Cousins!

We were so happy to have cousins nearby for a couple of weeks. Jackson, Grant, and Baby Lincoln (and their mom and dad) were visiting Grammy. It was wonderful that the kids all got to know one another. David and Mary LOVED spending time with this crew. (And I had a good time chatting with Teresa. By the way, neither of us has discovered the secret to being a mom of small children and not losing your mind.)

One day we all met at the Fort Worth Museum of Science and History. I was very pleasantly surprised! It was a great museum. We can't wait to go back. (But it won't be as fun without the cousins.)

(The batteries in my camera were dead that day, so I stole the above picture from Wikipedia.)

Another day Grammy treated the kids to a morning at one of those bouncy places. I really think David thought he had died and gone to heaven. The boys had a blast!

Mary was kind of a pill.
But she did have a good time on the little slides.

This is sweet Jackson. What a great, well-rounded, responsible kid with a heart of gold. I miss him already! (David does too!)

This super cutie is Grant. He is a force of nature! (He must be something real special because he earned Mary's respect and admiration, which is no small matter.)
(What I am missing is a picture of Baby Lincoln. David and Mary both adored him!!)

We also had lots of fun hanging out at Grammy's house.

Here are the kiddos building a giant Duplo tower with Aunt Teresa.

A bedtime snack of Blue Bell ice cream cups.

Cute cousins.

This is Mary and Grant playing some kind of elaborate hot lava game. Meanwhile, David and Jackson were engrossed in a game of hide-n-seek. (Can you spot where Jackson was hiding?)

Here David is found by Jackson (with some help from the little ones).

David and Jackson rush off for another round. (Cousin Evie was in the neighborhood for a brief visit. She's modeling David's crocs.)

Story time with Grammy is always a favorite.

So is squeezing into boxes.

The last night we hung out with them, I was determined to get a picture of all the cousins together. No matter what, I needed an OFFICIAL COUSINS PICTURE.

First I got the boys. (Not too bad.)

Then we added the baby.

And things started going downhill.
But I still needed a picture of all five cousins--no matter what!

So I instructed David to wrestle an uncooperative Mary into the picture.

And here you have it...

THE OFFICIAL COUSINS PICTURE:

It's a classic.

Ben, Teresa, Jackson, Grant, and Lincoln: We are so grateful we were just down the road during your visit to Grammy's. It was great to play together! We can't wait to play again!

A picture for Grammy's enjoyment (and yours too)

We had a splendid time hanging out with cousins while they were visiting at Grammy's house. Eventually I will post some really crummy pictures of some really cute kids.

Until then, enjoy this picture of these two little fireballs...

Are there cute genes in this family, or what?

Absolutely nothing

I like to plan. Actually carrying out my plans is a different matter. But I enjoy making them. In fact, you might even call me a compulsive planner.

I don't know where we will be moving this summer. But I do know it will mostly likely be to Washington D.C. or Atlanta. So...

...of course I spend way too much time researching on websites like Realtor.com or Zillow or Schools Matter or City Data or Great Schools or Google Maps (street and satellite views)...

I just want to be prepared! You know, get a feel for the lay of the land.

So what do you do when you find THE PERFECT HOUSE four months ahead of time in a city you don't even know you'll be moving to?

Absolutely nothing.

Oh well.

Comforted

This afternoon, out of the blue, I felt pressure behind my eyes. My vision blurred. And then the floodgates opened.

I really don't cry very often, so it almost startled me. I seemed to spontaneously burst into tears, and my children saw it.

They both rushed to my side immediately, showering me with hugs and kisses. David gave me a teddy bear. Mary gave me her lamb. (Yes, Mary has a lamb--and it is indeed little.) They both seemed somewhat amazed by the waterworks. Mary repeatedly informed me, "ME cry! Mommy no cry! ME cry!" (She takes her role as the baby in the family very seriously.) David politely asked me to stop crying. When I told him I couldn't stop (which was true), he suggested I take a nap. "When I cry a lot, I take a nap," he helpfully reminded me. He even offered to let me take a nap on his bed.

