working on it.)

fudge

I love fall. I love fall. I love fall.

I thoroughly enjoyed September, that happy, anticipatory slide into the busiest, best time of year. Three months of built-in parties, one after the other. It can't get better than that.

To kick it off, we made Halloween candy fudge tonight. While I can't say I love the fudge recipe (that ca

n be fixed), the candy part is GENIUS. And it can be tinkered with to celebrate any occasion or just for yumminess.

It started with a cream cheese/white chocolate sludge we'll call "fudge" -- use your own recipe here -- and mix in some pretzels and dried cherries (much better than craisins, perfectly tart, perfectly sweet). Plop that mess into a parchment-lined 8-inch baking dish and flatten with greased hands. Cover the top with

Halloween candy (we used a random mix from those big bins at the grocery store), pushing do

wn on the candy to embed in the fudge.

Put the whole thing in the refrigerator for a couple hours or until firm enough to cut through the candy without losing its shape.

I had to hold myself back from adding sour gummy worms

and Rips and gummy bears, Nerds or Junior Mints. I'll admit that when it comes to candy and celebrating and Halloween I revert embarassingly to my childhood. I have been known to request that my tired kids keep trick or treating longer, until they "have enough candy." I really don't hoard it all for myself, I just like celebrating this wondrous holiday when you can knock on someone's door and they hand you CANDY! I'm sure this craze goes back to the sugar deprivation of my youth.

Now that I think about it, sugar and I do have early beginnings. In 4th grade I "went" with my first boy ever, as in an agreement that you like each other, so you feel special, but you aren't required to otherwise associate. I was too shy to actually talk to him

much. Well, his parents owned a candy factory. It was fate, I'm sure. Our class toured it.

I was a kid made for Willy Wonka. I still like touring our local candy factory and staring up at the pipes running along the ceiling labeled SUGAR and CHOCOLATE. So much better than WATER or NATURAL GAS. Makes you feel ooey and gooey inside. Like you're in a place where anything is possible. I mean, if they have sugar and chocolate running through their pipes, there must be oompa loompas under the tables or something.

Anyway, just get yourself a good, solid fudge recipe: white or dark or milk or whatever, or even just plain good quality chocolate. Mix in the good stuff and let it get firm (or harden if you're using straight chocolate). I actually like the chocolate idea. We'll try that next.

it's june and they're all growing up

(Yep, it's July, but I'm catching up)

My boy turned 13 in June. I can't believe it. Isn't he an adorable teenager? I can't believe we're there already. I get him mixed up with his dad when I hear him talk from another room! Love you Z!

He asked for steak, sweet potatoes, and caesar salad--and cheesecake of course.

At the end of the school year Spence was chosen to be part of the 1st Muir 4th grade decathlon team which competed against other 4th graders in the district. There they are in the Leo Lion red.

Jake has to be the most enthusiastic cub scout around. He literally couldn't wait to get started checking things off after he turned 8. I was not fast enough in getting his scout book to suit him. I put up a note for myself, but he wasn't happy until he'd repositioned it right in front of my face. He's right, that's pretty much where I need it.

He began bringing his scout book with him wherever he went and had finished his bobcat and half of his wolf in one day. I'm trying to love scouting. I am. Having a kid like Jake makes it easier to love.

Here he is at his first big scout activity. They had a Grand Prix with homemade cars. See how he ran so hard he broke a sweat? They were serious about winning.

Ava Jane graduated. How did we get here, too? This girl is dying to get herself to kindergarten. She looked forward to her shots at the doctor and took them in stride like she was checking hurdles off her list.

Now she knows there's nothing left to check off except the glorious days of summer. Being 5 is good.

Reciting the pledge of allegiance.

Officially done!

a rose by any other name

one of a class of cute little roses in the grand production of Romeo and Juliet....

I thought it was hilarious that she remembered getting flowers last year and checked to make sure she would be getting some this year, too

rolie polies move on one more generation

Zach can make rolie polies, just like his mom, just like his grandma. These are crepes, or Norwegian pancakes, or whatever you want to call them, and they're not easy, even when you've made them a lot.

Zach had to make the recipe at home as part of a class at school, document it with pictures, and report back via email to the teacher. I showed him how on the first one and he finished the rest of the batter--no burning (of him or the crepes), throw-aways, or any hesitation at all. He got the technique, the swirl of the batter in the pan, and figured out how to avoid cooking a crepe with holes (a problem with your swirl technique). And he even shared his stash with the other kids for breakfast.

I am impressed!

halloween happiness

We settled down one pre-Halloween eve to carve pumpkins and watch The Nightmare Before Christmas, our yearly tradition.

