Where's My Alice? -In a Nutshell

One Less Way to Die

Kids are dangerous. I think they should come with a warning label for their potential level of danger and mayhem. Maybe on the DEFCON scale or something. Some kids would just be at DEFCON-1. Those are the kids who may throw their bowl of applesauce off the high chair tray once or twice and maybe occasionally poop in the bathtub. (Yes, that happens.) I'm thinking of Valenzoo's children here, and you, Dharma. ThePinkiest(5) was once in this category but she was upgraded last year to DEFCON-4.

DEFCON-2 are your kids who don't get themselves into trouble but if left there, will continue to roll off the bed hoping that this time gravity will not exist, even though they have tested this theory 500 times to date and are old enough to retain the results of all their previous experiments. [LittleMommy(9)]

DEFCON-3 are the kids who think they are invincible or that they have super powers. I'm talking specifically about Mr.Yuke(4) here. Did I ever blog about the time he thought he actually WAS Superman? If I did, I apologize for repeating it here.

This is what happened. The boys all share a room. Bubba(7) has the top bunk, a twin. Mr.Yuke(4) has the bottom bunk, a double. Across the room a few feet is MonsterTruck's(3) bed, a toddler. Well, Mr.Yuke had on his new Superman jammies and he was sure that those pj's were all he needed to attain all the powers of Krypton. He decided the best way to test his power would be with flight. Specifically, he would fly from a standing position on MonsterTruck's(3) bed UP TO Bubba's(7) bed. Really, as far as SuperHero flight patterns go, this really was a small and easily attainable first attempt. Well, he made the leap, fell short of his goal (the top bunk), and SMACKED his head on the metal edge of the bottom bunk. Ever seen a headwound? Yeah, they're messy. So after slowing down the bleeding I ascertained that Mr.Yuke(4)-(then 3) was going to need several stitches. I took him to the emergency room- and here is the part where he warrants the DEFCON-3 rating as opposed to just the accident-prone DEFCON-2: As the doctor was stitching him up, asking him all those slightly insinuating/accusatory questions to make sure the parent didn't just make up a phony Superman story and actually bludgeon him with a blunt object, the doc says, "So you can't really fly, huh? (Then with confidence and somewhat in the tone of a gameshow host-) Well, you're not going to try that again are you?" Mr.Yuke's(4) answer? "Well, I fink it's because I didn't have my cape on. You need your cape to fly. I need to try it again WITH my cape." The doctor didn't even know what to say to that. He just gave me a look that said, "I pity you."

DEFCON-4: These are the kids who learn to open the child safety locks and pill bottles when they are 7 months old. They have advanced motor skills so many of them are also climbers and escape artists. MonsterTruck(3) falls into this category. I've mentioned before that we have called Poison Control more times for that kid than all the other kids put together. UPDATE: Since that post, we've called Poison Control four more times. He is just bent on killing himself, ok? DEFCON-4 kids are also the ones who are the evil genius masterminds behind all the naughtiness that takes place in a given household. This is where ThePinkiest(5) fits in. Last week when I posted the In A Word meme tag, it was because I needed a few days to find the humor in her latest scheme. It was still too fresh to be funny. Here is what happened.

