Photobooth Friday: Roughing It Edition

Trust Me

A day or two ago I was upstairs and the boys were somewhere else. Far enough away that I didn't know what they were doing, but I could hear them talking. Then I heard Cooper say, "No Mason, it won't really hurt. Trust me."

It's times like these that I think back to the times when I convinced some of my brothers to do some fairly hideous stuff. Like the time, well actually times, I dressed at least two of them up like WWF entertainers and curled their hair with an itty-bitty curling iron. Then I smeared their eyelids with Mimi Bobeck-esque blue eye shadow, and their lips with a Donatella Versace shade of orange lipstick that you could see from space.

Then they ran around our basement and pretended to be professional wrestlers. It was awesome. It would be even more awesome if I had photographed them. Then I could blackmail them. And I would. Because, as they say, it won't really hurt. Trust me.

PHOTO NOTE: Is Mason's face saying, "Trust you? You're kidding, right?"

Photobooth Friday, Sledding in Snow Edition

Rodeo Champions and the Chic Magnet

The rules of this game:

1. Hang on tight.
2. If it stinks, hold your breath and hang on tight.
3. Have fun and hang on tight.
4. Hang on tight, and when you can't, let go but get out the way.
Tonight Coop rubbed shoulders with National Western Stock Show Rodeo Champions and Queens. Seriously. As a contestant in the mutton bustin' competition his game plan was simple.

He checked in with the other contestants, even the grown up guys who wrestle steers, ride broncs, and get thrown from bulls. Then he shopped the John Deere tractors for a minute or two. After anxious prodding, he convinced his dad to take him back stage to wait for his event. And before we knew it he was clinging to a sheep who was skeedaddling it's way into the center of the arena.

I nearly tipped off the top of the stadium seats when they marched him out and handed him a trophy as tall as he is. And was even more amazed when the Rodeo Champions and Queens came out to lift them up and have all the crowd cheer for them. He was proud as punch when his kindergarten teacher showed up at his side to congratulate him. And honestly nothing surprised me more than the two cute young women who stopped him after the show and asked for his picture! If she'd had a Sharpie and he could write in cursive those girls would have asked for his autograph. I'm not kidding.

Now I acknowledge there are organizations who discourage mutton bustin' because it might not promote kindness to, or respect of, animals. And I also suppose there are others who will judge me for permitting my gorgeous little boy to compete in such a "dangerous" event. But I don't care. It was wildly entertaining and frankly I'm proud of my child for showing virtually no fear in the face of 8,000 screaming fans. I'm hoping it doesn't lead to a life of rough stock riding, but it was good 'ol fashioned fun nonetheless.

Thanks to everyone who helped us get ready for this event. From the grandparents who flew out to see him to the clothes and boots donations to the sponsorship of his entry and the late night notary -- it was a red letter day thanks to you. For the record: He was contestant no. 8 (pretty lucky, huh) and scored an 87 -- unofficially second place (facebook video). Not bad for a city kid.

A Tale of Two Parties

The truism, "You know you have a lot on your plate when..." has never been more evident than the last day of school before winter break. I actually pine for the last day. No, no, no. I mean to say, I pine for the first day of winter break. I'm not good with schedules. Getting the kids to school in the morning is a drag.

On the last day, however, you still have all that crap to do but it's somehow compounded by all this extra stuff known in some circles as fun and educational distraction. Also known as Christmas pageants and classroom parties. And so, an account of the day begins:

9:05

Run Coop into school just as the bell is ringing. Was lugging his backpack full of snack closet crackers and a bag of non-perishable food items for the food drive. He had his lunch, I think.

9:15

Begin tenuous negotiation with Mason to eat breakfast, get shoes on, backpack in car, and GET TO SCHOOL on time.

9:40

Miserably late to school. All teachers breathe sigh of relief as they were afraid Mason would boycott participation in aforementioned Christmas pageant. Mason is still nibbling the 3 Ritz crackers he agreed to eat for breakfast. I am carrying his backpack and coat and a 20-pack of water bottles intended for after-pageant reception.

10

Run to car and speed toward home where I need to clean up for the cleaning ladies and leave them a check. Also need to stop at a store and buy kindergarten teacher a gift. Once past point of no return I look down and notice I have Mason's lunch. Resolve to get back to school a little before the pageant so that he can eat.

11:15

Rendezvous with husband -- ha ha ha. Anyways, we try to have a brief coffee date before the mayhem begins and on our way to the Christmas pageant. Steve's car (we're driving in separate cars) is dangerously low on gas, however, and he detours for gas while I detour to Starbucks for two Venti drips, cream and sugar. Lots of sugar these days.

