winners

The results are in. (Think it took me long enough?)

But, before that, I've got to tell you a funny little story.
Remember how Conrad said the new baby would be a sister? Well, I believed him, because I think the young ones just know those sorts of things. And several other people believed him, too. But he tricked us all.
Because my laboring and birthing was happening around the time that the kids wake up, we asked Mr. Boss's mom to come and take them for the day. (I was worried that they would get scared if they saw/heard me during my laboring. Also, we wanted to be able to rest after our baby arrived, without the need to meet the demands of the older kids.) They left about 30 minutes before Zeke arrived.
Later, Mr. Boss was talking with his mom, and she told him something very interesting. On their way to her house, Gramma asked Conrad (one last time) if "Porcupine" was a brother or a sister. I'm sure she was expecting he'd say sister, like he always did. Except he didn't. "Porcupine is a brother." he told her, matter-of-factly. (Their little q & a was about 15-20 minutes before our new baby boy was born.)

Now.
Here are the winners of the big
gender/weight/birthday guessing game:
Because nobody guessed the exact weight or date,
winnings go to the closest guess.

Birthday:
Kalen, who guessed June 16th
Honorable mention: Sarah, who guessed June 17th.

Weight:
Gabby, who guessed 9 lbs
Honorable mention: Kalen and my mom, who both guessed 8 lbs 5 oz.

Gender:
Rachael, Chloe, Alexa, Kalen, poopstane1, Brandi W., Sarah B. and Alicia K., who all correctly guessed: boy.

dinner conversation.

Our dinner conversation skills are, in my opinion, kind of lacking. But every now and then, we have some good ones. Last night was one of those.

I can't recall how we made it to this point, but Mr. Boss was trying to get the kids to fall for the "under where/underwear" joke. They have yet to get it right.

Mr. Boss: C, what were you eating under there?

C: Um, nothing.

Mr. Boss: *pointing across the room* Well, what were you eating under there?

C: *looks over his shoulder* Nothing!

Undaunted, Mr. Boss tried to engage another child.

Mr. Boss: Hey, Z, what were you eating under there?

Z: Uhhhmm... Pancakes.

shelter.

It was a delightfully overcast day. Thick clouds threatened rain all morning, before they finally broke. Huge drops of rain pounded the ground and our windows. The smell of rain wafted in through our ac unit.

I opened the front door, so the children could watch from behind the screen door as the world was soaked.

They knelt before it, in awe of the speed and size of the falling rain. As they knelt, C noticed a daddy-long-leg sneak in through a crack at the bottom of the screen door. He was quick to inform me of our guest, declaring that it had “come in to find shelter!” Being an expert bug catcher, he swiftly grabbed it by the legs and brought it further inside.

“What should we do with it?” I asked. I don't appreciate bugs in my house, but I had taken pity on the shelter-seeking creeper, and didn't feel comfortable sending it to the same fate as other insects that made their way into our home.

“I don't know,” C responded to my question. “But daddy-long-legs are an important part of our ecosystem.” He informed me, no doubt aware of the possibility of demise.

“I feel bad for it,” I said. “It was only looking for shelter. But it chose the wrong place, and cannot stay here. I think we should throw it outside, and maybe it'll find someplace else to take shelter.”

So, my bug-toting 7-year old walked to the door, I cracked it open, and he tossed our new friend back out into the soggy wilderness that is our front yard.

snack free september

After a discussion about wanting to lose some weight, and needing to eat better, Mr. Boss suggested we initiate a “snack-free September”. He said we could be each others support, reach out to the other when we struggled under the temptations of goodies (ranging from fast food and soda to copious amounts of chocolate).

I'm not exactly one to agree with restricting treats from my diet in the name of weight-loss or health-seeking, but when he said we could take a break for Cupcake's second birthday, I reluctantly accepted his challenge.

We then proceeded to use the final days of August to eliminate the treats in our home. By consuming them, of course. No wasting in this house!

The month started off rocky. September first found us road-tripping from Salt Lake back to Denver, and that means road-trip food. We were much more restrictive than usual, but when you pull into town after 13-plus hours on the road, cooking is the last thing on your mind. So we picked up some good ol' KFC, fried chicken, mash taters, macaroni, and a large side of cheese curds. Yes, please.

Mr. Boss had a meeting on day three, in which there was a bowl full of treats staring at him for an hour. When he returned he informed me that, out of habit, his hand plunged into the bowl before his bum had made contact with a chair, but he remembered in time, and resisted. And, although his mouth watered at the sight of his companions Mountain Dew, he stayed strong.