I mentioned I'm clueless, right? Well, in spite of past experience, I left an open bag of flour in the kitchen overnight. [I guess that makes me a DEFCON-2 : )] ThePinkiest(5) and Mr.Yuke(4) discovered it the next day while I was upstairs laying down with Kryptonite(1). We were both just recovering from some sort of flu bug that was pretty nasty and we were plain dog tired. I heard the two of them downstairs laughing their maniacal laughter- and really, if I had been on top of my game instead of in a sick-induced stupor, I probably would have realized from the sound of that laughter that something insidious was taking place and would have put a stop to it before it escalated to where it did. But my pregnancy brain was not functioning at that Supermom level so I missed my cue for intervention. The first clue I got that something was not right was when MonsterTruck(3) came upstairs with white hair and said, "Mo-om. ThePinkiest(5) and Mr.Yuke(4) are pwaying wif duh fwower." I sent him to the shower and spent the next several minutes trying to work up the energy to go downstairs and see what the extent of the mess was. Now, the next part is unclear but from what I could gather it went like this: There had been a flour fight where handfulls of flour were thrown around (about 20 pounds worth, give or take). Then someone looked around and realized that they were going to be in BIG trouble so they decided they better clean it up. I think this must be the point when they added the water (about 2 gallons worth, all over the kitchen floor). At least I think they were using the water to clean it up with. I was a little too ballistic to gather accurate details at the time. You know what you get when you mix flour and water, right? Yep. They paper mache`d my entire kitchen floor. And then tried to sweep up the goo up with the broom. Oh- by the way, Lowe's has an excellent broom selection, just FYI. So I was exhausted, angry, still not feeling all that well, and was NOT under any circumstances going to get my pregnant self on my hands and knees to clean up that mess. I supplied the two of them with scrapers and later rags, and allowed them the joy of cleaning up their fun. ThePinkiest(5) actually said to me after about ten minutes of scraping, "It's NOT FAIR that WE have to clean up this mess." HA! MyBeautiful put it best when she said, "It's not fair. WE already spent FIFTEEN minutes making this mess. We shouldn't have to clean it up too." Things like this are why ThePinkiest(5) is permanently at DEFCON-4. That night I left the minute Husband came home and went to a movie with Smunchie and MyOtherMother. Husband is good like that. Sometimes it's necessary to leave your children for a short while in order to love them properly when you come back. We saw BabyMama. It was WAY better than the previews made it look.

DEFCON-5 is reserved for kids who bring drugs into the house and act violently against their family members. We don't have any of those. Knock on wood.

Kryptonite(1) has been a DEFCON-1 kid since she was born. I call that "the tender mercies of the Lord". She is easy and low-maintenance. She has only had two or three minor accidents in a year and she learned quickly from all of them. This week she learned two new things. She has expanded her vocabulary from "No" to "No" and "Hi!". And she learned to crawl down the stairs!!! (Insert angelic choir and applause here.) I am ecstatic. One less way to die. Now if I could just get her to stop playing in the potty every time someone forgets to close the bathroom door upon exiting the restroom, we'd be good. Because let's face it, the only thing worse than your baby drowning, is your baby drowning in pee-water from a toilet that was left unflushed by an older sibling. WHY can't they flush the toilet?! WHY? I just don't get it.

Family: Isn't It About... MINE?

Ever heard of the Toddler Rules of Acquisition? It's a paraody on (I cringe as I type this-) the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition. (Deep Space Nine. A moment of silence for my dignity.) Anyway, the Toddler Rules of Acquistion are as follows:

1. If I like it, it's mine.
2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.
4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
5. If it's mine, it must NEVER appear to be yours in any way.
6. If I'm doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks just like mine, it is mine.
8. If I saw it first, it's mine.
9. If you are playing with something and you put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
10. If it's broken, it's yours.

I've always liked that and found quite a lot of truth in it. I was reminded of The Rules recently when MonsterTruck(3) had his birthday. Husband asked him what he would like for a present and without hesitation he anwered, "A lightsaber that is MINE." Poor kid. In early childhood development they will tell you that the reason toddlers are so possessive is because their identity is tied to their belongings. Well, lucky for us he seems pretty well-adjusted because the boy has got nothin'. We have EVERY SINGLE TOY in that famous toy chain worth having at this house. This last Christmas there was nothing in that ENTIRE store that my kids wanted. We did three laps. I'm not kidding. But the problem is, the toys at our house all have owners. The children all share, of course, but when it comes down to it, at the end of the day, those toys belong to individuals. Of which MonsterTruck(3) is apparently not one.

We were more than happy to accomodate his wish for his own light saber. We threw in a Thomas train as well since those all belong to Bubba(7) and Mr.Yuke(4). MonsterTruck(3) was ECSTATIC. He has walked around with a light saber strapped to his underwear every day since then. (Don't ask me where his pants are. All I know is that I put them on him and then they are gone.) Incidentally, underwear doesn't really hold the weight of a light saber very efficiently....

