Elf Mischief

Do you have little elves at your house?  Not the helpful kind of elves that mysteriously check jobs off your to-do list or clean your house for you while you're out, but elves that come to life and play while everyone is sleeping? We do. We have a bunch of them and boy have they been busy!

Here they are playing Candyland with real candy!

Making snow angels in a bag of marshmallows....

..... sledding down the stairs......

.....on cookie sheets and toilet paper!

Next year I am definitely requesting the helpful kind.

Definitely.

Remodeling the Bathroom - Day 14

In case you've been wondering where I've been all week, here it is.  After twelve years of hem-ing and ha-ing (and the fact that the shower was a mere moments away from springing a leak), we made the spur of the moment decision to remodel our bathroom. They started the next day.  That gave me exactly one day to empty out all of the bathroom cabinets, throw away garbage bags full of products and free samples that I will never use and decide how I was going to exist for the next who-knows-how-many days without my sink, without my shower, and without full accessibility to my closet.  I packed up what I needed (and what was previously stored in all the bathroom drawers and cabinets) into boxes and put them in our bedroom.

Ripping out the shower and all the bathroom tile and the countertops and replacing them with something resembling the 21st century was a huge undertaking, but they managed to finished all the tile work by the end of week one.

Week Two:  Painting.  What seemed to be the easy part of the job - the icing on the cake have you, turned out to be the that of which nightmares are made.  After beginning the project, it was discovered that under the existing Master Bathroom paint, existed not one, but multiple layers of wallpaper adhered to the walls by the original builders without proper sizing. What should have been a two day job turned into a week of scraping, scoring, steaming, mudding  and sanding.  I imagined the painters just not showing up one day - abandoning the job sight - cutting their losses - leaving for greener pastures - and leaving me with a big mess.  To their credit, however, they are still working away.

It brought back memories of our very first house on Apple Orchard Road.  Our very first house was built in 1970 with all original decorating intact:  Brady Bunch plaid wallpaper, gold appliances, kitchen carpet, bedroom shag and FOIL wallpaper!  The do-it-yourself-ers in us tackled the foil wallpaper with child-like innocence.  How hard could taking down wallpaper be?  In retrospect, we should have left it up and let the room serve a duo purpose:  Main Bath and Bomb Shelter.  Nothing could penetrate it.  We scraped the foil birds off in 1-inch pieces.  It was an act of love.  This was where we were going to build our lives together.  This was where we were going to live forever.

We moved three years later.

This is a glimpse of my brand new sink and countertop.

Hope that paint comes off!

While the mud was drying in the bathroom, the painters decided to forge ahead and paint the master bedroom.  This was not my original plan.  My original plan was to finish the bathroom, put everything neatly away in the drawers, take a refreshing shower, and THEN paint the bedroom.

This change of plans found my husband and I scrambling at 10PM to move everything that we had previously moved out of the bathroom and into our bedroom, out of our bedroom and into the 14-year old boy's bedroom.  That stuff, plus everything else that was in our bedroom.

Apparently, the new influx of clutter also gave the 14-year old boy license to not make his bed!

I'm pretty sure I vacuumed recently.

 I have no idea where we are going to sleep tonight.

(Did I mention that we're keeping a friend for the weekend?)

Hopefully, AFTER pictures will be posted soon!

Got Game?

I'm hobbling around today and I can explain. I'm not athletic. I am competitive. Now, I'm not competitive in all situations, just ones that involve my husband. So when my husband challenged me to a little family game of two on two, it was game on.  Him and the 10-year old daughter.  Me and the 14-year old son. We'd play to 7. One point per basket. Win by two.