I love my children. My heart was overflowing as I held them close. They are truly a comfort to me.

(And I did stop crying in time to get them a snack and turn on some Dora.)

Being a sister, a mom, a daughter, and a wife is not easy. Sometimes I feel like I totally suck at all four of them.

But how grateful I am to have David and Mary, who are very good at being my children.

The cat's poop

As I pointed out here, Morris and I were star-crossed. The love was never to be. Because by the time I was finally ready to like him...he had turned into The Cat Who Poops All Over the House.

I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say that there was a lot of cat poop in places other than the litter box.

I take it back--I'm not going to spare you the details. I'll spare you SOME of details. But these are the ones I'm not going to spare you: Morris pooped in the dining room, the powder room, the foyer on the handmade carpet from Nuri's, the play room, the office, the family room, the laundry room, and so on. I felt like it was EVERYWHERE (probably because it WAS everywhere). Everybody stepped in it. I stepped in it while wearing my favorite ballet flats. David stepped in it BAREFOOT. I think my dad stepped in it every morning. I can't count how many times Daniel accidentally stepped in it and tracked it across the house. (If my mom ever stepped in it, she didn't advertise it. But it's a blessing from above that Mary never did, given her intense dislike of anything "too yucky.")

Here is another detail for you: Morris decided his very favorite place to have these "accidents" was under and around my car in the garage. (MY car!! Were there not two other cars in the garage perfectly suitable for pooping under?!) As if herding David and Mary to and from the car wasn't hard enough without the ring of poops around it. The garage was like an obstacle course, and I lived in constant fear that David or Mary would slip and fall in the poop while getting in or out of the car. (The poop was certainly not helping me manage my anxiety.)

And here is the best detail of all: This poop all over the house and around my car? It was not "piles"; it would more accurately be described as "puddles." I will now end this paragraph in an effort to spare you the most gruesome of details.

(Needless to say, the dog's hair was the least of my problems.)

One of the worst consequences of the poop was the weird tension in the house, as the family divided into Pro-Cat and Anti-Cat camps (with some who tried to remain diplomatically neutral). I'm not naming names, but I'm sure you have already guessed that yours truly headed up the Anti-Cat Movement. I did this by frequently threatening to kill Morris (fortunately David pleaded on his behalf), insisting that my parents board him when they were both out of town, vocally refusing any clean-up responsibility, locking the cat in the laundry room to cry whenever it suited my fancy, and giving Morris nasty looks. As usual, I was a real pleasure to live with.

On second thought, I don't like that label "Anti-Cat." Sure, I may not pay dues to the ASPCA anymore or carry a chiuaua around in a $900 designer carrier, but that doesn't make me an animal hater. I prefer the label..."Anti-Poop." So does that make the others "Pro-Poop"?

Now, Morris never gouged out Mary's eyes or chomped David's hands--though I'm sure they both deserved it at some point. He also didn't dare leave one of his special puddles upstairs (which is my territory). So the situation clearly could have been worse. But, let's be honest, nothing was going to make me Pro-Poop.

One morning in December, my mom informed me she was taking Morris to the vet. It occurred to me that Morris might actually be SICK. Up until then I had assumed his nasty puddles were a carefully orchestrated revenge aimed at me for all those years I wouldn't let him sleep in my bedroom. (A perfectly reasonable explanation.) I also realized he was OLD. I had assumed he was still a spry five or six years old--not THIRTEEN. (Where did all those years go?!) Of course he was sick. In fact, he was probably dying!

That's when I knew it. I KNEW with my whole heart and soul that Morris had cancer. Suddenly, I felt really bad for how mean I'd been. Guilt swept over me. He was sleeping on the stairway landing at the time. I leaned down, told him I was sorry. Told him he was a good cat. I reached out and stroked his back and scratched him affectionately behind the ears. I almost cried. He was going to the vet and never coming back.

Well, guess who came back from the vet that evening, complete with a nifty Rx of steroids and antibiotics.

I almost crumbled to the ground. That's when I realized I hadn't KNOWN with my whole heart and soul that he had terminal cancer, I had HOPED with my whole heart and soul that he had terminal cancer.