So we got him presents. He was happy. Mr.Yuke(4) was not. Because trains are HIS, see? And so us giving one to MonsterTruck(3) is really quite unacceptable. And why doesn't MR.YUKE(3) have that particular engine? And it's not fair.

There are a lot of things in family life that belong to us. I have realized that although the idea that everything is mine starts in toddlerhood, it really stays with us our whole lives. There is the ever-so-trying period of life from 7-ish to I-don't-know-when that girls think everything in the house is part of their domain and therefore fair game. Like scissors and masking tape and lip gloss. (THOSE ARE MINE.) And computer paper. (HUSBAND'S) And brownie mixes. And....

It's not all possessiveness though. My children are sometimes very generous with their things. Like when I say clean up your room and they all say that those clothes on the floor belong to their beloved sister/brother who they share a room with. It is just really so kind they way they give up their stuff like that. Warms a mother's heart. Or temper- one of those. : )

They are also very generous with fault. Blame is something that is never anyone's "MINE". It is ALWAYS someone else's. The floor must truly bleed jelly. It is the only logical explanation.

We continue the compulsion to claim what is ours even into adulthood. Show me one woman in this country who has given birth who has not at some point or other felt compelled to tell all about their labor and delivery- in detail. I am telling you, she doesn't exist. We all want credit for what is OURS. Even if it's blood, sweat, and tears. Especially if.

We judge comments we hear from others based on our experience. "Yes, that's true with MINE." or "Not with MINE." I recently went to a class on holding effective Family Home Evenings where the teacher (whose lesson was great, by the way) made a comment to the effect of "Your kids idolize you. They want to be you. There is no one they admire more." Forgetting temporarily that her children are 2 and 7 months or something like that, all I could think was, "Are you INSANE? Not MINE." But she does not have a pre-pubescent daughter at the moment. She was teaching from HER perspective. And I was hearing from MINE.

Everywhere I go people are always asking me, "Are these all YOURS?" I have yet to come up with the perfect snarky comeback to that but really? If you had three or four kids, would you round up three MORE to do a little grocery shopping with? Yes. They are all mine- which brings me back to MonsterTruck(3).

A few days after his birthday, he was laying on my bed, looking up at the wall where all the family pictures are. He said, "There's Gwanny, and Gwamma, and Gwampa, and Daddy, and Mommy, and LittleMommy(9), and Bubba(7), and Mr. Yuke(4), and Kryptonite(1), and ThePinkiest(5), and MoneyBags, and Sumping.... Those is MY PEOPLE." Looks like he had something to identify himself with before the light saber after all.

Yeah. Those IS my people. That's who I am. And I'm so glad they're MINE.

Modern Art

Ode on a Monster Truck

"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter"

Crash of the Monster Truck- The boy goes full-speed without ever stopping to rest until his body can't handle it anymore and then the MonsterTruck(2) crashes. Wherever he happens to be at the time. Like in front of the refrigerator.

"Ah, happy, happy boughs!"

Yes, MonsterTruck(2) is happy. For this is one of his recent art projects. I call it- The Boon of Easter-Sunday Parental Napping: A Study In Chocolate

"Who are these coming to the sacrifice?"

That would be me. This is another recent art project. I call it-

Fingerpaint: A Study In You-Don't-Want-to-Know

"O Attic shape! Fair attitude!"

What can I say? The boy is just special. : )

MonsterTruck(2) wearing nothin' but Bubba's(7) skate helmet while he sits at his computer munching some snacks.

Hey, I just discovered this is my 100th post! I think in honor of that occasion, the first person to leave a comment is going to win a prize. : )

Hail The Conquering Hero

Yep. Husband was out of town ALL LAST WEEK. And I survived. You can hail me now. Ha ha. I obviously didn't have time to get on the ol' blog seein' as how the rugrats were runnin' me ragged. I held Family Home Evening, got the house clean (mostly), hosted my book group, and dished out the consequences when they became necessary. But I did not have time to turn on the computer. Here are some of the things I would have blogged about:


A Walk To Remember
Kryptonite(11mo) decided to become a full-fledged person this week. She has not been interested in holding hands and walking, cruising around the furniture, or anything like that. Then Wednesday she was sitting in the kitchen on the floor looking around when she got a look on her face. She stood up without holding onto anything and just walked away. She crossed the entire room (about 10 feet) before she dropped down and started crawling again. She turned and gave us all a smug smile that said, "You guys think you're ALL THAT."
She's been walking ever since.

