Maggie Ruth Turns the Big Oh-Two

Here's a little trip down memory lane...

This is me several hours before I delivered her- weighing in at about 190 or so. Sheesh. If you want to know what I'd look like at 190 NOW, just turn my head around because that's how big my butt would be.

Soon after delivery. Don't look too close, my IV is still in.

Bruce and Maggie

It's hard to believe it's been two years already. I was a little sentimental and sad for the "baby days" today. Part of it was because Kiki has entered in to her third year in true two year old style, by being completely naughty today- she got into the Vaseline, she dumped out a whole bowl of popcorn, and she rubbed liquid soap all over herself.

I want to remember a few things about Maggie as she is now: She loves to wear pajamas. If I ask her to get some clothes and get dressed, she will just go get more pajamas to wear. She loves her purple blankie still. Her favorite foods are french toast, macaroni and cheese, cheese in general, and the mexican rice from Mi Ranchito. She loves to take a straw and make bubbles in her milk.

Happy Birthday, Kiki! We love you.

Say What?

I was the accompanist for my sweet neighbor at a violin performance yesterday. She is a darling and innocent girl. Anyhoo, her violin piece was unfortunately named. When Bruce asked me what the song I was playing was called, I took a glance at the piece and thought, "Ooooh No." It's titled, "Donkey Doodle." Nothing comes to mind, I'm sure, if you are a naive 8th grader, but if you're me...well, there you have it.

The time comes for her to announce her piece. I'll recap:

Darling Neighbor: "I will be playing 'Donkey Doodle.'"
Teacher: "'Don Quixote?' That's a good one!"
DN: "No, 'Donkey Doodle.'"
Teacher: "Yes, only you say it, 'Don, Key, Ho..."
Me: "Doodle. D-O-O-D-L-E."
Teacher: "Oh. OH."

Name of the piece aside, she played great.

********

Last night was a work party for Bruce. It was an ice skating party at the Olympic Oval in Kearns. The girls had so much fun, and they both really got into the skating part. Kiki did throw a fit when we first put her skates on- I held her at arms length while Bruce covered his man parts and we all came out unscathed.

There is a track that runs around the ice skating rink, and a girl was practicing the hurdles. Kate was fascinated, and the girl was extremely athletic and graceful, so I understood why. Kate watched her jump the hurdles a few times, and then said, "I could do that. Only at the end, I'D do a flip."

Here's a Tip for the Cheap and Anal Housewife (Like Me.)

To my sister-in-law, Tiffany: I'm forever in your debt for the information I'm about to share.

Tiffany has introduced me to the wonders of Fast Orange Pumice Hand Cleaner. It can be purchased in the automotive department of your local Walmart for about 2 bucks. This little miracle cream has cleaned my ceramic stove top, shined the inside of my crock pot until it looked new, and taken black funk off of my baking dishes. Apply it with a dry rag to the dry surface to be cleaned, buff, and watch a tiny housekeeping miracle take place. Then take a little extra and exfoliate your hands. Rinse and be amazed. I am in love with Fast Orange.

Kiki's vocabulary continues to expand in weird ways. Today the child who doesn't even call her sister by name said, "Hummus." Since we were at the store and she was pointing at hummus, I'm pretty sure I heard her right. She also ripped a stinker in the car today, so I tried to get her to say that, but she said, "Uh-uh. Poo Poo."

Lastly, I know I have talked about the cooking classes that we have at church, and now we have a blog with all of the great recipes. I'm going to put a link up, or you can check it out at manila5thwoodenspoon.blogspot.com.

Order Has Been Restored

Our new couch is here! We are so excited- we've been looking for a couch for a couple of years. Seriously. These things can not be taken too lightly.

A little reading spot...

Guest room #1

Guest room #2. They pretty much look the same, but with new carpet. What I didn't take a picture of is the gym- it is awesome. It makes for a good workout- Bruce did a great job putting it all back together.