Accepting spousal challenges in strategic games of Scrabble or Pictionary is one thing. Accepting spousal challenges in games of sport is quite another. My 6'3" 265-pounds-of muscle husband was a Big Ten Lineman. My total basketball career? Seventh grade. It was seventh grade when creepy Mr. Petersen, the reading teacher, asked every girl in the class to join the basketball team. Every single girl,  that is, except me.  That was all the excuse I needed. I signed up. It wasn't a long or illustrious career, but I did finish the season with a little knowledge of how to use the backboard and how to hit a free throw. Shortly after basketball season, I discovered my real extra-curricular calling: The Musical Theatre.

The family game was competitive and I hit my stride. Throw the ball in. Pass. Nothing but net. Throw the ball in. Pass. Backboard shot. Swish. When we reached the magic score of 7, it was tied.  Ahead by one. Tied.  Behind by one. Tied. The game went on.  

When the score hit ten, I tripped over my feet and found myself horizontal on the driveway. The kids were watching. I made a point not to cry. I went inside to wash the road rash on my elbow and forearm. We'd been playing nearly an hour. Shouldn't I stop to fix dinner? Aren't  moms supposed to do that?

"If you need to stop, I understand," my husband said. "I'm fine!" I protested. I couldn't let the teenage boy down. I turned up my game. Surely, this would be over soon. I ran, I hip checked, I waved my arms wildly when my ten-year old had the ball. I showed no mercy.

Two hours later the game ended:  27-25. Although we came up short, we played to win. In playing to win, I gained the respect of my kids. "Mom," my 10-year old said in amazement, "you've still got your groove!" The words were like ointment on the aches and the bruises and the road rash.

In conclusion, I'd like to thank the academy and my parents for raising me to believe that there is nothing I can't do. In the meantime, you can find me exercising my athletic prowess somewhere softer - like a yoga mat!

So Many Choices...

WELCOME TO MOE'S!

We eat there sometimes on Saturdays.  Kids eat free.  Three adult meals and three free kids meals.  We have it all figured out.

But on this day something was different.  Something loomed in the distance and beckoned us with its seductive neon lights.  Like a spaceship from afar, it was the Coke machine of the future.

It was filled with choices.  Over one hundred of them!

Simply click your product......

(Diet Coke)....

.... and more choices appear!  

Diet Vanilla Coke, Diet Cherry Coke, Diet Vanilla Cherry Coke, Diet Lime Coke, Diet Raspberry Coke...

Diet Orange Coke?

Peach Sprite, Grape Sprite, Raspberry Sprite, Cherry Sprite, Orange Sprite....... 

Endless Choices.  Endless Decisions!

Please forgive my over-funkified photos.  It's my Instagram iPhone app.  

I can't help myself.

Twenty Menu Choices with unlimited topping selections ......

Five kinds of salsas.......

Two kinds of tea...

(Perhaps you can only truly appreciate the humor in this if you have lived in both The North and The South!)

The evening went like this......

Press all the buttons. Try strange concoctions.

Dump it out.

Repeat.

In the end, Arielle chose a plain cheese quesadilla and water.

Choices are fun. Choices are exciting.

Is there anything better than choices?  

Maybe there is.  

Maybe it's better 

to be content with what you have.

My Closet

I've been cleaning out my closet and I don't say that lightly. I'm on my third day.  I haven't cleaned out my closet since 1999.  Sure, I've done some cursory straightening.  But really cleaned?  Really delved into its chasms?  That, I have not.

My closet has become for me my sanctum of doom.  It's the shadow of hypocrisy that screams back at me every time I tell the kids, "CLEAN UP YOUR ROOM!" But it's not my fault.  Really.

My closet, which unbeknownst to me may have been featured on an episode of "Hoarders", is the result of the lack of general storage in our house.  Anything without a home ends up in my spacious walk-in sanctuary. Thirteen years of tax returns. All of the pre-digital pictures I have ever taken (a large collection, as you might imagine.) Seven years of ballet costumes. Stacks of Christmas cards. Bolts of fabric. Empty scrapbooks.  All of these items have somehow ended up in a space which was meant to simply hold some garments.  