Brotherly Love
Mr. Yuke(4): Up there in the road! I one it-I two it-I three it-I four it-I five it-I six it-I seven it-I ATE IT!!!
Then, speaking to Monster Truck(2):
You one it-you two it-you three it-you four it-you five it-you six it-you seven it-YOU ATE IT!!!
You ate the cake and ice cream, and I ate a bowl of poop!!!!
Isn't that sweet? Is there a more selfless example of brotherly love?

Doin' It Like Fred Flintstone
I went bowling Friday night with some crazy muchachas. Their approach to bowling (since we all stink at it) is whoever gets the high score on the round gets to tell everyone how they have to bowl the next round. The Fred Flintstone twinkle toes manuever made an appearance, but my favorite was when they had us lay down on our backs and granny roll the ball from our heads. Mine guttered (that was my groove for the night) but a couple people got strikes and spares that way! I'm happy to report there were no serious bowlers there because I'm sure they would have felt we were unworthy to wear bowling shoes. And if you think it through for a second, that is really insulting.

The good news is that once again, we looked good enough to come home to. Husband came home, and like the conquering hero he is, gave me a two-day neck massage. (I had built up a wee bit of tension. : ) )
Welcome home, Lovey!

Dirty Words

Human anatomy has become a favorite topic with the pygmies around here lately. Apparently certain body parts are the pinnacle of funny and I was just unaware. Not cute little words like "Bum" and "Knickers McFanny" (thank you Nanny McPhee). No, I'm talking the real whoppers that Brother has a hard time with. I have no idea how to handle that. It seems like it's only more gratifying to them if I react to it and remind them ever-so-gently that it's best not to say those words in the middle of the grocery store AT THE TOPS OF THEIR LUNGS! Oh, yes. That brings on gales of laughter. On a related note- does anyone know what a pee-nit is?
Kids-4, Mom-0

There are some other dirty words I've been contending with lately. Closely related to the human anatomy issue is the ever-dreaded potty training. Now, in the name of good personal hygiene, I have always had the child who has an accident take a quick shower. None of my other kids thought much of this. Well, it turns out that Monster Truck(2) really likes the shower. A LOT. He is quite joyful when he announces that he has peed/pooped himself AGAIN so "I need a shower!". The enthusiasm with which he delivers that sentence just can't be captured in the written word. Suffice it to say, he could just as easily be saying, "I'm going to Knotts Berry Farm! With Santa Claus!!!" Anyway, I don't really know what to do. As long as he keeps getting to get clean after an accident he's not going to try to stop having them. Do I let him walk around smelling like a port-a-potty?
Kids-5, Mom-0

Mucous is another dirty word I've been contending with. There seems to be a surplus of it in the world. Sadly, my children got my genes and therefore will most likely not learn to blow their noses until they go to college. (True story. I just couldn't do it.) They try. Several of them blow out their mouths into a tissue expecting to expectorate the junk in their noses. That's kind of funny, actually. I will continue to wipe their noses I guess. For the next 12 years.

Chores. SIGH. What can I even say about that? Ah. I know. To quote a (cyber) friend:

"Frickin' farker frickafrack!!! Scream."

Yep. That about covers it. Bubba's(7) friend came over the other day to get Bubba(7) so they could go play at the friend's house. Bubba(7) had not quite finished his chores and he had to finish before they could leave. His friend stood there and watched with disdain while Bubba(7) unloaded the dishwasher. After a few minutes the friend said, "I don't have to do any chores." Bubba(7) shot me the stinkyeye and said, "That's because your mom is nice." (Slam the bowl down.) Me: (No, that's because your mom doesn't think you can do anything yourself you big baby.) Ok. So I admit it. That wasn't a nice thought. But really, do you have to come into my house and make my slaves start having thoughts about the injustices of their lives? I have already been dealing with a near-revolutionary uprising the past few months, no thanks to my next dirty word: Cabin Fever.
Kids-6, Mom-0

Ah, cabin fever. The current bane of my existence. I don't know who has it worse- me or the kids. No one wants to do any chores. No one wants to listen to the parents. No one wants to stay in this house for ten more seconds. I'm just sayin' is all. You know the other problem with being cooped up all winter long? Dirt.