The other mess we have taken care of is Kiki's hair. She has continued to grow a pretty sweet mullet, so we had a couple of inches trimmed off the back (only) a few days ago. She's got a cute little bob now.

Kiki has started talking a lot more. She repeats many of the words I say and also says many things I do not understand, and she gets really mad when that happens. I feel bad and slow-witted at those times. And other times as well. On the way home from an errand yesterday she desperately wanted out of her car seat, and was certain she just needed to say the right word and I would gladly release her. The last stretch home consisted of her repeatedly saying, "Down." "Out." "Bye-Bye." "Home."

Miscellaneous...

Today during a quiet moment in sacrament meeting, Kiki said something that sounded a lot like, "Bite me." I'm pretty sure it wasn't that, not because she's above profanity, but more because she really doesn't put two words together yet. I was hoping that no one else heard, but sure enough Paige said, "Did Kiki say, 'Bite me' during church?"

Our new carpet was installed on Thursday and Friday, and we are well on our way to being settled back into our basement. I've a couple more things to put into place, and then I'll post some pictures of it. THEN, you all can start to make your summer travel plans!

What I do have a picture of is my sweet new storage room: There's two more walls of shelves, and I've actually already hit the case lot sale to keep filling it up.

My Life is a Greek Myth- the Tragic Kind.

I happened to read about the following Greek myth the other day, and it got me thinking:

Sisyphus was taken to the Underworld, where he was punished by being compelled to roll a stone to the top of a slope where it always escaped him and would roll down the slope again; Sisyphus would begin the task again and thus continue forever.

And what was I thinking? "That's exactly how I feel about LAUNDRY!!"

I spent a little spare time on some internet research, and here's what I learned.

Bacchanalia: A festival in honor of Bakkhus (Bacchus) that was fueled by wine which incited frenzy in the participants. The Bakkhanalia was banned by the Romans in the second century BC because of the depraved and wanton nature of the festivities.

We totally have that! Only we call it "Family Night" and it's not fueled by wine but by Rice Krispy Treats and a love of the scriptures. And it's not banned (yet).

I'm like Athena: She was the virgin goddess of wisdom, fertility, the useful arts and prudent warfare. I think every mom tries to be wise, I'm obviously fertile (which unfortunately does negate the "virgin" part of this equation), I think being a mother/household manager is the ultimate useful art, and anyone who has raised children has engaged in prudent warfare. ("Kate, if you do not go to bed this instant, your Leapster is gone for 2 days!")

Bruce is just like Hercules: Buff, up for any task, and accidentally poisoned by his wife. (See, babe, I told you it was an ACCIDENT!)

On housework, there's Penelope: She would weave during the day and each night she would undo a portion of her work. The only difference here is that I do the "weaving" and someone else does the "un-weaving." As in, I grumble to myself almost every morning, "What the what? I could have sworn this kitchen was clean when I went to bed."

There were myths that apply to my girls too. For example:

Pero: The beautiful daughter of Neleus and Khloris (Chloris) and the wife of the seer, Melampous. Pero was so beautiful that Neleus would not allow any man to marry her.

Yep, I'm certain that's how Bruce will feel when Kate and Kiki start dating.

And lastly, there's Pandora:

When Epimetheus accepted Pandora he unleashed all the evils on the world; although women were designed as a curse to men, the only thing worse than marriage was for a man to live and die alone.

I know Bruce has felt cursed more than once during the course of our marriage- but, at least he's not alone. Pandora wasn't all bad either: remember that after she opened her box and released evil and sadness there remained one thing: Hope. That's true for me, too. I have hope for my children, I have hope for my husband, and I hope for a good life for those I love.

(Thanks, messagenet.com for the info.)

Kate, Kiki, and Bruce all had haircuts tonight. Kate complained on the way home because little pieces of hair went down her shirt. She said,
"That's why I don't want to be like daddy...'cause hair on your back ITCHES."