11:45

Barely get to Mason's school in time to seat ourselves in sanctuary. (Forget his lunch, again.) Discover that drinking coffee -- or anything really -- is discouraged in the sanctuary. Apparently this crowd does not worship caffeine like I do. I down my venti, sling camera over shoulder, and by stealth sneak husband's venti into sanctuary.

noon

Program begins. Turns out painfully shy shepherds with Spongebob Squarepants sneakers are very cute even when they do not sing a note. Following pageant proceed to classrooms for a cookie reception. At which time Mason's teacher graciously thanks me for the opportunity to teach the class the true meaning of sharing. Quizzically I stare at her, mouth gaping, then realize she means that Mason had no lunch and his classmates all pitched in a crust of bread or something so that he could eat. Good mom moment.

1

We leave the school -- husband in his car and Mason and I in my car -- and head directly to McDonald's (I have more to say about this, so tune in tomorrow or something.)

2:00

Get home with just enough time to whip up some royal icing for Coop's gingerbread making extravaganza. Royal only because it is a royal pain in the arse, I suspect.

2:20

Check in to school dragging Mason, his duck-duck, a bag of gingerbread making supplies, my camera, a spare lens, and a gift for teacher. Walk into classroom in such a daze I don't recognize own child. Gladly kneel on floor for the next hour or so while trying to keep Cooper and Mason from eating too many of the candies intended for the houses, snapping pictures, and periodically being asked to hold Mason's duck-duck. Did I mention it is approximately 84 degrees in the classroom and I am wearing fur-lined, knee high boots, opaque tights, a wool skirt, a HUGE sweater, and from time to time a small child.

3:40

Learn from teacher that Coop has complained of a stomach ache the better part of the day and that when she excused him use the restroom he was gone for the better part of half an hour. Decide I want to get him home and a little closer to a toilet bowl. Check us all out of the school at this point dragging Mason, his duck-duck, a bag of gingerbread making supplies, my camera, a spare lens, an actual gingerbread house precariously perched on a flimsy paper plate, a gift bag full of the stuff Coop made in school this month, his backpack, two water bottles, all while chasing Cooper in the parking lot while he darts in front of school buses, and swings his lunchbox and coat around his head.

I think we can commence the dialogue concerning the series of events that fuel my dislike for the last day of anything. Merry Christmas.

PHOTO NOTE:

Please note the picture of Mason affixed to the ornament he made in school. His teacher actually apologized to me in advance for that one. She claims he WILL NOT smile if she asks him to.

Leaf Me Long Time

Now it has become a ritual. The annual blowing of the leaves onto whatever willing participant we can find. But make no mistake, Mason didn't like it nearly as much.

Way too much noise. Way too many things touching him that he did not like. He was enthusiastic to wear the gloves and the ear protection. But would not wear the goggles and when he heard how loud the leaf blower was, he immediately wanted to retreat to the perch he had in past years.


Please enjoy the look of surprise on his face. I only wish the picture was a little better.

A Life in Balance

What is your job title? I've thought about this off and on for nearly six years. Primarily because over the past six years I've found myself doing jobs I really like. Raising my children. Creating just about anything I can get my hands on. Managing relationships. But now I know of a career to which I aspire.

Was watching one of my favorite shows on the T.V. -- Project Runway -- when I downright giggled at the introduction they gave Lauren Hutton. Illogically beautiful. Everyone knows she's an actor... model... entrepenuer... guest star judge. But they introduced her as an ADVENTURER.

Now that is a career choice I want to know more about. I think I can still swing the whole work/life balance thing as I pursue this endeavor. Don't you?

There's Still a Thrill

Some things you never grow out of. For instance, I'm pretty sure that my brother Devin and I have a mild case of roller-coasters-freak-me-out. Naturally as young adults we decided we had grown out of this ailment and bravely boarded that non-sense known as family entertainment in Las Vegas (my parents looked on in gentle amusement). As the thing -- that I will hence refer to as the devil -- inched its way to perilous heights we simultaneously looked at each other. I know he was thinking, "I might very well wet my shorts." Because I just had. Then we both gripped that damned lap bar and started screaming.

Remember what it used to feel like when your dad pushed you on the swings a little too high? It was fun, and frightening. And nothing equals it. You trust your dad. But, then again, you've seen him do some stuff that even your little brain might question. So you squeal hoping against hope that it's OK when the swing is parallel with the ground. That, unfortunately, you grow out of. But for now, Coop's still got it. The thrill, the tingle, the squeal.

That boy loves the swings.

PS -- Does anyone else think my son looks like my brother Andrew?

What Does This Mean?

After a few hours of tearing into paper, throwing boxes around, and enjoying the bounty of Christmas morning I looked up and sighed, "This place is a mess."

Cooper replied, "Mom, that's what Christmas is all about ... long pause ... and being good." That last part was added pretty sheepishly.


I'm wondering if there is a record for uninterrupted, non-structured play? We're going on 15 hours and there is no predictable end.

The Point

I recognize I've been remiss in documenting the amusing quips that fall from the mouths of our two boys as they learn and adjust to the English language and all her idioms. Despite the timing, I am not resolving to improve my record keeping. But I think you'll see a few more of these...