Yes, Dirt. That is my last dirty word for this post. I never realized that Cabin Fever is the reason for Spring cleaning. I always had a vague impression that spring was just some arbitrary time someone picked because the weather is neither too cold nor too hot. WRONG. The reason spring cleaning is in the spring is because with a bunch of kids and no Alice in the house for almost 5 months straight, the house is dirtier than the garden. There are mystery handprints on the walls that have no explanation other than that their origins could not possibly have been any one of my children. ("It wasn't ME!") My children have managed to get crumbs in corners that no human (or vacuum) could ever fit into (behind the bunkbed, under the bookshelf, etc.) The kitchen floor hasn't been scrubbed in I'm-not-going-to-say-how-long (in part because of my feelings about mopping but also) because the kids haven't been able to be outside long enough for it to dry, so what's the point? Yesterday spring finally got here. I hope beyond hope it stays. The weather in This Place That I Live is a little unpredictable this time of year. I remember one June that it was 95 degrees one day and THE VERY NEXT DAY IT SNOWED. I am not making this up. Anyway, if the weather holds out at least for the weekend I'm going to get the dirt (and the dirty kids!) out of the house. Ooooo! It's going to be so great!

Boys and Girls

I'm tellin' ya. The Chinese have got it right. Boys may be a thousand times easier to raise, but I will take a group of girls any day of the week... when I am cleaning the bathroom. I mean really, is it so hard to aim that equipment into a ten inch target from three inches away? Apparently. Right about now you're thinking that I am completely mixed up on my world affairs. China has boys, not girls. No. I am not confused. The Chinese have got it right, and this is why: they are headed to a point in their population growth where there will be 70 million unwed men cleaning up their own pee. And that is a beautiful thing.

(Before I get a bunch of comments from blog-surfers who don't know me, understand I am 100% against abortion/gender selection and I am not going to publish your politically "correct" comments either way, so don't bother.)

My Nephew, Slugger Jr.(3) wants an elephant for Christmas. A real one that goes, "(Insert sound effect here.)" When Cute Sister pointed out that an elephant might be too big and they would have no place to keep him, Little Slugger(3) generously conceded that, "it could be a baby." I thought that was pretty cute. I was telling Little Mommy(9) and Bubba(6) about this as we set the table the other night when The Pinkiest(5) overheard me. Her eyes got about as big as the dinner plates we were setting down and she exclaimed, "Well I want a GIRAFFE!!!"

This got me thinking about the kids' respective wish lists and I realized that no matter what Hillary Clinton and every other politically "correct" women's lib. advocate says, there are HUGE differences between boys and girls. Zoo animals seem to be the only common denominator (other than the elusive wii). My boys are all about cars and robots and things you can throw. My girls want barbies and ponies. You know. (The rhyme just started all by itself, I swear.) Anyway, none of my girls has ever asked for a fireman suit and none of my boys wants a "High School Musical" Sharpay doll. How there can be any confusion about this is beyond me.

Sweet Potato Queens and Foofs

I love the Sweet Potato Queens. I do. I think Jill Connor Browne is very funny, even though at least half of what she writes is completely inappropriate and not worthy of my time. I am aware of this and I have not read any of her work for several years. Consider her my guilty pleasure- like Superbowl ads, and CNN2 or The Weather Channel are for some other people. In one of her books, Jill talks about how much she loves Deviled Eggs (I know! Eww gross, right?) Anyway, she says she loves to eat them but they are WAY too much of a pain to make "her own self". Her solution to this quandry, is to periodically make the rounds until she can find someone who already has some made up or else will make some for her. It is so lazy and yet, I see the merit of this slacker strategy when I have to, say, change a diaper for the four millionth time in a week or something needs to be ironed. Once upon a time, Little Mommy(9) found this slacker approach particularly satisfying when it came to "Foofs".

