Butterfly Funeral and Flying Logs

My brother came to visit this week, and boy did we have fun.  He's a 6'7" man-child with really big feet.  He teaches my kids insanely inappropriate things, which is fine, because I can't be expected to cover that arena alone.  This visit included lots of sword fights, gun wars, playstationing (that's a word), and only one neighborhood kid in tears.  The tears happened shortly after this:

But you know what they say - Don't dish it out if you can't take it.  We didn't want stinking neighborhood kids infringing on our Joel Time anyhow.

The best part of Joel's visit for me was the day that we all, including my sisters and their families, spent at Moultan Falls in the Battle Ground, Washington area.  Bit of a drive for us Oregonians, but we spent a lot of time there as kids, so it was a must.

I'll spare you the boring details of our day, but there were two parts that are worth mentioning.  The first is the Butterfly Funeral.

Joel found a butterfly that was mostly dead.  I suggested that Joel build a raft to float it down the river on, because surely the butterfly would appreciate a river burial.  Here's what he came up with:

Impressive, right?  By the time Joel finished the coffin-raft the butterfly was completely dead, so it was ok that we lit the raft on fire to add a little Jedi flair to the funeral.  (Potential forest fires be damned, we were in mourning.)  And now, I give you - The Butterfly Funeral.  Please keep in mind that Andrew was completely sober when he was laughing like a maniac, and that the entire service would have lost its hilarity if Matt had not thought to sing the theme song to Reading Rainbow.  I freaking love my family.

My second favorite part of the day was the idiotic game that the adults played, but with which the men never tired.  We all stood in the ice-cold water and threw logs at each other.  Good game, right?  This created tidal wave type splashes that made the men's "little boys" run for cover in their body cavities.  That water was dang cold.  

Most impressive was how the men all took turns without fighting and how they never realized how stupid this game was.  Not that it wasn't strangely fun.  (P.S.  I could barely lift that big log as high as my belly button without crapping my pants.  That sucker was water-logged and very heavy.)

Joel can come for a visit ANYTIME.  He's super fun.  :)

Me, My MIL, and Alex Trebek

Living with another woman, especially when that woman is your mother-in-law, can be stressful.  It doesn't matter how well you get along or how easy-going either of you are - you are different, and that makes for occasional tension.  

There are different ways to cook, different ways to clean.  You might have vastly different schedules or house rules.  And sometimes you'll want to go for a 10 mile walk in order to cool down, or you might scream obscenities into your pillow on a day when the walls feel particularly close.

But sometimes, yes, sometimes, you remember that you really do like the person you're living with, and that it's not all bad.

My MIL and I have fallen into a routine of watching Jeopardy while we eat dinner.  One night when there was nothing on, we just settled for the geriatric game show.  We figured since it was Teen Week we might have a shot at knowing some of the answers.

Well, on that first night it didn't matter that the questions were "dumbed down" for the younger crowd - we still knew almost none of the correct responses.  But we came back again and again because for some reason we enjoyed sitting together and having our stupidity handed to us to enjoy with our dinner.

So now, every night when we settle in with my cooking, (which is not my MIL's usual fare nor preference), we sit in silence until the answer to one of the questions is "SPAM" or "Catwoman" or something equally inane, and then we shout out our responses as fast as we can and gloat in our superior intellect.  We smile across the room at each other and crack open another soda.

And then each of us spends the evening attempting to give the other her space.

But if I watch for those moments of connection, all the differences seem to shrink a bit, and we both survive another day.

Making the Punishment Fit the Crime

Today I mailed a $649 check to a district court in Washington to pay my husband's bail forfeiture for a crime he did not commit, but which we have no way to prove.  

Life's kinda awesome sometimes, isn't it?

Anyway, it got me thinking about making punishments fit crimes.  I try to do that in my own house with my kids.  For examples, see this post about discipline.  But the King of Punishments is my father.  Hands down.  I will never forget the lesson I learned on the way to my grandma's house when I was just five years old...

It was a cloudy day and I was in the backseat of our tiny car because we were all going to see Grandma.  My parents were in the front seats talking about boring adult stuff, and I was sitting near the window with my older sister beside me.  We were coloring in our She-Ra! Princess of Power! coloring books to pass the time on the drive. 

I was always the scandalous child who had to be warned and threatened before my parents could take me to any social gathering.  I didn't have a very proficient personal filter, and it's still a little faulty today. So in the car that day, being who I was, I took a purple crayon and snickered while I filled in the giant spheres of She-Ra's breasts.  I thought it was so hilarious to color just her boobs and leave everything else un-colored.  I simply had to show it to my sister!

When our giggles caught the attention of my parents in the front seat, I was made to pass my coloring book up to my mother.  She looked at what I had done, (I'm pretty sure I remember her pinching back a smile), and showed it to my dad. 

Not. Good.

My father told me that because I was so proud of my drawing, I could present it to Grandma just as it was.  