Today Steve met final aggravation with our 4-year-old. Sweet Cooper was slovenly lounging away his Sunday morning and had small piles of unassembled LEGOs all over the front room. (According to Steve there was a pocket of them on every cushion of the sectional sofa.) When Steve decided he too would like to lounge and watch a football game while reclining in full nap position he asked Coop to pick up the LEGOs.

Rather than scurry along the sectional cleaning up LEGOs, Cooper set to building something with one of the piles. To which Steve scolded him with a stern, "I think you're missing the point. I want you to pick these up so I can sit on the sofa."

Again Cooper set to doing something. But, alas, it was the wrong thing. Steve stared him down. Cooper looked up and sheepishly said, "I'm missing the point, huh?"

Daddy, I Leaf You

Why might you need all this protective gear?


To participate in sick, twisted game involving yards of leaves, a leaf blower, and a creative dad/son team. I'm sure you get the idea. Cooper would run in the leaves while Steve blew more leaves toward him with the leaf blower. Don't turn us into the child protective services, he really enjoyed it.

The Prison Years

I subscribe to the lazy mom's rules of child rearing. I try not to plan too much, devise too much, nor take over too much. I'm hoping that this will encourage my children to figure it out on their own. I thought -- and it turns out wrongfully so -- that this would also help them feel a certain degree of freedom and autonomy.


Cooper's conversation with Daddy (as relayed by said Daddy):

Scene: Coop and Daddy are playing Wii.

Coop: Move that brick, Daddy! (And as Steve unsuccesfully tried and tried he repeated this command more frequently and with more fervor.)

Coop: Nevermind, I'll do it.

Daddy: Coop you must be patient.

Coop: I'm so oppressed.

Another Sunday

Wii love Sundays. It gives us an opportunity to spend valuable time doing the things Wii love.

DWD: Sunday in the Park

Every good day at the park consists of a few essential games:
Chase Me, Daddy! Chase Me!

Look at Me Mommy!
Followed by Save Me Mommy!


Sit With me Mommy!

PS -- This is a bit White Trash to admit. But see those orange shorts? They used to be pants that I wore when I was pregnant. I altered them to fit me now and made them into shorts.

Imperial Adventure

I'm addicted to watching the Olympics. This is the first Olympics since our family acquired TiVo and I have to say it has made a huge difference in how much Olympics we actually watch. Fan-tas-tic.

The Olympic moments you see on T.V. are genuinely memorable, but it's the Olympic moments at home that are worth watching. Following the Usain Bolt win our two little boys have been expertly lining themselves up against a wall and sprinting around the house at the words, Ready-Set-GO! (I personally love this activity because it doesn't involve any toys with small pieces, and it wears them out.)


With every Phelps race Cooper simultaneously readies himself on the ottoman for a dive. Then jumps in the water -- actually onto the carpet -- gets on his belly and mimics the stroke. It cracks me up to watch his little body squirming across the floor. Is this how Olympians are born? Mason gets in on the action by wearing his swim goggles around the house and pulling his T-shirt up over his face but around his head (he's either pretending to be a bride or it's a make-shift swim cap).

There's moments of heartbreak, too. After watching women's gymnastics, Cooper mustered the courage to run a length of brick wall. That didn't end well and introduced him to the reason balance beam is not part of men's gymnastics. It also resulted in the "cold" medal -- mint chip ice cream sandwiches.


Overall the Olympics have represented a huge opportunity to learn about sports and culture. After hearing so many disappointing athlete's stories end with, "She's had a touch of a stomach bug this week." we decided to take the kids out for Chinese food. My little Beijing boys bellied up and wolfed down enormous quantities of wonton soup, sesame chicken, and rice. This restaurant was also the first they had been to that had live lobsters and crabs in an aquarium. Cooper was horrified to hear the fate of the creatures. Mason just kept shouting, "Bugs!" That's not really an exclamation any restaurant patron wants to hear.

Loved

On the day I said, "I do," I couldn't have imagined the type of father my husband would become. Back then I loved him because he weighed more than I did, was taller than I was, and had fantastic eyelashes. (OK, there were a few other reasons.)

But now I love him because he is loved. He's just as comfortable singing songs about boogars on toast (as in this picture) as he is on a sales call, in the boardroom, or on the golf course. I'm not sure it's because he changed or if he just started to reveal a little bit more about himself. But I've fallen in love all over, again.

PS -- He still has pretty fantastic eyelashes.

Parenting Styles

In reviewing pictures from a recent outing I have learned a little about my parenting style. I love to scare my children. In contrast, the friends who were with us are so sweet and gentle with their adorable kids. Check these pictures out...

So the idea is you set your children up in front of an Avalanche and want them tremble with anticipation. (Note: Mason is about to pee his pants and is actually hanging on to involved parts.)


When stuffed bear -- which is hiding in cave -- suddenly growls and scares the pants off your little one you laugh hysterically.


Mason doing a little terrorizing of his own.



The peaceful, loving family shown here encouraging each other to play a civilized game of put-put. (Note: Our terrible, kid-scaring selves are actually off scaring our kids.)


Oh wait! We're not mean ALL the time. Phew, I was beginning to worry.