On day four, a friend met him for lunch. He chose, what he feels, was the healthiest fast food option: Jimmy Johns. Nothing fried, fresh veggies, not a bad choice.

Needless to say, Mr. Boss is doing quite well with this challenge.

Meanwhile, I sneak out to the car periodically through the day. Hidden under the passenger seat is a box of contraband goodies.

Other times, I slip into the kitchen, open a canister of hot cocoa mix, and enjoy some of the sweet, chocolatey powder. (Weird? Probably. Do I care? Not really.)

three moments.

The above photo was taken just a few minutes before I sat down to nurse the baby. Of course, just as soon as I'd started, there was a knock at the door. It was my neighbor warning me that my car was about to get ticketed. I immediately went to remove S and, in the process, may have flashed my neighbor. I'm not sure if he saw anything, but I kind of didn't care. I grabbed my keys, slipped on some shoes and ran out to move the car. As soon as he saw me, the parking enforcement guy drove off. I don't like thinking that my neighbor saw a bit more of me than either of us ever wanted, but a possible accidental flash is way better than a ticket.

Then there was the moment I was walking from the kitchen into the living room. That's when I found that S had gotten his socks off, and was pretending to be a puppy.

Lastly, I want to share this little moment with you. S and I were standing with the curtain over our heads, watching the rain fall outside our window, Z joined us for just a moment before climbing back down. I'm so happy that we're getting rain and not snow. I don't even care that it's been rainy every day this week. Rain is glorious.

how to cut your own hair

I've been thinking all day about today's topic, "educate us on something you know a lot about or are good at." I was having a hard time coming up with anything, so I was just going to skip it. But a thought finally came to me, and I know just what it is I'd like to share.

I wasn't really specific, when I posted about my recent hair cut, but I actually did that myself. And now I will share with you some tips on cutting your own hair.

First, consider what you want your hair to look like when you're done. Are you planning on cutting off just a few inches, or are you going for a more drastic cut? Have an idea of what you want, or you will probably end up disappointed.

Are you ready? Then you'll need to pick your location. I chose the bathroom. The important thing to consider when picking your location is mirrors. If you're lucky, your bathroom has the three-way fold-out mirror. (That helps you to see the back of your head as you're working on it.) If you're like me, then you'll be dealing with a flat, wall mounted mirror, and a hand-held mirror. Not the easiest thing to work with, but it is possible.

Next, gather your supplies. Scissors, squirt bottle, comb. Also, consider bringing the broom in with you before you start, so that you don't have to walk through the house with loose hair falling off of you to get it afterward.

Now that you have everything you need, let's get started. If your hair is half way down your back, and you just want to cut off a couple of inches, then this will be pretty simple. Grab a section, twirl it, and begin snipping away. Your main goal is to create some slight layering at the ends, while keeping an even length over all. Use your hand mirror to check the back. If it's all even, then you're done! If there is a spot that is a bit shorter than the rest, don't worry. Try to match up your other sections of hair to the shorter area, to get an even look all around.

If you do it the way I did, you'll find that you keep having one section that's just a little bit shorter. Each time you try to get the rest of your hair to match up, you'll manage to get one section just a little bit shorter than the rest. At this point you have two options.

1. Set the scissors down, and go pay someone to finish the job properly.

2. Keep trying for a uniform look.

Option 1 is best for those who really don't want to end up with their hair too short. Option 2 is for someone, like me, who wouldn't mind if their hair wound up being super short.

So, you're going to keep going, huh? Then this is where it get's tricky. Unless you have, like I mentioned before, the 3-way mirror that allows you to see the front and back at the same time.

Before now we've been working with dry hair, but once you decide to go for a shorter cut, you'll need to get your hair wet. It allows for a bit more control. Using your hand mirror, check the back of your head and pick an area that you want to work on specifically. Set your mirror down, grab your scissors, and blindly feel around for the area you were just examining. Cautiously grab bits of hair and snip away. Periodically grab your mirror to check your progress. Cleaning up the hair at the back of your head is the most difficult part, just keep checking with your mirror, to make sure you haven't given yourself a nasty bald spot.

Once the back is done the way you want, you can work on the front and sides. This is much easier, since you can see what you're doing in the mirror at all times. Remember, you always want to keep the top and sides longer than the back. We're not going for a mullet, here.

When you're finished, use your mirror to check your head from every angle, making sure things look nice and even. Touch up as needed.

If you feel like you've just made a mess on your head, you have two new options.

1. Tie a scarf around your head so you can go out in public, head over to the salon, and ask them to fix your work. Preferably without laughing at you.