Lord, Please Grant Me the Fortitude to Handle My Many, Many Blessings

Whenever I'm feeling a little put upon, I find a phone call with my M-I-L seems to help. Ruth has a way of looking at the WORST situation and putting a positive spin on it. Trials, to her, are only cleverly disguised blessings. I'm not as spiritually mature, so I tend to view trials as a giant pain in my behind, further evidence that God has a sick sense of humor, and opportunities to whine about how bad I have it. But, in light of my recent efforts to think positively, I will attempt to see the value in some of my most recent "blessings."

The basement flood: Truly, this has been a nightmare. However, my dad did build all new shelves for my food storage because of this, and I willingly reveal my food storage nerdiness, because I am thrilled about them. I have room to organize by both food type (down) AND type of container (across). I'm taking reservations if you would like a place to stay when the inevitable happens. (Cheryl, you are already on the list. Bring your m&m's.) Also, I am getting all new carpet in the basement. Sure, I already had new carpet, but the bedrooms still had old carpet, and now that's getting replaced too. The pad was so old in the bedrooms that when I pulled it out it turned into toxic dust in my hands. So, it's a blessing. Lastly, we had a little extra insurance money, and we were able to FINALLY buy a new couch for the family room. I feel that the purchase of anything nice when you have a 2 year old and a 5 year old involves carefully walking a tightrope: You want something nice enough that you and your husband can enjoy it, but not anything so nice that when your kid writes "Kate Hatch" across it in a Sharpie you completely lose it. The couch is on the tightrope: very comfy, but also purchased at a great price. In summary, the carpet is being installed in the next few days, and we should be back to normal, and the new normal will be slightly nicer than the old normal. Thanks, Allstate (and Jack!).

In the midst of all this, my oven went kaput. Darn extended warranty expired DAYS ago, so I had to purchase the $180 part to repair it out of pocket. Some may not notice their oven was out until Thanksgiving, but I use it almost every day. I'm in pain. Ma, you told me what the blessing was here, but I forgot it. Perhaps you all can help?

Lastly, I've been blessed to have the opportunity to tote around eleven (now only 8!) extra pounds on my hind end for the last couple of years, and now I am also blessed with the presence of two mini Jillian Micheals'. Kiki will take my carefully weighed and portioned breakfast, slide it from in front of me to in front of her, look at me and pointedly say, "Done." As in, "You're done, you pig." Kate's no better. She looked at me wearing my rattiest yoga pants the other day and said, "When did you buy those pants?" "Before you were born," I replied. To which she said, "Woah. And they stayed big?" I think they've got a career trajectory here.

And to Humiliation and Failure, add Embarassment

I cried at the gym today.

It's almost as bad as it sounds. As previously mentioned, I've been reading a book about the war in Iraq. I reached the section on Abu Ghraib today, and when I read about the atrocities committed there, I cried. I couldn't help it. I not only felt terrible for the Iraqi's involved, but for our own American soldiers who had been so terribly led that the acts they perpetrated were rationalized and accepted. It's a tragedy in every sense of the word.

As I left the gym, I thought about our crazy, sad world. And I admit, as I turned my book front cover out, I also thought, "Please, fellow gym-goers, notice that I am not reading 'Twilight.'"

Humiliation and Failure

How I wish I had just ONE experience that was encompassed by these two descriptives, but alas, I have one that is humiliating, and one that is about failure.

Our dog has a serious case of wanderlust. We moved in with her 5 years ago with intentions to put up a fence, and the "temporary" fence that my dad put up across our back property line has apparently through either laziness or default become a more permanent fixture than ever intended. Dog proof? No. It's open on either end. Powder is known around the neighborhood for her walkabouts, and while generally harmless, she has been known to get into trouble. She's started a fight with a much smaller dog (one wearing a cone around it's neck!) and terrified its owner, she rolls in manure and comes home stinking to high heaven, and most terribly, she has had many joy-filled romps through the garden of our very old neighbor who truly labors over it. Bruce, since he is at work, has been largely immune to the day to day consequences of this behavior; I am left to field phone calls and make amends to our neighbors. It's, as I said, humiliating, particularly for me because I'm no fan of the dog myself. I've been tempted at times to say, "You want to call the pound? I invite you to. Just let me know when you do so I can be sure her collar is off, because if she makes a trip to the big house, I'd prefer it was one way." The final straw came today- I received a call for the THIRD DAY IN A ROW that my bleepity bleeping hound was over in my very aged neighbor's yard AGAIN. I'm done. I called Bruce at work to tell him we were at critical mass here, because I'm finished taking the heat for this stupid animal. I always feel like a jerk calling Bruce at work to complain about something, but I have had it.