I was Horrified.  With a capital H.

And my father followed through.  When we arrived at Grandma's house, I had to tear the page from my coloring book and present it to Grandma as a picture I had colored for her.

She hung it on her refrigerator.

To this day, I do not color boobs.  I do not draw dirty pictures. Except for that one time on a Magnadoodle, but I quickly erased it. And I only did it that once to entertain Andrew on a long road trip.  Even now I feel really bad about that.

So how do you make your child's punishments fit the crimes? I don't think I'll ever be as good at it as my dad was, but I'd love to hear some ideas.

P.S.  Still time to enter the drawing for the super-awesome scarf or baby blanket!

Week(s) In Review...Middle of September

There really are too many pictures to choose from, but here are a few of the things we did on our trip to Washington...

We ate at "Yummy Mongolian Grill".  It tasted good, but be careful how much oil you put on your creation.  I was on the toilet quite a lot after this one.

We went to Kid's Club - best invention ever, and I'd like one for my backyard, thankyouverymuch.

We went to the courthouse for Robel's adoption, (naturalization?), and also sealing at the temple.  Sadly, no picture of that one.  Doh.

Andrew and Todd went on a kick-butt bike ride.  Andrew's favorite part of the trip, so says he.

We chilled.  With bike helmets on.  Safety first.

We swam in Grandma's tub.

And met Juliana.  To-die-for cute. And she loved me.

So we cuddled.

And we went to the zoo.  Tommy and Michael both yelled at me for taking their picture.  Apparently they are not as big attention whores as my kids are.

We saw some Norman relatives.

And went to the beach.  Swings on the beach - awesome.

And to the Rose Gardens in Portland.  I love that place so very, very much.

We caught fish...(and criminal records...doh again)...

and snakes!

And we visited.  Mostly at decibels that prevented any actual communication.

And we finally took that group shot I've been meaning to get.  

And in spite of everything that kinda sucked and/or went wrong, we had a good time visiting with everyone. 

A re-post. Forgive my lack of originality.

This is a re-post from last October. Today I've been thinking of Mike and our entire family's sorta messed up issues all across the board. I really do wonder how things would be now if he were here. But I think we all know how he would want them to be, and there's no reason not to let our lives and relationships be something that he could be proud of - not embarrassed by. And we're getting it right in some ways.

I miss him. Andrew misses him. But we'll see him again in the not-to-distant future. I don't want to feel like I did on that day that I hugged Andrew at the airport and couldn't look him in the eye afterward. Head high, no shame, smile on face, arms open wide.

*****************************

Years and years ago you told me that if Andrew didn't marry me, you'd adopt me into the family anyhow. I guess you must have loved me as much as I loved you. Family always was important to you. You showed us that every time we saw you. I remember one time you went to the fridge and got a whole heap of string cheese and brought it to your chair just inside the front door, and when one of the grandkids came inside, you would give them one, without saying anything. A few kids later, they were all catching on - Grandpa has snacks! Everyone who hadn't gotten one yet came running into the house to collect their treasure from you. It was simple, like your love for them. Just plain, simple, without strings love.

The September day that I came to your house to ride to the airport with you to pick up Andrew from his mission, I was a ball of nerves and excitement. You could tell I was on the verge of needing a big dose of Ritalin, and you calmed me down- and then you made sure that I knew I was not supposed to hug Andrew until he had been released. Ah. Yes. Got it. So when Andrew's plane landed and he finally emerged, I thought I would just have to live with a smile and a handshake. Everyone got a hug but me, and then someone said, "Just hug him!" I didn't need to be told twice, but I also couldn't look at you when I did it. I was afraid of receiving a rebuke. But you didn't get upset. You waited until we were walking back to the car and you said to Andrew, "Don't look now, but Bethany grew a nice booty for you." I was mortified, and we were even!

One day not too long after that, I had to be the one to tell Andrew that you had had a stroke. It was a hard day. But harder than that was going to visit you in the hospital and holding my grown husband afterward in the parking lot as he sobbed huge tears for you. He shook in my arms and wept at the thought of losing you. I think that until that day he thought you were too strong to die. You had never stopped being his invincible super hero. It turns out you weren't invincible, but you're still his hero. He misses you, and I know that he thinks of you every time he hugs his own children. He wants to be the kind of Dad that you were.

So much has happened since you left. I wonder today how things might have been different if you had been able to stay. Your family has struggled without your sensible leadership, your comforting guidance and your honesty. I wish we could all just sit with you one more time and have you set us all straight. I don't know for sure, but I imagine that you've been watching us, and mingled with the joy of some of our accomplishments and blessings, you've had disappointments too. I'm sure that, had you been here through some of the rockier times in all our lives, you could have kept us all together with a little more love and all of your smarts. I think we all still needed you.