2. Grab some electric clippers and give yourself a clean slate. It's hair, it'll grow back.

Or, you could save yourself all of this trouble by going to a salon in the first place.

just because.

a baby and a magnifying glass:
you're welcome.

the hero of the day.

There was a spider in my house today. Blegh. Just knowing it was there made me uneasy. But what could I do? It was on the ceiling, and I'm not very tall. C suggested the step-ladder. He's smart.
I got the ladder, climbed up, and found myself face to face with a creepy-crawly spidey. It sent shivers down my spine.
I stood there on the ladder, paralyzed by the heebie-jeebies, while my children laughed at my expense. It was all fun and games. Until Mr. Spider detached from the ceiling and came flying at me.
Then the dramatized squirming became a real-live shriek. Eek!
Mr. Spider fell on the floor and proceeded to play hide-and-seek inside a stray piece of clothing. But don't you worry, I caught the little sneak. Caught him with my shoe.
C grabbed a tissue and retrieved our crumpled friend from the floor, and then sent him to a watery grave. He returned, exclaiming that he was the hero.
Then, for the rest of the day, the children pretended to be giant spiders, and teased me mercilessly.

the end.

photo challenge day 13:

spam comments

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photo challenge day 9:(Not specifically these items, but chocolate & other treats, in general.)

this is what comes from taking a moment to wash my hair...

Can you guess which is the real Z?
photo challenge day 5:

all I want for Christmas...

...is a lifetime supply of Stephen's Hot Chocolate.

you have four?

We had to run to the store Saturday night. Because Boss was at work, it was just me and the babes. We quickly gathered the things that we needed to have for Sunday, as well as a couple of treats, and made our way to the check out. I suppose I was feeling generous, because I gave E and C a penny each, so that they could ride the mechanical horse that lives at our grocery store.
When I was finished at the check out, and C and E had each had their turns, I let Z have a turn. As he was riding, a woman walked up with a little girl who wanted to ride the horse, too. As we all stood around waiting for Z's ride to finish, the woman was taking in the scene of a young woman with her children. And then she noticed baby S in the wrap on my chest.
"Is there a baby in there?" she asked, dumbfounded.
I responded in the affirmative and proudly pulled back part of the wrap so that she could get a better look.
"You have four?" she asked, a look of shock on her face.
"Yep." I replied, with a smile.
"Well, are any of them twins?" she asked, her shock had turned to horror.
"Nope," I said, quickly.
"Do you have a husband?" she asked, quickly adding, "I mean, to help you?"
I was really enjoying this. "Of course," I told her. "When he's not busy with work or school."
By this time, Z's ride had ended and I was gathering my babes so we could leave. As I was doing so, this woman still with that shocked and slightly horrified look on her face, now with a fake smile and forced kindness, added "Well, they're beautiful!"
I thanked her, and walked away, laughing to myself.

It was a scenario I'd been fearing since I became pregnant with S, I don't know what I was afraid of, though. It was hilarious.

Gummi Bear and the Mysterious Growth

I opened a pack of gummi bears for Conrad to tie him over while I made lunch. As always I grab a couple of my favorites for myself. As I was reaching in to the package I saw a really strange looking bear. It had this huge white growth on the side of its head. I called it "tumor bear."

Tumor Bear and his compadre.

Up close and personal with Tumor bear.

After I'd captured enough photo evidence I figured I might as well eat the poor thing, put it out of its misery, you know? I pulled off the growth, and gave it a taste to see if it was a build up of sugar. Nope. It was the flavor and a stiffer, but gummi, texture of a bear, minus the sweetness. Yuck.
Findings: eat the bear, chuck the tumor.

Why Mama needs a sippy-cup

All I was trying to do was drink and talk. Next thing I knew my cup jumped out of my hands and poured its contents all over me and the table. It was a wonderful mess and I enjoyed cleaning it up.

Next time I think I'll just use a cup with a lid. Sheesh!

breakfast

This morning I rediscovered breakfast. As someone who has gotten used to waking up between 10:30-11:00 am I have also gotten used to skipping the first meal of the day, replacing it with an early lunch. But this morning I woke up surprisingly early (6:20). Mr. Boss needed to be waking up then also, so I decided to help him along.
I don't think there are many ways to wake up that are better than waking to the scent of breakfast being prepared. It smells great to the chef as well, and I found myself craving a wholesome egg-y breakfast.
For Mr. Boss I make it pretty plain--2 eggs over-easy seasoned with salt and pepper, and two pieces of buttered toast.
I like mine a little more dressed up. Having a smaller appetite than my spouse I only make myself 1 egg over-easy, seasoned with a dash of salt, pepper, and italian seasoning. Two pieces of plain buttered toast, and a couple of extras ready--a slice each of a fresh tomato and fresh mozzarella--sandwiched together. It is divine.
After such a delightsome meal I realized this is something I need to be doing often.
I suppose while I'm at it I could be making a regular, wholesome breakfast for my betrothed as well.