That's also when it hit me like a brick that I was a terrible, horrible person.

I guess I am an animal hater after all.

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I'm off to make dinner (arroz y habichuelas). You already know how this story ends. But I'll tell you about it anyway...tomorrow.

The cat

I owe the cat a blog post. I suppose it's the least I can do, since I mentally willed him to die. (Oops....I never knew my will was so strong because it seems to disappear completely any time a pan of brownies comes out of the oven.)

Poor Morris. We were star-crossed. He was simply destined NOT to be loved by me.

For one thing, he was adopted into the family about a decade too late. My feline-loving days of airbrushed kitten T-shirts, cutesy cat posters, and ASPCA membership were long over by the time I got to college. Perhaps if he'd been the first cat, Tiffy, who died of feline leukemia, or the second cat, Tigger, who disappeared just when I needed him most (when we moved to Flagstaff smack dab in the middle of my junior high experience), or even the third cat, Zeke, who got done in by an SUV in front of Greenbrook Elementary School, things could have worked out between us. But by the time Daniel and my mom rescued Morris from the shelter, I was SO OVER cats. They didn't stick around, so why bother?

But even more significant, I had developed a cat allergy: itchy eyes, restricted airways, uncontrollable sneezes. When I went to an allergist for testing, my reaction to cats was practically off the charts. Any tiny remaining piece of affection for the feline set was squelched by sneezes and sinus headaches.

(It's kind of ironic, really. When I was a child, I was so in love with cats and concerned with their well-being that my first real research paper was a very serious endeavor entitled "Cat Diseases." And how does the Universe reward me? With a serious cat allergy! Although, I suppose I could look at it as the Universe SAVING me from a future as The Weird Cat Lady, since I was clearly going down that path. Thank you, Universe, from the bottom of my heart.)

So the thing about the itchy eyes and the restricted airways was that they turned cats into my enemies. More specifically, the CAT FUR became my primary nemesis. Now, I know that cat allergies are caused by the cat's saliva and dander--but I can't see that stuff. What I can see is CAT FUR. Where there is cat fur, there was a cat, and I knew my eyes would start itching really soon. So, during the years that Morris was new to our family, I slowly developed an over-the-top, extreme, irrational-but-serious PHOBIA of cat fur. Soon this fear morphed into HATRED. I hated cat fur--in fact, I hated ALL animal hair. (Who was I to persecute the cat alone? I am no respecter of hair.) For proof, you need only ask my family, and they can tell you a million stories about Alisa totally FREAKING OUT about one teensy tiny harmless little animal hair getting stuck to her pants. (Another reason we are freezing our buns off this winter is that I carefully left all of our fleece in storage in an attempt to preempt some of these freak-outs here at my parents' house, as fleece and animal hair are not a good combination. I did, however, bring one beloved black fleece jacket--THAT I GUARD WITH MY LIFE lest it be FOREVER RUINED by a stray dog or cat hair.)

My parents' house is full of animal hair, plain and simple. It's everywhere. (This is not a disputed fact, so no accusations of libel are necessary.) No matter how much you sweep, vacuum, swiffer, dust, or employ the Fur Fighter, there are legions of short, straight, blond hairs lurking about EVERYWHERE. (Yes, in many ways this house is a personal hell. Or, alternately, I could view it as a healthy dose of exposure therapy. Either way, I live in a state of perpetual panic.) Because the offending hair is fine, straight, and short, I naturally blamed it on Morris, who has fine, straight, and short tabby hair. Thus, poor Morris never had a chance with me.

Which is too bad. Because he was really a pretty nice cat. He was genuinely more social and companionable than most cats. He'd broken his leg as a kitten, so he never learned that he could jump up high onto counters and such (which can be a major pain with cats). He had a funny, quirky personality, an attractive face, and an obsession with food (to which we could all relate). He was also surprisingly patient and gentle with my children, from the time David was an overly-exuberant toddler. He's arguably the best cat we've ever had, and he certainly lasted longer than the rest.