On to failure...
I've complained about the "baby weight" frequently on these pages. It's not baby weight anymore: perhaps toddler weight, perhaps the short straw in some genetic lottery, perhaps the natural consequence of me having the gall to age in to the metabolic killing fields known better as "My 30's", but more likely than not, the weight is merely a reflection of the multiple and varied poor food choices I've made day in and day out for the last, say, 750 days. I've failed time and again to "conquer" the last ten pounds.

Two things have happened recently. First, I heard a good talk in church over Christmas break. It was about success and failure, and the gist of what stuck with me was that if you strive for success only thinking of the many ways that you might fail, then chances are good that you are probably going to fail. This hit home for me because I do that exact thing! When I am performing a piano piece, I sit down to the bench to play thinking of the infinite variations of ways that I might screw up, and sure enough, no matter how many times I've played the piece perfectly at home, sure enough, I screw up. Is it really any wonder, when you consider that I go in to the performance thinking, "Don't screw up. Whatever you do, don't screw up in this way, or that way, and especially don't screw up that part that you usually screw up at home." I bind myself to failure. Secondly, a dear friend just gave me a book about fitness, and the author talks a lot about visualization and positive self-talk. Sounds a little New Age-y, I know, but what I also know is that I've tried the "other way" and it's obviously not working for me. So, I'm going for it. I'm going to visualize myself succeeding, and I'm going to frame my choices in a positive way. And I'm really, really going to try not to think of the many ways that I might fail, and instead think of the few things I need to do to succeed.

I'm visualizing myself posting some sweet "after" photos on my blog in several weeks. Unfortunately, you've already seen the "befores." And "durings."

Careful What You Wish For...

Kate continues to sort out familial relationships.
Last night it was, "Is Grandpa George your grandpa, too?"
"Nope. Grandpa George is my step-dad," I said.
Long pause. Then she speaks:

"I wish I had a step-dad."
*******

At the risk of losing all "street cred" as a movie critic, I'm going to proceed.

I took Kate to "High School Musical 3" at the theater last night. It's the best movie of the last 3 I've seen. It wasn't perfect or anything, but it was good clean fun and more entertaining than I anticipated. Kate clapped and danced in her seat she loved it so much. In order to prove that I am not overdosing on anti-depressants I will give the following critiques: Vanessa Hudgens and Ashley Tisdale are terrible dancers. Vanessa Hudgens also has the speaking/singing voice in the pitch range of either my six-year old self or the current Micheal Jackson. And it's a Disney movie, so one must expect a certain level of cheesiness, snappy dance numbers, and Zac Efron throwing his arms open wide with emotion MULTIPLE times. All in all, and I stun myself that I write this: I'd see it again. Don't judge.

For as non-materialistic as he is, my dad definitely has a penchant for hanging on to papers. I've unabashedly teased him in the past about his white boxes full of documents and canceled checks. Now, he's not an insane saver- it's all financial information and the like, and it's not like it's creating a huge cascading paper tower threatening to smother him.

Yesterday, his "saving" paid off for me- he was sorting through some stuff and brought me some old paperwork: The bill for my mom's pre-natal care and my delivery, the bill for removing a tic-tac from my ear, and the bill for my broken arm in kindergarten. For the morbidly curious, here's the breakdown:

In 1974, the doctor bill for pre-natal care and delivery was $240. Total.
The hospital bill broke down this way: delivery room: $50, anesthesia: $10, lab: $11, drugs: $10.32, Supplies: $7.92, 3 days for Merrilee in the ward: $105, 3 days for me in the nursery: $48.