a seasonal story (fiction)

I wrote this Nov. 22, 2005. It is just silly story, and I figure it would be an appropriate post, given the time of year. :)

Santa hates me. Believe it, it’s true. Every year he gives me a lump of coal. Sure, you now think that I’m just on the naughty list, but that’s not it, or at least not all of it. You see, the reason I’m sure he really hates me is because the lump of coal he gives me isn’t just any lump of coal, it’s a smoldering lump of coal. Hot, to the point where I reach into my stocking and remove my hand with 3rd degree burns. And even after several years of that, I wasn’t sure what was going on. So last year, when I sent out my wish list up to the North Pole, I ended my list with: “anything but a smoldering lump of coal.” I anticipated that Christmas. I could feel it; I wasn’t going to get a lump of coal. I’d even made sure to be extra good, so that he wouldn’t have any reason to have me on his naughty list.

Christmas Eve came, and I made sure to go to sleep before my bedtime, I really didn’t want to give Santa any reason to think I only deserved a lump of coal.

I woke up early the next morning and ran to the tree. My stomach flip-flopped when I saw all of the packages beneath the tree. They shimmered in all their different papers, the lights from the tree reflected in the metallic parts of the paper, creating a magical holiday glow on the walls.

Everyone else was still sleeping, but I just had to take a peek. I tip-toed to the tree and carefully moved the presents around, checking tags, and examining the sizes of all the boxes.

And then I spotted it. It was the biggest, shiniest, most desirable package, by far. No way could this present be for me. It seemed so wonderful, but I kept away. I figured there was no reason to get my hopes up, because there was no way I’d gone from smoldering lumps of coal to this euphoria inducing package. I continued to scan the other gifts, but my eyes kept falling back on the large parcel. Needless to say, my curiosity got the best of me, and I checked the tag. I’m sure my heart stopped momentarily when I saw the words: To: Amelia From: Santa

I felt a tingle run through my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers and toes.

I almost couldn’t contain my excitement. I had to walk away from the tree. I knew if I didn’t my little hands would rip that paper off before you could say “Merry Christmas!”

I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of hot chocolate. I knew nobody would be up for hours, though, and the suspense was killing me, I had to find out who that present was for.

I didn’t even finish my drink before I tip-toed back into the den to examine the gift further. I was sure I’d made a mistake when I’d read the tag earlier. Sure that it couldn’t be for me, so I checked again, and again, and again. There was no mistaking it. Santa was giving me a glorious second chance. No more lumps of coal.

Well, my excitement over this idea got the better of me, and before I knew it I was standing with shiny paper crumpled around my feet, and the most intricately designed toy chest before me. It had a glistening, gold-plated latch, shaped like a star. And when I say star, I don’t mean a plain 5-point star that people commonly think of, I mean a large, glorious star, like the star that shone in the sky to welcome baby Jesus must have looked like.

The house was silent with sleep, but I still looked around, checking for anyone who might be sneaking a peek to get me in trouble, before I reached out my trembling fingers to lift the latch and see if there was anything inside.

I gently twist and lift the latch, then slid my fingers under the lid and began to gently raise it up. At first it didn’t seem like there was anything, but as I continued to lift the lid further, a spark lit, and before I knew it there was a small fire illuminating the almost empty box.

I ran into the kitchen and filled up a pitcher with water as quickly as I cold, and ran back to the box. The lid was still open, and flames were jumping out of it, gasping for air, and sending up puffs of smoke. I held the pitcher with both hands and steadily poured water over the flames. Once the fire was out, and the smoke had cleared, I looked into the chest to see what had been on fire. It looked like a bunch of wet, brown paper with burn marks.

Upon closer inspection I found what must have once been a brown paper sack. And I’m sure Santa was having a good laugh as I found out what the contents of the bag were. That’s right; Santa gave me a flaming bag of poop for Christmas. And just my luck, shortly after I had disposed of the contents of the toy chest my parents walked into the den. The mere sight of the crumpled wrapping paper on the floor had them near rage, and then the fading smell of smoke and waste had them raving for an explanation.

I was speechless. How was I supposed to explain to my parents that Santa hates me, and sent me a flaming bag of poo for Christmas?

All I could do was look at my feet, and try to find the right words to tell my parents that I no longer wanted to celebrate Christmas.