So it's too bad I had formed a PHOBIA of his fur. Because I HATED him for the fur all over the house.

HATE.

But a couple of years ago things started looking up for Morris and me. The first thing to work in Morris's favor is pregnancy. (Mine, not the cat's--though he always looked pregnant because of that obsession with food.) So, carrying and birthing two children did some crummy stuff to my body, which I'd rather not talk about now (or ever), but one thing that worked in my favor (and Morris's) is the positive effect on my allergies. Except for that crazy horse allergy, all of my allergies have improved remarkably. Many--like the cat allergy--are almost completely gone!

The other thing that worked in Morris's favor was this revelation: That straight, fine, short hair all over the house...belongs to Roderick the Dog. Whoops! So for years I'd been blaming the cat when the real culprit was the DOG! Oh no! I did feel a little bad about my mistake. All the nasty looks and negative energy I sent his way...and he didn't even deserve it. In fact, he hardly sheds at all!

(This discovery also left me in a rather awkward position. Normally I would simply transfer all my contempt to the dog. But it's IMPOSSIBLE to hate Roderick. He is WONDERFUL dog! That says a lot coming from me. Roderick came from here, and now he works here. How can you not love a dog like that? He is calm, steady, sweet, obedient, and loving. His ONLY weakness is the MASSIVE amount of hair he sheds. MASSIVE AMOUNTS!!! It's his one flaw, for which I suppose we should be thankful--because without it, he would be so perfect that he would be taken up into the Heavens to dwell with God. The shedding keeps him mortal.)

When I moved in with my parents last fall, I fully intended to be kind to Morris. I no longer had to be doped up on allergy meds in his presence, and I no longer blamed him for the hair stuck to my yoga pants. He was a good cat. My heart was soft...

...but not soft enough.

There's only so much a person can handle.

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Since this post has become so long, I think I will publish what I have. You will have to wait to read about

THE POOP.

(Excited?)

Tiny Texans

This is a confusing image for my child...

More on that momentarily.

A couple of weeks ago it was Tiny Texans day at school. (Why??)

All of the students were supposed to sport their western wear. We did the best we could. Fortunately, Mary was a cowgirl for Halloween, so we happily recycled her costume (although the "recycling" bit wasn't a very Texan thing to do). And we found some little cowboy boots in the garage for David. They belong to my brother Andy, and I remember his wearing them. It warmed my heart to see David clomping around in them.

Like I said, we did the best we could (with the outfits and the pictures)...

At school that day there was a real live pony and a photographer. Each child had the opportunity to sit astride the pony and have his or her picture taken. Mary refused (of course). But David happily complied. You do not see the picture here because I refused to buy one. They were, of course, expensive and ultra-posed (but not as hilarious as the school portraits). Also, I'm growing a bit weary with this Texas stuff.

All week long David and Mary came home with cowboy crafts coming out their ears. On the last day David came home with this book he had made...

It goes on...and on...and on...and on.......

I guess I should think it's cute.

I suppose it prepares the children to pledge allegiance to the Texas flag. (That was quite a shocker to my baby brother when my family moved here during his eighth grade year.)

I've really tried to have a good attitude about this whole living-in-Texas thing. I have tried to embrace the fun that comes with cowboy culture, suburban sprawl, and pointless pride.

But it's getting old.

Did my son really have to spend all week working on a 30-page book about Texas when he still can't draw a stick person or write his full name or count to 50? Did my son really have to spend all week memorizing the Texas state flower and the Texas state bird when I still can't convince him that WE LIVE IN AMERICA???

It's true. David doesn't believe that we live in America. His argument is that we live in TEXAS--NOT AMERICA. His proof is the 2 billion Texas flags flying around. (Very occasionally we'll see both an American flag and a Texan flag, to which he'll remark that it's odd to see an American flag since we're NOT in America.) When David speaks of our life in Ohio, he prefaces it with, "When we lived in America..." So when we lived in Ohio, we lived in America. But we don't live in America anymore because we live in Texas.