The last time I saw you was when my Ethan Baby was just three days old, and you had come to our house after Dallin and Alex's baptisms to meet him. It's true, on the outside you looked like you felt terrible, but you were holding your tiny grandson, and you were radiant. I am sad for all my kids who won't get to know you or hug you in this life, and I'm sad for the memories that are fading. But I'm glad for the strength you were to me while we had you. I'm glad for the example you were, for who you were. And I'm glad that you were part of my life here.

Tomorrow would have been your birthday, and so I will honor you by giving each of my kids a hug from you, and by treating my family like you would if you were here.

A Role Model

My lil' bro, Joel, is just a great big kid. Big as in, 6' 7" or something like that.

And 110 pounds.

He could poke your eyeballs out with his elbows for sure.

It's that big kid factor that makes him such a wicked awesome uncle. My boys adore him. They absorb everything from his vocabulary to his facial expressions.

I love that Joel loves my kids so much, and that they have such a great pal in him, but honestly, there was a time not too far back when I thought I might have to schedule supervised visits because I was worried about what kind of stuff he might teach my kids next.

Like how to build a flame thrower.

So far, though, there have been no flame throwers. Only a mace, a battle axe, and some kind of sword with horns; all made out of foam and PVC pipe. They all beat the crap out of each other with them.

I just know that one day soon I'm going to find all of them at the park, dressed in medieval garb, having pretend battles with their Dungeons and Dragons buddies while their slutty wenches cheer them on from the sidelines. I will deal with that by pretending I don't know any of them.

The upside to all of this is that my kids can take a hit like a man. (Parenting tip: If you have a pansy for a son, just make a foam weapon and hit him with it until he stops crying.)

Joel has other areas of expertise, too, though. For example, my seven and nine year olds went to a water park with him recently and came home saying things like, "Bow-chick-a-bow-wow", and "Foxy Lay-day!", while curving their hands around in the shape of an hour-glass. They do not say this about ugly girls, so Joel must have taught them how to spot the hotties.

You can be sure I thanked him for that.

So imagine my elation when Joel taught my boys something that didn't involve violence or pre-pubescent lust! He taught them how to ride his new long board.

The kicker is that he made them wear a helmet!

So maybe there's nothing to worry about, after all.

Things I Learned During Our Independance Day Celebrations

1. I learned that using a porta-potty at 9:30 AM isn't so bad, but using that same porta-potty at 6:00 PM is vile.

2. It doesn't matter if you go early to the parade to set out your blankets in a good spot, everyone is just going to stand in the street and block both your view and the progression of the marching band. Also, no one listens to motorcycle cops telling them to back up, because there is salt water taffy being thrown from the floats and there are four thousand adults trying to make sure that their kid gets more than all the other kids - who cares about the people who are actually trying to watch the parade?


(This was our view of the parade. And below is my 6'2" sister and 6'5" father who could not see anything, even when they stood on each others shoulders.)


3. I have the capability to yell at perfect strangers.

4. In spite of ten thousand morons choking the life out of the parade, it was still kind of cool to see my kids having fun waving to people while they rode in the parade with the V-Dub Club of Northern Utah. (None of the VW's broke down in the street. I was surprised.)







5. Taking my one-year-old to a restaurant when he has been in the hot sun all morning and missed his nap time by two hours is a bad idea.

6. Having my grandpa come to our house for a holiday meal and fireworks feels a bit like winning. Cause there are commonly six different families fighting for his patronage. Take that, Extended Family!


(He doesn't usually wear those.)

7. Pulled pork sandwiches topped with coleslaw, plus corn on the cob, watermelon, fruit pizza, and apple pie trumps any burger you could grill.





8. My brother is pretty much the coolest uncle ever. He makes my kids weapons and lets them beat him up.





9. I have pasty-white, unshapely legs.



10. I can be the nice mom and buy the kids glow sticks, and I'm cool for about ten minutes. Then my dad buys light-up swords, and I become the cheapskate. That's ok though - grandpas are supposed to be the favorite.





11. Trent really likes fireworks.

Summer Fun

Our summer rocks! Just sayin'.

Mom decided to go to the drive-in for her birthday and see Karate Kid. (Way more awesome than the original, by the way.) The drive-in is one of my favorite places ever. It's just cool.




My mom's a pretty hot 52 year old, huh? And speaking of hot...






Payback. You know what they say.




This is after four sodas, popcorn, licorice, blow pops, skittles and strawberry shortcake. Sugar is bad. But it's fun!




We've spent many a day at Lagoon, too. Buying those season passes was a really, really good idea. Whenever we're bored we just load up the car, drive for five minutes, and ride roller coasters until we puke.

I love Andrew's face in this one.


I love the names of these rides. I wish that was my job - Amusement Park Ride Namer. I would rock it! However, someone is doing a fairly decent job. Above, we have The OdySea, then below are the Jumping Dragon, Turn of the Century, and Tidal Wave - my favorite from my childhood. Hope you and yours are making some awesome memories this summer, too!