Matt directed everyone to begin with a plan. Between bites of mud pie left over from Spencer's

birthday we drew our jack-o-lantern faces.

I had fun watching everyone get sticky with pumpkin slime, and Matt helped create our family's first princess pumpkin.

Zach's is the only pumpkin that survived our neighborhood delinquents. We were visited two nights in a row, kind of like we were a pumpkin patch for thieves. But moderate thieves who just took a few at a time and finished the job off by ripping out one of our porch zombie's eyes and tossing it in the dirt.

Just so you know, you little snot-nosed thugs, you crushed a little 4-year-old girl's Halloween dreams. Throughout the day she would suddenly burst into tears and say, "Why did someone take my princess pumpkin?" And it was a cute princess pumpkin, you little turds.

My friend Annemarie was visited by very thorough pumpkin thieves who completely cleaned off their porch. She and I regrouped, went and bought more pumpkins, and had a carving party with all the kids in her front yard. (Thanks Annemarie!) We both highly recommend doing this activity outside. This time I helped get into the pumpkin slime.

I will post a picture of Spencer's 3rd try pumpkin. After much effort and an internet search, it's the only one that passed his high standards. But he had fun smashing the other ones in our backyard. Then Gia ate from the pile and I got to clean up her barf later. Luckily small dogs equal small barfs. It was worth it for Spence to come up with pumpkin perfection. Congrats bud.

party like you're not the old lady at the concert

What I really mean is that at the Maroon 5 concert in Seattle last week my friend Melissa and I were the same age as the old people were at concerts when we were in high school. Actually, we fit in pretty well with all the other old people at this concert--there were many. I don't think kids go to concerts anymore. I'm not sure what they do. But I think it's sad if it's true. As soon as I got home I did a search to see if there was a concert in Utah I could take my kids to. They need to experience it.

Even though I wasn't a huge concert go-er growing up I have great memories of many "firsts" in my life that came along by way of a concert; the list has turned out to be a chronicle of my life (or maybe personality?) in minature. Here are a few:

My first concert ever: Prince, Lovesexy tour, Paris! (that alone changed my adolescent life)

Check out a ticket stub from that tour--amazing:

Actually my real first concert (I was in second grade): Neil Diamond (the green lasers made quite an impression--I brought this journey full circle when I saw Anne Murray perform in my 20s--If only I'd made it to see Olivia Newton John the representation of my early musical foundation would be complete.

My first date with my husband: Aztec Camera, UT -I was 17 and he was about to turn 19. I thought he was supercool for taking me to a concert.

Coming home from this concert was my first and only time getting pulled over for going too slow (I can't believe I admitted to this): BonJovi, CA

First concert my sister and I pushed and shoved our way up to the metal gates separating the band from crazy people in the pit: Bon Jovi, Vienna (half of our group went to Vivaldi Four Seasons at the Vienna Opera House. Hmmm, I'm still glad we chose different.) It's also the only concert where they opened the gates and we made a life threatening run in a stampede all the way across a baseball field the size of Candlestick Park to get a good spot. Woohoo!

First concert I was singled out by the lead singer for being the only one in the front standing virtually still: The Cult, KS - I'm painfully inhibited when it comes to dancing - I've been known to hide for hours when faced with dancing in public, but that's another story.

First concert I had a ticket to but wasn't allowed in (forgot my ID): Echo and the Bunnymen, UT - that really sucked, at least I got to hang out with my friend Courtney while my husband and our friends Jack and Jaime were at the concert. I am lame.

First concert I've been to as an old person: Maroon5, WA - I'm not sure when I crossed over into old person territory, but there it is. Melissa, please save that video of yours. The screaming of that crazed fan is priceless.

ladies and gentlemen, secure your hams

As we age, I think it's natural for the holidays to lose just a bit of their child-like magic. I don't mean to say that it isn't a great, happy, beautiful time, but with access to the Playbook, we adults now have to juggle both perspectives. We have to choose to take part in the Christmas pixie dust so to speak.

I think I'm good with that. I mean, I can scurry quickly away from the parking lot scene of two Christmas shoppers exchanging merry F-YOUs and throw myself headlong into the toy aisle for comfort.

I can pretend I didn't hear hissing and swearing from two Christmas hopefuls in the first 15 minutes of their black Friday extravaganza at Target. Merry Christmas...it's going to be okay. Those chicks need a serious dose of figgy pudding or something, but I can hum a really loud Christmas symphony in my head and concentrate on candy canes.