It would all be kind of cute and funny...except that it's not cute and funny, thanks to the not-un-serious talk of secession. With the Republican primary for governor coming up and the right, the super-right, and the super-weirdo-right battling it out, I can't help but be reminded of all the reasons I don't like Texas.

I hate to be a party pooper...but I'm not sure I want my kids to be Tiny Texans...or any kind of Texan.

(Help!! Someone remind me that Texas isn't all bad.)

To do list

No, this time the to-do list is not for Greg. (But I'm going to start working on one for him soon, since we're expecting a visit in ONE MONTH! Woo hoo!!)

This to-do list is for me. My deadline is before Greg returns for good. You also might be interested to know that this is exactly what my to-do list has looked like since LAST APRIL. So, yeah, not much progress in the last TEN MONTHS.

One more thing. I have to complete these items IN ORDER. I cannot move onto #2 until I have completed #1. I have tried to adjust my thinking and rearrange the order, and I have also considered doing the items more or less simultaneously. But then my heart starts racing and darkness squeezes my chest and I want to climb under a blanket and never come out. Please don't ask me to explain it because I can't explain it...but, what the heck, I'll try anyway: "It" is obsessive compulsive tendencies, and I think we all have some. You know, those weird rules we make for ourselves. Heaven forbid I complete my to-do list OUT OF ORDER. The earth would fall out of orbit and we would all crash into the sun and die a fiery death. Better to do NOTHING than to do it OUT OF ORDER. (I'm trying to save the planet here.) Ah, yes, paralyzing perfectionism. (And now you know why my (mom's) house is a mess.)

Here's the list:

1. Finish my Blurb books
2. Finish Mary's baby book
3. Join Facebook

Now, for a few comments on these items.

1. I am one Blurb book down, two to go
2. Item #2 should actually read, "START and finish Mary's baby book"
3. I'm still not super excited about the idea of Facebook. But I realized, oh say, TEN MONTHS ago that being on Facebook is just part of being a responsible, normal human being. Not being on Facebook feels like...not voting...or not flossing my teeth...or not checking my voice mail. It leaves me feeling...irresponsible and slightly uncomfortable. I fancy myself a relatively responsible person...but Facebook is still NUMBER THREE.

I have no intention of updating you all on my progress with this list.

But if we're ever Facebook friends, you'll know Mary has a baby book.

Quite contrary

Mary was so excited about wearing her boots today that I suggested we take a picture.

And this is how she posed for me...

Oh, Mary.

You are so smart and mature. Your determination and powers of concentration never cease to amaze me.

But your defiance is wearing me thin.

And the obvious pleasure you take in doing exactly the opposite of what I ask is a bit unsettling.

(Also, the "no-no-no" song you like to sing has lost its cuteness.)

I suppose I should chalk it up to stereotypical two-year-old behavior. But I think it may be something more: You are amazing. Already I can see that God has blessed you with the seeds of great talents. Somehow, your defiance is a manifestation of your great abilities. A sign of accomplishments to come. May God grant me the patience to last long enough to see them.

Best valentine ever

This year David is my valentine. He is sweet, charming, affectionate, and creative. Plus, those big blue eyes just melt a gal's heart.

(Sorry, Mary, I love and adore you...but you're just too........TWO.)

My valentine made me this valentine.

It's supposed to be a heart. But he worked very hard and deliberately to make sure it WASN'T a heart. (How did he know I would like it better that way?) As you can see, he put lots of jewels on it, but he thoughtfully left an open area at the top. He then asked his teacher to write something there. She agreed to help, and David dictated the following:

Dear Mom,

You are the bestest bestest bestest Mom ever. I love you so so so so so so much. You are the bestest!

Love, David

Since it wouldn't quite fit, his teacher suggested I *heart* U Mom. That works too.

I love David. I am deeply, profoundly grateful Heavenly Father sent him to our family. I am grateful for the new kind of relationship we are forming, now that he's getting older. No four-year-old should have to be a support to his mom....but that is how things play out sometimes these days. How blessed I am to have David as my valentine.

Dad, happy birthday?

Yes, that is a question.