"Foof" is the term Little Mommy(9) used (when she was Little Mommy(18m)) for "bubbles". The reference is obvious if you had ever seen her trying to blow bubbles with the little plastic wand from the bottle. She would try over and over again but all she could manage was, "Ffffffff!"- hence, the name. Going "Fffffff!" directed the air from her mouth straight down her chin and almost never resulted in bubbles wafting away on the breeze. She became so frustrated with the whole process that I eventually got out the oscillating fan and showed her how to hold the bubble wand in front of it so that the fan did all the work. The result? A happy 18 month old who requested we play Foofs every single day for nearly three months, and a mom who was not passing out from hyperventilation due to blowing bubbles for 2 straight hours every time, while being pregnant with Bubba(6).

The reason I was reminiscing about Foofs today is that Muhloo(7m) discovered her own version of bubbles this afternoon. She is starting to switch over to baby food and she's pretty excited about it. The trouble is that she also gets bored with the repetitive motions of scoop, open mouth, swallow, repeat. In response to the tedium, today she came up with a way to mix things up a little. She figured out that if she waits to baby-babble right when the spoon is just about to go into her mouth, it blows bubbles in the sweet potatoes and effectively sprays them EVERYWHERE. She wouldn't talk to me when the spoon wasn't at her lips. It was like she was speaking into the microphone. I thought maybe she was not hungry and was therefore more interested in playing with her food than actually eating it. NOT SO. When I tried to gently remove the food items from in front of her, she had a huge fit because she was still hungry, apparently. She just happened to be hungry AND entertaining herself with her lunch at the same time. (Is that a problem?) By the time her interest in eating had dwindled, I had sweet potatoes all over my face, shirt, pants, and hands. Her clothing was remarkably clean, come to think of it. (Maybe I ought to do the rounds and see if someone else in the neighborhood has a hankering for feeding babies?) No, on second thought, I would much rather enjoy this experience "my own self". Getting to be in the stories of The Sweet Bubble Queens and the people who hang around them is so much better than anything Jill Connor Browne has to say. I love being a mom. What more is there?

Photos: "5/19/07 Baby Shower Food" by Nodame; "Untitled" (Bubble Wand) by TeraRoop11; "Deviled Eggs for Easter Dinner" by Tojosan. All photos found on Flickr.com. Incidentally, I had a hard time finding a deviled egg picture that wasn't copyrighted. How weird is that? There were like ten zillion of them but they were all exclusively copyrighted. This is one bizarre cyberworld we live in.

Cuts Above the Rest

Books this year that were a cut above the rest:

1. The OBVIOUS: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (although I thought the Epilogue was stupid.) Forgive me, but I thought the link unnecessary. Everyone in the free world (and probably quite a few in the unfree world too-) knows about the Harry Potter books.


2. The Twilight Series- Juvenille but so enjoyable


3. America the Beautiful- it's a picture book with the words of the song and beautiful watercolors throughout. The cover-art is terrible but don't let it put you off opening it if you ever get the chance.

Blogs this year that were a cut above the rest:

1. The Blog of Unnecessary Quotation Marks- totally funny if you have a fundamental working knowledge of punctuation.


2. The Pokemon Card Lady- I sent a lot of you the link to her post on ebay. Turns out she has a blog which is also pretty funny.

Movies this year that were a cut above the rest:

1. Hairspray- Loved it, can't say enough about it. Way better than the first one (which was ok).


2. Live Free or Die Hard- Surprised? A cut above all the other Die Hards and a very pleasant surprise. Incidentally, if you go to rent it, you will only find the "unrated" edition. This is ok because once you put it in you get to select whether you watch it rated PG-13 or the unrated way.


3. The Lake House- I really liked this one too but it's not one you can scrapbook to. It requires your undivided attention. Also, this is not a good one for watching over and over again.

Events this year that were a cut above the rest:

1. Amish Work Day


2. Husband's promotion


3. Monster Trucks


4. Family Reunion in Milltown

Hairdos this year that were cut above the rest:

(Hear the record scratch?)