But when I walked into my friendly ham store to pick up the main act for Christmas dinner this week and there was a security guard at the door packing a loaded pistol on his belt, my mental Christmas music came to a screeching, clanging halt. Okay, so I was in West Valley, but we're talking the strip mall part, not the hood. No need to shoot, sir, I just want a ham and I'll be on my way.

Unbeknownst to me, these ham sellers know that actually waiting in line for something like a ham is for some people like putting their Christmas spirit straight into a juicer (even saying the word ham makes you think you need to come up with a joke or something, not devote an hour of your life to getting one). And in West Valley it requires loaded weapons to protect the hams and other innocent bystanders.

But count me one of the innocent bystanders...I was dumb to this yule-tide secret. I settled down for my long winter's wait in the warmth of the ham store while holding my 3 year old - who is too old to be held for long periods, but my Christmas spirit had not yet met the juicer, however alarmed I was to see the pistol-toting uniform a few feet away.

Several minutes went by before I was tapped on the back and turned to find myself directly in the firestorm of an irate ham shopper. Where is Mr. Indiana Jones Security Guard when I need him? Evidently I had unknowingly entered the store without first winding my way through the line in the tent outside the store - in the snow storm that was going on I had barely noticed the tent on my way in, hadn't even looked inside. It was too darn cold to figure out what those crazies headed into the tent were doing. I'll take my ham in the warm store, thanks.

I was so shocked by what was happening that I found myself weirdly focused on the fact that my accoster was wearing hearing aids on both ears. Could he hear me? Wait, what did that matter? I had yet to utter a peep. He, however, was going to town just fine. Still, the double hearing aids and the bellowing attack were incongruous. I was off my mark, on the losing end of this holiday battle. Where was my freaking security guard? Sir, can you at least wave your pistol around a bit to deter this madman? I need to get back to waiting for my delicious ham. And really, I'm holding my little girl who albeit is protected by a solid armor of Christmas cheer and magic sugar plums, but still, she doesn't know about the jolly business of Christmas F-YOUs and I feared we were quickly headed in that direction.

I lamely sputtered that I had no idea there was an outside line meant to be endured before the lovely inside line. I think the appropriate thing to have said, what they are used to in this particular ham store, is a healthy, full-lung shout of F&*% YOU, FREAKY HAM MAN! Back off!! That must be what the guy heard in his head because my startled and lowly explanation garnered no sympathy. He merely kept stride and hollered more searing insults. I think I saw some spit take to the air.

Maybe if I'd shopped in this lady's costume he'd have remembered his Christmas spirit

Thinking back, I can't remember when he left my field of vision. All I know is that he was there and then he was gone, like a dirty little Christmas tornado. Later I looked for him; he wasn't in front of me or behind me. Tragically, at the moment of greatest need, my verbal gears had gotten supremely stuck. I was wrestling with what exactly to say, the fighter in me ready to link arms with Ava and physically take the guy down, or at least lash out with something acid and beastly. Sadly my life in times like these (which thankfully are not many) runs on a 5 minute delay. By the time I had found my rightful place in the poorly-marked outside tent, my defense gears were running like a well-oiled machine. Oh, if only he'd been winding around that annoying little tent with me.

No, he was gone, like an evil apparition. I have had the thought, Was he way ahead in line when I came in and had his little run-in with me on his way out? If that was the case how could he have mustered so much venom if I hadn't infringed on his personal ham-waiting time? I wonder if he thought of me while eating his precious time-bought ham this year. What does a person like that think of during Christmas at all? Though it shouldn't bear much thinking, it is an interesting question. I wonder if this is a Christmas tradition for him, waiting in the corner of the ham store out of sight of the useless security guard, arms loaded with purchased pork and pies, ready to pounce on the first person who makes the sensible decision to buy her ham in warmth, and then disappear into the snowy afternoon?

I found out that they don't have armed guards at this company's other ham stores. I bet this guy has made the West Valley store what it is. Next year I may have to buy my ham in Provo. I wonder what the security guard tells his friends and family. That he stood brave guard at the ham store?

maleficent 's in the house

Ava's not the only thing going on....just all that we blog about lately.

thought we needed to post a bit about maleficent's first preschool halloween party. one of my all-time favorite costumes. half-homemade, because out there the don't believe littler pricesses can turn to the dark side. that's only because they haven't visited our house.

I love 'Leficent, as she calls herself, with her backpack on waiting for the carpool.

sturdy as heartwood and I didn't even know it

Yesterday marked the first day of preschool, but a runny nose and general down-in-the-dumpness made today Ava's first day. Given her refusal to leave the house yesterday morning I was amazed when she got herself dressed and matter of factly notified me that she needed her backpack. She marched into her room and got it, we put on her shoes, and the girl was ready to go.