This year for his birthday, my dad got--

1. to drop off my brother Daniel at the Missionary Training Center in Provo
2. a huge, record-breaking Texas snowstorm that he entirely missed
3. a dead cat

Hence, the question mark.

Was this a happy birthday week, or not?

Daniel's desire and ability to serve a mission is a happy thing...but saying good-bye to your child for two years can't be easy. So is #1 happy or not?

So is it unfortunate that my dad missed his birthday snowstorm? Or was he only too happy to leave the shoveling to David (and my mom)?

As for #3? Your guess is as good as mine.

Regardless of how unhappy (or not!) my dad may have been, no birthday can pass without a party (and way too many pictures of it posted on my blog).

Oh, here's another thing my dad got...

A green sweatshirt!! (This is an inside joke having to do with a certain nasty green sweatshirt in my dad's closet that is so old that it shows up in photographs pre-me!)

This is what it looks like when Mary's heart is breaking...
Poor Mary. None of the presents were for her.

David and Mary posed for me! Here they are in front of the party game...
(Incidentally, it's not my mission in life to make you nauseated from viewing blurry, grainy pictures. I stubbornly refuse to use the flash, pushing my poor very-reasonably-priced camera way WAY beyond its limits.)

Oh, look. Here is David posing for me. (This never happens!)

Some good old-fashioned party fun...


David actually got two turns. He cheated the first time, announcing, "I like cheating!" The second time he did not cheat, an accomplishment of which he was very proud.

Here is Mary with the lovely cake she decorated...
(Oops, Dad, now EVERYBODY KNOWS.)

Making a wish...
(Somehow I doubt the wish had to do with a resuscitated cat.)

Well, Dad, what's the verdict?

Happy birthday!

(Or not?)

Holding my breath

I am wound up so tight this year that I can't enjoy my children.

I can't melt into those moments of cuddles and kisses and laughter and love.

Because it hurts.

David is imaginative, intelligent, caring, compliant, enthusiastic, cuddly, and sweet. But it hurts to enjoy it...

Mary is bright, determined, beautiful, perceptive, sassy, sensitive, and funny. But it hurts to enjoy it...

Because Greg isn't here to enjoy it too.

Every night we would lie in bed together and discuss what we love about our children and what exasperates us and then again what we love about them.

We raised them together. The good and the bad.

It is difficult, of course, to deal with the bad alone.

But in some ways it is worse to experience the good alone.

The joys of parenthood also bring sadness. The happy moments break my heart just a little each time. How can their dad really miss all of this?

Each time I feel a wave of joy begin to wash over me, I can't help but run away from it. This year there is too much sadness intertwined with the happiness David and Mary bring me.

This isn't a lost year only for Greg. It's a lost year for me too. That makes me sad, but I can't help it: I feel like I am holding my breath for a whole year.

I want to exhale.

Cheat sheet calendar

These are the things that are scheduled on my calendar each week.

This post is partially inspired by Brooke's undertaking. But mostly I am posting this for Greg's sake. Heaven help that man every time he sweetly asks on a THURSDAY how swimming lessons were (because swimming lessons are on TUESDAY and shouldn't he know that?!?).

I completely, totally expect Greg to know everything on my calendar--WITHOUT my having to tell him. Isn't it his job to read my mind?!

Well, to give the man a little bit of a head start with the whole telepathy thing, here is a rough outline of a typical week for us. (I'm starting on Tuesday because that's when it feels like our week starts.)

Tuesday

• Both kids to school (with lunches) at 8:45
• Pilates at 9:20
• Grocery shopping (here)
• Pick up Mary at 1:00 and put her down for a nap
• Pick up David at 2:00 (Kudos to my mom for always adjusting her schedule to be home while Mary naps so I can go pick up David.)
• Quiet time
• Swimming lessons for David at 4:40
• Make dinner
• Once a month I see my therapist, usually Tuesday evening (Any progress I have been able to make this year because I am living with my parents is offset by the issues that arise from...living with my parents. Why can't life be simple???)

