O Christmas Tree

For future reference: December 5th is a bit late to get a fresh Christmas tree. But through perseverance and a bit of luck, Christmas was saved by the firefighter's Christmas tree sale which had just started a couple days earlier. Not only did we get a beautiful tree, the proceeds went to a local charity.

Last night for Family Home Evening, we decorated our tree and I successfully resisted the desire to spread out some of Emily's ornament clusters.

While we decorated, Jane practiced her stair climbing skills. She still doesn't walk, or crawl with her tummy off the ground but she has figured out the stairs, thus making her a danger to herself which is, I believe, exactly what she intended.
Sorry about the picture. I think I had the camera on Bigfoot Capture mode.

Talent Show

Last night, Chris taught a Family Home Evening lesson on talents (and despite being assigned well in advance, Jane totally fell through on the treat). We talked about magnifying our talents and then about talents that each member of our family possesses.

What is Daddy's talent?

Emily: Hanging out at work.

What is Jane's talent?

Emily: The puking up talent.


Apparently Emily's talent is keen observation skills.

Saturday is a Special Day

Is it bad luck, Karma, or just proof that God has a sense of humor? Well, whatever it is, the end result was that yesterday was my second Super Saturday as enrichment counselor (or whatever they're calling it nowadays). And this year I had no enrichment leader to help out.

For those of you that have no idea what Super Saturday is, I will give you the rundown. It is a crafting day that usually happens in the fall where all the ladies make Christmas gifts for their friends and family. It is a HUGE deal and a great deal of pressure for the poor sap who is in charge. That would be me. And as I did last year, I will refer you to my extreme dislike of crafting.

I would have been dead in the water without a great deal of help from the other ladies in the Relief Society Presidency as well as a few volunteers from the ward. I think it actually went as smoothly as a Super Saturday run by a craft-hater can possibly go.

I won't go into too much detail, but here are the crafts for which I took direct responsibility:

A family home evening assignment board (Yeah, I know the handwriting on the hang tags looks like a six year old boy wrote it. It's the best I can do):

These super cute framed thingies (thanks mom for having the inspiration for these hanging over your sink and for giving me a quote to use):

The obligatory Christmas ornament (I decided to go rustic this year. Even I am not totally sure I like it):

There were seven other projects conceived by more talented and experienced crafters. But this is my blog, so I won't let them outshine my efforts here.

Most people were very appreciative and I only had a few hecklers, whiners and complainers. I've already started my "Next Year..." list. Like, "Next year we are only doing six crafts. Max." But secretly I'm hoping that next year, someone else will be in charge. Like one of the hecklers from this year. And I will heckle to my heart's content.

I would be remiss not to mention the bright spot of Super Saturday. We are lucky enough to have a masseuse in our ward. She volunteered to give 15 minute massages to whomever desired one. I got mine at the very end of the crafting madness and it was lovely. It was my first massage and I've decided that massages are like meth - it only takes once to be addicted.

All in all, Super Saturday didn't go as badly as I feared nor as well as I hoped. My opinion hasn't changed - the only good Super Saturday is a dead Super Saturday. And this one is. Finally.

Sugar Sugar

In the days immediately preceding Halloween, nearly a foot of snow fell. That's what happens in Wyoming.

The snowstorm gave us plenty of time to carve pumpkins. You'd think with all that time on our hands we would have had one of those really cool ones of the grim reaper or President Nixon. Not so.

Both the girls were fairies this year. Emily was Tinkerbell and Jane was a very round fairy. I've done some quick calculations and I'm not sure those wings have enough surface area to provide lift to Jane's frame. In Wyoming, fairies wear turtlenecks and, as the evening wears on, usually have to don their coats. This will probably be the last matching year. Next year, Jane will have her own opinion on her costume.

Emily takes the cake for trick-or-treating dedication in the 3 year-old category. I went out with her until her bag got too heavy for her to carry (and I was getting cold) and then Chris took her out until it was too late to politely knock on doors.

Then came the best part: the sorting of the candy. Now, I'm not one of those crazy moms who thinks I have to check my kids' candy for razors and joints. I am targeting peanuts. When Emily eats peanuts, her lips swell, she gets hives and I won't even mention what else happens. I am more fortunate. That means I get Emily's peanut laden candy.

(Yes, that's a Fiber One Bar. We live across the street from a guy who grows organic vegetables and runs marathons. No further explanation necessary.)

Perhaps she should have taken the term "stay at home" literally.

I admit. I am a germaphobe. I have problems with handles on public restroom sinks and doors. I sanitize my hands after touching pens that have been used by a crowd. I get so tense in dirty houses (dirty - not cluttered. There is a difference) that I sometimes take a shower after returning home from such abodes. However, I try to keep my phobias from other people.

Today there was a crack in the facade of sanity. Let me preface this story with the caveat that I very seldom have any sort of altercation with people whom I do not know. There was a boy at the mall play area that was coughing so hard he could barely breathe. I told Emily to stay away from him. But when he grabbed Jane's stroller, I firmly told him "no" and his mom flipped out. Since I don't know her name and she had a nose ring, we will call her Ms. Nose Ring. Here is an abridged version of a very long conversation between her and me:

Ms. Nose Ring: He's touched all the toys here so your kid is going to get sick anyway. You may as well just accept it.

Me: That is incredibly rude of you to bring your child out when he is contagious.

Ms. Nose Ring: I'm a stay at home mom and I needed to get out of the house.

Me: I'm a stay at home mom too and I would like to be able to get my kids out without them getting sick.

Ms. Nose Ring: I've been a stay-at-home mom longer than you have, Sweetie.

Me: confused silence.

So, it pretty much went on like this until I was pretty sure Ms. Nose Ring was going to punch me. That's when Emily got scared and ran over to me and Ms. Nose Ring left. No doubt to go get a tramp stamp. During the altercation, she insulted my mothering skills again and again, but never gave any sort of justification as to why it was okay for her to have a sick kid in the play area.

Germaphobe or not, I know how the flu is spread and I would prefer, if at all possible, that my children not get it. Is that unreasonable? Maybe it is. But at least if I get sick, I won't have snot oozing out my nose ring hole. Because I don't have one. So take that.

Nightmare on My Street

I recall a horror story from my childhood that involved an axe murderer and two little girls. In order to escape the axe murderer, the girls hid in a closet that locked from the inside. Even as a kid, I thought that was lame. I knew that wicked stepmothers liked to lock princesses in closets, but why on earth would anyone have a closet that locks from the inside?

Well, recently I discovered a very good reason. Here is a picture taken from the inside of Emily's closet:

Notice the button lock.

It's there because Emily has discovered the secrets behind every kind of childproof doorknob cover on the market and because the second we walk out of her room for nap or bedtime, she immediately runs to her closet and begins the fashion show. 14 ensembles later, she will fall asleep and we will return at the end of nap to find her in an outfit of her own choosing and her room a disaster worthy of being declared a Superfund site.

We tried everything. Punishment, bribing and putting blackout blinds in her room so she couldn't find her way to her closet. Nothing worked. So today, for the sake of saving what little sanity I have left, I switched out her closet doorknob with one that locks from the inside. It worked like a charm. I do, however, question the effectiveness of this lock against axe murderers.

One for the Jane Fans

Two posts in two days! I am on a roll!