Yep. You heard me right. Little Mommy(9) strikes again. In an effort to NOT clean her room, she did any- and every- thing else she could possibly think of instead. When she ran out of ideas she just got "sick of [The Pinkiest's(5) ] bangs hanging down in her eyes" so she HAD to cut them. (Incidentally, it may be relevant to know that The Pinkiest(5) has been growing out her bangs forever. Since the last time they were cut by a not professional.) It's sad really. Her hair was getting so long and pretty that people were starting to comment on it everywhere we went. So now, The Pinkiest(5) has bangs between 3/4 of an inch to one inch long- depending on where you're looking, which start just behind her ear on one side and go to above her temple on the other side. Plus that one other piece. It looks terrible. I'm afraid we're going to have to just cut off the lot of it and start over. At the very least she is going to need a bob. I'm guessing it'll be shorter than that.

My personal feelings about how to handle this situation are that Little Mommy(9) should have to get her hair cut in the same style as The Pinkiest(5). Considering that this is her fifth infraction with a pair of scissors and "hair" of some variety, I think it only fitting. I'm willing to give her the first three which happened between the ages of 2 and 4, but the most recent one was last year and well- to me, the fact that she is now 9 makes this pretty inexcuseable. (By the way, the reason "hair" is in quotation marks is because one incident involved several victims from Mother-in-Law's doll collection, most of which have yarn for hair. Or used to.) Now, last year when she cut her own hair to the scalp in a three inch square patch, I told her she was going to have to get it cut short like a boy while it was growing out. I would put mousse in it and make it curly and we could tie ribbons around her head and maybe it would still look really cute. The workers at the Beauty Shop however, all thought this was cruel and talked me out of it. I think now the time has come because I, like Gracie Lou Freebush, believe in harsher punishments for parole violators. What do you think?

The good news is that The Pinkiest's(5) hair won't be a total waste. *Shelbie needs a wig and I heard her family is collecting hair donations. Since The Pinkiest(5) and Shelbie are both blondies and The Pinkiest's(5) hair is so long, hopefully they will be able to use her hair to help. (See below for info on Shelbie.)

The only other cut I want to mention in this post is the one on my self. It has been put above the rest as well. Above the laundry, the cooking, the hair fixing, the bathroom cleaning. (DANG! Maybe I don't want to get better.... No, wait. I guess I do.) Anyway, this week, I got to cut down to having PT ONLY TWICE A WEEK!!!! This is very exciting news. I played some Clementi on Tuesday, and it was not horrible. And also, I am typing like a real person right this very minute.- Only it hurts more. So today I looked around and realized that it was time to stop putting my cut above the rest. I did a load of dishes (turns out- that is still pretty challenging. I can't grasp things very well.), cleaned a toilet, walked Mr. Yuke(4!) to preschool while pushing the stroller and everything, and then sat down to blog. Because let me tell you- when you've put your cut above the rest for a month and a half, there is a ton of crap to do and I have no idea where to even start- so I'd rather just blog about it instead. And there is no rest when there is a cut. I guess I'd prefer it this way though. I've had about enough of resting for a while.

*Shelbie is an amazing little girl who is 9 years old. A while back she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. They did a surgery where they went in through her eye and removed it. The biopsy came back as cancerous. Later they removed a second tumor. They thought she was in remission at that point. However, just recently they discovered a new tumor on her brainstem that is inoperable. Because of this, Shelbie has started an 18-month course of chemotherapy which I think is going to be either followed by or overlapped with radiation treatments.

Shelbie's lifelong dream is to be a cheerleader. Specifically, she wants to cheer with the 49'ers cheerleaders at one of their games. I wonder how many degrees of separation there are between me and someone who could make that happen?

Through everything, she has remained positive and sweet. All this is remarkable, but the real reason Shelbie is remarkable is that she has attended Church and Primary/Activity Days as often as possible for the last year without her parents. She gets rides with neighbors or the Primary presidency. She is an amazing example and a wonderful missionary. Visit her website. Sometimes there are pictures, although there aren't any right now.