At that moment, this moment I had been dreaming of, I suddenly didn't want to give her up. What am I thinking? Of course I want to give her up! I've been plotting and planning for this wee smidgen of free time since I don't know when. How could I be hedging now? Oh, but a part of me definitely was.

I expected to have to gently pry her little fingers from my arm, wipe away a tear or two, and extol the many merits of preschool before zipping away (of course not when her innocent little back was turned, silly). She's pulled the rug out from under me with this wanting to go. At least she asked me to stay and watch her at the door for a minute. We blew kisses and signed I love you and then she was on her own. This mini thunderstorm of a girl who's own hip bones didn't measure wider than 3 inches when she was born went and did the hokey pokey with a group of strangers today.

So, Miss Diana Gabaldon, your sentiments perfectly sum up a day like today:

"Babies are soft. Anyone looking at them can see the tender, fragile skin and know it for the rose-leaf softness that invites a finger's touch. But when you live with them and love them, you feel the softness going inward, the round-cheeked flesh wobbly as custard, the boneless splay of the tiny hands. Their joints are melted rubber, and even when you kiss them hard, in the passion of loving their existence, your lips sink down and seem never to find bone. Holding them against you, they melt and mold, as though they might at any moment flow back into your body.

But from the very start, there is that small streak of steel within each child. That thing that says "I am," and forms the core of personality.

In the second year, the bone hardens and the child stands upright, skull wide and solid, a helmet protecting the softness within. And "I am " grows, too. Looking at them, you can almost see it, sturdy as heartwood, glowing through the translucent flesh.

The bones of the face emerge at six, and the soul within is fixed at seven. The process of encapsulation goes on, to reach its peak in the glossy shell of adolescence, when all softness then is hidden under the nacreous layers of the multiple new personalities that teenagers try on to guard themselves.

In the next years, the hardening spreads from the center, as one finds and fixes the facets of the soul, until "I am" is set,

delicate and detailed as an insect in amber."

free association, scripture-style

Being the off-spring of a child psychologist, our kids will never be short of intriguing childhood stories to tell. Were it not for the risk of ruining the mood, I would have taken pictures of our family home evening the other night. Instead, you can picture this: each kid sitting cross-legged, eyes closed. Instructed to clear their minds. Each in turn are given a prompt and told to spit out the first thing that comes to their minds. in other words: free association.

Our oldest, in a deft attempt at earning obedience points said, "Joseph Smith" when prompted with Book of Mormon. The other kids were more conscientious about showing their true free-associating colors. Try 2,000 stripling warriors --> I'm thinking General Grievous, how about you? or how about Heavenly Father ---> if you're a 3-year-old girl then it's pretty much Barbie and the Diamond Castle no matter what, or Aurora.

However fruitless it might feel at first, do try this little activity because the kids catch on and it's fun to see what's on their little minds regardless. Plus, they think it's loads of fun and had to be forced to stop. And as a measure of success it's always good to end on a high note.

will work for food

I will describe the fathers day celebration at our house by giving you a walkthrough of our menu. Divine is the best word. A great tribute to the daddy of the house who works so hard and does so much.

Breakfast in bed was served (I think the kids are more excited about doing this than anything else): European-style rice pudding (cooked without eggs or sugar) with freshly-made warm strawberry jam swirled on top and just a pinch of sugar and butter.

After church we had the Spanglish sandwich. You have not lived until this has crossed your lips. We changed it up by marinating the tomatoes in balsamic and including sliced avocados. So, it is as follows: toasted good french bread, jack or havarti cheese, mayo, lettuce, avocados, marinated tomatoes, soft-cooked fried egg, bacon, and there you have it. Most amazing to behold. Watch the movie just to see him make the thing. And we had Brazilian limeade with some strawberries thrown in for good measure.

Matt requested something with ice cream for dessert, so this is what we came up with:

Frozen hot chocolate with a big scoop of sweet cream ice cream from Cold Stone and chewy double chocolate cookies.

No hours of slaving in the kitchen. We could actually enjoy the day together and played soccer at the park to burn a little of it off until we couldn't see the ball anymore because it got dark.

And I also might mention that since I had things I couldn't get out of at church, Matt stayed home from to tend the son with the flu and meanwhile cleaned the house, ran two loads of dishes through the dishwasher, vacuumed, and washed a couple loads of laundry. Yeah, I have it good. Happy father's day Matt! We love you.