Wednesday

• David to school (with lunch and show-and-tell) at 8:45
• Monthly Family Home Evening packet group OR monthly visit to the temple OR monthly trip to Costco OR attempting to clean with a 2-yr.-old destruct-o-bot as my shadow
• Pick up David at 2:00
• Nap day--EVERY BODY takes a LONG nap AT THE SAME TIME (The highlight of my week!)
• Make dinner
• Kickboxing 7-8 and David goes with me (Who needs yoga? There's no stress reliever like a few good round-house kicks!)
• Late bedtime (Darn that glorious naptime.)

Thursday

• David and Mary to school at 8:45
• Laundry day
• "Free time" for visiting teaching or the book group I still haven't been to or blogging or cleaning or shopping or procrastinating
• Pick up Mary at 1:00 and put her down for a nap
• Pick up David at 2:00
• Quiet time
• Make dinner
• Zumba 6-7 (David goes with me)

Friday

• Playgroup at 10:00
• Quiet time
• Some Fridays we go to Grammy's house for a sleepover

Saturday

• Some Saturday mornings we are at Grammy's house
• For Saturdays we are not, there is Zumba at 10:30 (David goes with me)
• Yard work with Grandpa Mike
• Out to dinner with my family (usually pizza), and this often includes Tia and Tio

Sunday

• Skype with Daddy
• Mormon Tabernacle Choir broadcast at 10:30
• Early nap for Mary
• Church from 1:30-4:30 (Ugh.)
• Dinner with my family (and sometimes Tio and Tia come over to play)

Monday

• Laundry day (again...)
• De-cluttering day
• Meet Grammy somewhere fun in the morning OR visit Grammy's house after naps for dinner and Family Home Evening
• (I am thinking about adding gymnastics and karate to our Monday agenda. A little of that WinKids "magic.")

As for all of the unscheduled, unaccounted-for time?

Fill in any of the following:

--Target

--Blogging

--Making messes

--Playing computer

--The New York Times

--Grazing

--Procrastinating

--Cleaning up

--Throwing the ball around with Grandma Evie

--Hide-n-seek with Grandpa Mike

--Toys

--Toys

--Toys

--Coloring, painting, cutting, and pasting

--Play-doh

--Mandatory backyard time

--More procrastinating

--Hulu (Oh, how I could not live without you.)

--Cleaning up

--Drowning in a sea of papers from school

--Nick Jr.

--Nick Jr.

--Nick Jr.

--Making messes

--Blurb book projects

--Reading

--Puzzles

--Sleeping

--32 oz. fountain drinks

--Email

--Real mail

--The good old Roku box

--More messes

--Wrestling, hitting, laughing, and threatened time-outs

--Have I mentioned Nick Jr.?

--Oh, and PBS Kids too!

And I guess sometimes we bathe.

So, Greg, honey, there you go. Now you know what you're missing.

And don't forget it!

Snow Miro

I wish I had gotten outside first thing this morning with my camera.

But I didn't.

So I was looking online to see if anyone else did.

And I found this picture taken in Fort Worth at the Kimball Art Museum.

Love it.

Another snow day

This was our second day of all things cancelled. (Again, I pose the question: Is that good or bad?)

We woke up to a thick blanket of snow (a recorded 12 inches at the airport!)--a winter wonderland. It was beautiful and peaceful.

Unfortunately, by the time I got out my camera this afternoon, it was more of a winter slushland. Much of the snow had already melted, and what was left was wet and sloggy.

It was reconfirmed to us all today that Mary is indeed NOT a snow bunny.

She finds the snow to be somewhat exciting, but, ultimately, icky and stressful. She does not want the snow to touch her things, like her bike and scooter. She thinks snow shovels are super cool...so she wanted to rescue them from being in the snow. There's nothing like trying to shovel a driveway with a whiny, crying child who thinks the snow shovel shouldn't touch the snow!

David was a trooper, and he worked hard shoveling the snow. Trust me, that is some heavy snow. That kid has muscles!


I hope my kids had their fill of snow balls and soggy socks...because this stuff isn't going to be around much longer.

P.S. The cat is dead.