Tic Tac Removal (right ear): 11/21/79: $13.50.

The broken arm (9/18/79) was a hefty bill, even now: $465 to the doctor, $1300 to the hospital.

1979 wasn't a good year for me: I think in addition to the broken arm and tic tac incident I needed stitches in my chin once for sure and maybe twice. I wonder if someday Kiki will laugh about the almost $10,000 (that's out of pocket!) we paid to get her here and say that we got off easy.

Kate on Evolution

"Mom," she said, "You know we don't start out as babies."
"Is that so?" I reply.
"Yeah, we start out as mermaids."

********

Same car ride, 5 minutes later...
"Mom, is Grandma Ellie your grandma too?"
"No, Grandma Ellie is my mom."
"Grandma Ellie is a nice grandma. Grandma Go-go is a nice grandma."
"Someday, Kate, when you have a baby, I'll be that baby's grandma."

"You might be a nice grandma."
"Might be? What are my odds- like 50/50?"
"Yeah."

Girls on a Wayward Path

I was watching one of the greatest shows on TV. No, not Frontline. Not 60 minutes either. Definitely not Seinfeld. The obvious answer is...THE BACHELOR! Lately it has been running neck and neck with Momma's Boys, Biggest Loser, and 30 Rock. Clearly I don't like to think very hard.

Back to The Bachelor. Kate was watching it with me, and it was the season premiere so the girls were all fancy going to meet Jason. Kate said to me, "Someday I want a pretty dress that has no arm holes or neck holes." I took a quick second look at the TV, and sure enough, every single girl was wearing a sleeveless or strapless dress. My poor impressionable child- my insatiable appetite for reality TV is harming her.

When she was playing dress up, she put on this "fancy dress" (just like the ones she'd seen on TV, I'm sure). I shudder to think of her prom dress- if anything like the one pictured above, it will lack"arm holes and neck holes", but unfortunately will have breast holes.

I'm going to admit something. I think diaper wedgies are hilarious.

Poor Maggie. She lives in discomfort and I think its humorous.

Tonight Kate said, "I'm putting on a show! It's in 5 minutes!" I said, "Can we have the show after we eat dinner please?" She said, "Yes! I'm putting on a show! It's in SIX minutes!"

Kiki has been picking up a lot of new words. Examples: coat, light, reach, and one that Bruce obviously taught her: Remote. "'Mote," she says as she points at the TV. She spilled her Chex Mix at church and muttered, "Doot. Doot." Translation: Shoot. Shoot. I'm relieved she wasn't saying, "Dit. Dit."

Bitter Cold and Basement Mold

Bruce gave me a snazzy new alarm clock for Christmas- it projects the time and temperature on to the wall (although I have to make it about a foot high so I can read it without my contacts in) and makes nature sounds, among other things. One of my least favorite things, though, is that it also tells the outside temperature. It's hard to get motivated to head out to the gym when I open my eyes at 4:45 a.m. and see that the outside temp is 9 degrees. I don't think it got above 25 today, and it's snowing AGAIN. It's hard to believe we were swimming just a few days ago.

Oh, my poor basement.

the family room- feel like watching a movie on our new blue ray?

the office

the hall

guest room

the gym

The damage was way beyond our initial estimates. The restoration company found water damage in every single room except the very back guest room. The restoration guy thinks we should be dried out by tomorrow. I hope that's true. The insurance adjuster came today- I felt a little defensive, like he was going to come in and say, "No, this is all your own fault and we aren't covering anything." He didn't. He spent a couple of hours measuring and calculating, and left me with a fat check to get started on the repairs. So far, I am very pleasantly surprised by Allstate Insurance. I will name them because I'm recommending them for now. Hopefully things go as smoothly when we start replacing flooring and going through our personal property.

I wish this was a nightmare that I could wake up from.