In an attempt to take back this room of luxury which is rightfully mine, I have decided that enough is enough. Although the cost will be high, I will take back this space, one box, one stack at a time. Baby steps. Baby steps. 

Take the picture above, for example.  Does anyone know what that is?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?

Anna:  Is it some really old kind of computer?

Arielle:  Is it a laminator?  

No, my loves.  That is called an electric typewriter.  I used to use it. A lot.

I found this size eight pair of ice skates on the top shelf.  I used to wear a size 8.  I used to wear a size 8 before giving birth to my first child.  Somewhere in my ninth month of pregnancy, however, my feet swelled to a size 10. Apparently, they've never fully deflated.

I found a sheet of 32 cent stamps.  They're still good, you know.

I found this goofy picture of my husband.  Hey honey, MC Hammer called.  He wants his Zubaz back!  

I found this really cute dress that I almost finished for one of my girls. It's only missing a hem. I think it's a size 3. Anyone? Anyone?

In the event that you never hear from me again, it could only mean that the rope I tied to my waist broke and they couldn't pull me out of the closet. Or perhaps the trail of breadcrumbs I left behind got eaten by the dog.  In any case, wish me luck. I'm not finished yet!

So Two Priests Walk into a Bar....

Ok, so it wasn't a bar, it was Steak and Shake, and it wasn't just two priests, it was five.  

Have you ever found that real life is a funny story?  A juxtaposition of circumstances that seem so oddly humorous that mere words cannot describe it?

Yesterday, my friend Kathy and I decided to bypass the summer lunchtime blues and take the kids to Steak and Shake.   Between the two of us, we showed up with 8 kids. As fate would have it, we were seated at a table adjacent to five priests.  Since I was not raised Catholic, I am quite sure that I have never seen five priests just hanging out together, let alone at a Steak and Shake.  Were they, like us, praying for a hedge of protection around their pancreas as they sipped their Cookies and Cream Milkshakes?  Were they, like us, praying that somehow the chili fries would transform into green vegetables on their trip down the esophagus?  

We tried to seat the squirmy, younger children as far away from the Holy Table as possible.  We prayed that shooting straw rockets would not be launched into aforementioned foreign air space.

On their way out, the Priests said Hello and gave us a warm, knowing grin.  It suddenly dawned on me.  Oh, the irony!  While we found the unusual situation of sitting next to them amusing, they saw the serendipity of sitting next to us - what appeared to be two nice Catholic girls and their large families!  It's funny how life is sometimes!

Costco to the Rescue!

I returned to The South from a fabulous extended summer vacation to find that one friend had given birth to a baby girl, a second friend had torn her achilles tendon and a family from our school had a mother with extended health issues.  Of course, I wanted to help them all!

To complicate matters, I was knee deep in laundry and our air conditioning, on what was perhaps the hottest day of the year, decided it was a good time to simply stop running.

I decided to sign up for the meal calendar anyway.  Don't judge me.  I brought them Costco.

Does a meal really have to be homemade by me in my kitchen?  Isn't it the thought that counts?  Aren't I still providing for their needs?  Am I not still bringing them love?  Costco's Chicken Alfredo, Caesar Salad and Rosemary Olive Oil Bread is a perfect, family-friendly meal.  It's so perfect, in fact, that I bought one for my family, too!

Of course, I added one of my cute cupcake boxes.  And just ignore the Whole Foods bag.   It looked a lot cuter than those complimentary Costco boxes!

The Benefits of Being the Weaker....

Men and women are different.  It's true.  What works for one - does not necessarily work for the other.

Men tend to use their strength.  They power through the board room, they muscle the ball across the field,  they intimidate so that no one will encroach.  That's fine for some.

I find, however, that there is no shame in being the weaker.  I loved the days when I had my own personal "expecting" parking spot at the grocery store.  I cherish the fact that I can quickly retrieve 40 bags of mulch at Home Depot because a helpful employee is loading my SUV.  And I unapologetically declare my latest feat: Pre-Boarding.