Revenge of Hocker Ooze

Well, it's here. Again. Flu season. That time of year when I take a half dozen kids for a round of group therapy (immunizations) because- hey, that would be fun. We are working toward the goal of screeching hysterically in harmony. Sort of like the VonTrapp's; hypodermic-style. We're not there yet, of course. Muh-loo(6m) holds us back.

Interestingly enough, I have a theory that going through this annual ordeal makes us sick. Now, I'm not talking about the school of thought maintained by rabid anti-immunization lobbyists. I think getting shots keeps us all much healthier and I'm all for it. No, my theory centers more around the location of the ordeal. (No- I don't mean arm vs. leg. Keep reading.) See, we go to the pediatrician's office for our shots. (You've gotta go back and read that with a southern accent.) But do you know what? There are Others who also go to the pediatrician's office. They're called SICK PEOPLE.

Did you know that sick people have germs? True story. The last four years, (when I decided I could no longer abide the Domino Effect caused by the barrage of Just-arrived-from-a-random-third-world-country-illegal-immigrants, and snot-nosed, school-aged children we have nearly constant contact with and that flu shots were not as unnecessary as my mother always tried to make me believe-) after I have taken my clan for their flu shot, they- and I am not making this up- have been sick with Croupe within 48 hours. Every time. And for some reason, about this same time every year, either Husband or I becomes EXTREMELY sick with Bronchitis and/or Walking Pneumonia so that- when a feverish child is up all night wheezing and coughing in such a bark that dogs in London actually start looking for lost puppies, I never know if it is Croupe or if this is the year the child has actually caught Bronchitis from the doting (hacking) parents. So now somehow, half the half dozen children are oozing- well we'll call it "stuff"- from every orafice in their heads, and I'm thinking that if there is a Hocker Ooze out there somewhere, my blog must have pissed him off and now he is wreaking his havoc in my personal corner of the universe. So eventually I end up taking them back to the doctor where (insert pediatrician's name here) says, "Yup. Sounds like croupe. Use a humidifier. Maybe try cold air." and then the receptionist is like, "That will be ten dollars, please." and I'm all, no- you pay me ten dollars! and then clean your waiting room. with lysol. And then I shell out the cash, cringing as I watch to see whether or not the mag strip on my debit card has worn out from all the physical therapy co-pays in the last two weeks. (DANG! No such luck.) So while I'm waiting for the little paper to print out, I take a mental inventory of all the children's decongestants currently in the cupboard at home and I realize that I have tons of it. It's all for the ages of the healthy kids in the family. For the sick ones, I'm going to have to go buy some more, and that's going to be another fifteen bucks. And then I begin to feel nauseous and try not to hurl as I total up the cost of our healthcare in the last month and I wonder how many of our kids will be in college before we can afford to go on a date again.
And THAT is how getting flu shots makes you sick.

A Devil of a Time

I was recently informed that blogging is of the devil. Apparently it is a monumental waste of time and it is the negative, bastardized version of legitimate journal keeping. I thought this over for a while and have come to the following conclusions: Blogging is better than NOT keeping a journal at all. Blogging does tempt the writer to gripe or to pontificate on pointless chatter. If you are careful not to be too negative, blogging can be a positive thing- even with the pointless chatter. When my brother discovered I blog he thought I was extremely weird. Then he started one. And since then, he has had much more contact with me than he used to. I think this is an extremely positive outcome of the use of my time here. Also, I have the added bonus of a fair warning against Cajun fries. Trust me, they're disgusting.

Let me tell you what I think is of the devil. Mopping. Talk about your monumental waste of time. I have mopped occasionally in the past. Usually when company is coming (and they have had the courtesy to inform me ahead of time.) But when nobody is on the threshold I just don't see the point. Let me tell you why every family with more than one child should have a dog. It is called "crumbs-don't-really-come-from-bread-stuffs-they-are-manufactured-somewhere-inside-of-kids-and-jelly-must-randomly-ooze-out-of-the-floor-because-none-of-my-kids-ever-got-it-anywhere-but-on-their-plate". Now I know those of you who have had dogs will insist that they come with their own messes, but I contend their messes are less messy than jelly-bleeding linoleum. Mopping. It's of the devil.