Movie Review

I've seen a couple of flicks in the last few days; here are my thoughts:

Bedtime Stories: Starring Adam Sandler, Keri Russell, Courtney Cox, and two cardboard kids cast solely on their speech impediments. Perhaps you're thinking that there is no possible way that Adam Sandler could do a family movie- you'd be wrong. Be warned, though, that Adam Sandler can't do a movie without some of his "go to" comedy: silly voices/accents, casting his friends in strange bit roles, and the like. But, all in all, it's a cute movie that kept my five year old daughter AND Bruce and I entertained.

Seven Pounds: Starring Will Smith, Rosario Dawson, Woody Harrelson, and almost inexplicably, a jellyfish. I will do my best not to spoil the movie, since it's dependent on the "BIG TWIST" at the end (which, not to brag, I figured out in the first 20 minutes.). Short Version: Don't waste your money on this overwrought and overthought vehicle for Will Smith's giant ego. Slightly longer version: Don't waste your money on this overwrought and overthought vehicle for Will Smith's giant ego. REALLY!

In order for this movie to really work, you have to have some kind of sympathy for Will Smith's character, which is impossible since the character seems to have some sort of mental illness. Then, you are supposed to believe that Rosario Dawson's character falls in love with him big time, which doesn't even make sense. Then in the "BIG SCENE" where the "BIG TWIST" is supposed to happen, the way it transpires is so ridiculous. My s-i-law Tiffany leaned over during the movie and said, "I bet (this) is going to happen." I said, "If (that) happens, this will officially be the gayest movie ever made." Then (that thing which I won't reveal) DID happen, so the conclusion is clear.

Christy, Tiffany: I am so frustrated with this movie that when I watched the jellyfish scene in Finding Nemo I got mad all over again.

On to another form of media: I reached an epic milestone last Friday: My LAST issue of US Magazine. I need to elevate my life a little, but I can't lie: Fridays seem a little sadder now.

2009: The First 36 Hours by the Numbers

1: The number of times I fell down the stairs at James and Tiffany's loading the car.
11: Hours of driving to get home.
15: Minutes of relative peace at home before we realized our basement had flooded while we were gone.
3: Number of times I've cried.
10: Number of times I've said, "I feel like throwing up."
0: Fortunately, the number of times I've actually thrown up.
2400: dollars spent on 2 year old carpet that is now sitting out by the curb.
1: Calls to Poison Control.
3: Follow up calls received from Poison Control. (Maggie will be fine, but we now realize that a child-proof cap isn't to her.)
1 million: Swear words said or thought.
12: Calls to/from Allstate/its affiliates.

2009, so far you suck.

Our beautiful basement is trashed. Bruce spent the entire winter before Kiki was born remodeling the family room, adding a laundry room, and adding the bathroom, and now it is largely ruined. The family room had the only decent carpet in the whole house.

And, here's said carpet now.

Earlier in the day, I said to Bruce, "Why couldn't some of the crappy carpet get ruined?" Little did I know, the restoration crew would later find damage in the hall and bedrooms, so in a sick way, I got my wish. The carpet and wood floors have been torn out of the whole basement except for one bedroom, all baseboards are gone, and the furniture is in chaos. The cause is likely our water heater, which is a good thing, since our insurance should cover this.

I'll tell you why this happened. God is punishing us because Bruce bought Powerball tickets.

On the bright side....

The girls did better than expected on our long, LONG drive home. They had a few rough patches, but all in all they were very good. When we pulled in the driveway, Kiki smiled and said, "Home. Home."

Kate informed us at lunch yesterday, "I don't eat shrimp. They taste like rotten clams."

Bruce asked Kiki, "Want to go to Grandma Ellie's." Kiki replied, "No." (It's a standard response for her.) He asked then, "Don't you say anything but 'NO?,'" to which she said, "Uh-uh."

Friends Chris and Anne sent over new toothbrushes for me. However, "Gum" had been changed to read "Bum." (If you're in the dark, look a few posts back and you'll see why I received this.)