As a family of six, pre-boarding ended with the demise of the stroller.  I admit, I stretched that scenario as long as I could, finally leaving the beloved stroller behind when my youngest turned five.  But today I was traveling without my stronger half, without my man of muscles, without my stud of steel.  As I glanced around at the fully booked flight and scanned our combined ten carry-on bags (five wheeled bags and five rather large-ish "personal" bags) I knew that this would not just be a luxury request, but a necessity.  Zone 9 just never fares well in the overhead storage department.

I approached the men behind the counter and put on my best acquired southern charm.  "I was wondering," I said, "since I'm traveling alone with my four children, if you would let me pre-board."  First rule of sales:  Smile.  Stop talking.  

"I guess so," he said.  "Thank you so much," I replied.  But when the other gate attendant failed to call pre-boarding, I knew I had to resort to quiet confidence.  I lined up myself, the four kids and the ten carry-ons behind the handful of business class passengers.  When I reached the the gate, I kindly stated that the other attendant had told me I could pre-board.  "Well, I'm not going to say no," he said.  I kindly thanked him and proceeded down the runway.

This, my friends, is the the power of being the weaker.  I am quite sure that my husband (or most men for that matter) would never ask for the help he most imminently needed.  He would, however, graciously bow to a sweet damsel in distress.  There's nothing wrong with that.  Men and women are different.  And different can be good.

Betty's Pies

So I was paging through my Food Network Magazine (or, rather, scouring through every word since I've now been without access to cable TV and cooking shows for a good month), when I ran across an article about Betty's Pies.  In the fine print, it stated that there were two locations, both in Minnesota.  "Wait a minute," I thought, "I'm in Minnesota!"  So I Googled "Betty's Pies" and found that one location was in Two Harbors, Minnesota (a really long ways away) and one location was in Mahtomedi, Minnesota, (a really short ways away.)

I'm inserting this sign for good measure, just so you know how people feel around here.

Since Betty's Pies was actually featured in a national magazine, I decided that it was a worthy destination for a Mommy Camp Field Trip!

Betty's Pies is obviously known for it's pies, but it was was also featured for it's latest invention:

The Pie Milkshake.

That's right, a whole slice of pie, 8 ounces of ice cream, a splash of milk, and you have pie ala mode in a glass!  

You can see the bits of crust and fruit swimming in it!

We also tried the five-layered chocolate pie (Ella's favorite),

And the Rhubarb Raspberry Pie (Samuel's favorite).

The kids loved looking at the homemade pies,

and begged for me to leave them unattended.

I told them they really wouldn't like the espresso, anyway :-)

This is Minnesota

This is Minnesota.  When I first arrived here in late June, the locals were complaining about the cold spring and the day's high temperature of 59 degrees.  Complaining about the cold, it seems, is yesterday's news.

Today we're enduring the heat.  Having lived in The South for the past 12 years, I thought I knew what heat was.  Apparently, I did not.  Apparently, I had to come back to Minnesota to figure that out.

Today we set an all time Minnesota high dewpoint of 83 degrees.  That is the temperature at which condensation on your windows and glasses will occur.  It's also as low as the thermometer is going to get tonight.

Combine the forecasted high of 100 degrees fahrenheit with a dew point in the 80's and you will come up with a heat index of well over 120 degrees.  If you don't believe me, you can figure it out yourself:

where

 = heat index (in degrees Fahrenheit)

 = ambient dry-bulb temperature (in degrees Fahrenheit)

 = relative humidity (in percent)

]

I'm not kidding.  This is the real formula.  

Who knew all those weathermen had to know so much calculus?

In simple terms, it means that walking outside will rival walking through the rain forest.

Only instead of Tarzan and monkeys and vines, there are cornfields.  

Cornfields that are blanketed in a hot, sweaty haze.

What they say up here is this:  If you don't like the weather, just wait a few days.  

Or wait six months when it will feel 160 degrees colder!