Friday, February 27, 2015

Now That's Something You Don't See Every Day

Do you see what I see?
Do you see it?

Can't tell what it is? Let's get closer.
My yoga studio is around the corner from the Arizona Museum of Natural History. This dinosaur has been moved off display, and all the dismembered pieces are on the back porch of the building. I don't know why I think this is so funny, but every time I drive by, I laugh out loud.

It looks like a scene out of Night at the Museum, and the pieces each come together at night and reassemble before he stomps down the street terrorizing the night scene in Mesa, AZ.

That's why you haven't heard about it. There is not night scene in Mesa, AZ.

Let's keep this guy our little secret.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Where's Lily?

This is all I see of Lily some days.
Cheer practice, track practice, basketball games, track meets.

English homework, Math homework, Spanish homework, Science homework.

Dirty laundry, clean laundry, baskets of laundry, piles of laundry.

Nose in a book, nose in her phone, nose glued to Gilmore Girls, nose glued to reality TV.

She was home sick two days this week, and it was nice to see her and talk with her for a few minutes.

Ah, high school.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

I Mustache You . . .

Brad had a brilliant idea for Family Home Evening.
He would let the kids shave his beard. I thought he was crazy. They thought he was awesome!
They took the job very seriously.


It started with the chin and progressed from there.
He gave Micah his first shaving lesson.
Micah was a quick study I think.
Lily was sick that night so she missed out on the fun, but Eve was all over this opportunity. Check out the old-school chops.

Micah reached into the sink, and Hyrum shouted, "EW!! Don't touch Dad's HAIR!!"
I loved watching my little boys shave. Hyrum was busy grooming his mustache like an expert.
The chops disappeared, and all that was left was this awful mustache.

And that's when it happened . . .
. . . He decided to keep the mustache. Dubbing himself "Mr. Fantastico," he trimmed it and shaped it . . .
. . . and almost shaved his head! Reason struck before he shaved it bald, but he did cut it pretty short.
Eve hated the mustache almost as much as I did. She kept telling him, "Daddy, shave off that MUSTACHE! You know Mom won't kiss you with that!" She was right, you know. (See her little row of stitches under her chin?)
Later that evening, Brad posted this photo on Facebook. So icky. He wore it to work that day and then out to dinner that night. Half of our neighborhood saw him at the restaurant. I was embarrassed. He thought it was hilarious.
And then, just like that, he shaved it off and headed to a meeting.
I miss the beard a little bit, but that stache? No. No. No. NO!
My kids will never forget the time they shaved their dad's beard, and I won't forget Mr. Fantastico.

Glad he's gone.

Monday, February 23, 2015

I'm Allergic to February

I have had it. And I mean it.

The allergy season this year is the worst I've ever experienced. Without exception.

I've taken every OTC antihistamine I can find, and nothing turns off my nasal faucet and nothing stops the sneezing and nothing de-itchifies my bloodshot eyes and nothing restores my energy and all I want to do is rub and rub and rub my itching nose until it is a swollen, red ball in the center of my face.

If you see me walking around these days, this post may explain why I look the way I do. It ain't pretty.

I have suffered from seasonal allergies as long as I can remember. Alfalfa harvest in Idaho used to aggravate my senses, but a dose of Allerest (no longer on the market, and I've cursed that executive decision many times in the succumbing years) used to keep it under control.

Moving to AZ brought a whole new meaning to the words allergy season. Beginning sometime during the last week of January, my nose would begin to tickle and my eyes would begin to itch, but it was usually manageable with Allegra or Claritin. 

No more.

I tried everything I could find this year. I even resorted to Ambien Benadryl for a few days, knocking myself unconscious for hours at a time, hallucinating in my sleep about flying monkeys and tornados and Auntie Em, all in the name of a few hours' relief from the constant barrage of pollen in the air.

After listening to my complaints and sniffles and near-constant sneezes for a few weeks, Brad convinced me to make an appointment with an allergist. 

They polka-dotted me with pollen, mold, and pet dander sixty times over.

 I watched as most of the dots stayed the same and a few grew taller and wider and itchier.
Used to be, back in the day, if patients suffered from asthma or breathing problems, their doctors would prescribe moving to Arizona's dry climate for relief. Problem is, those people brought their plants and trees with them, converting Arizona into what the allergist dubbed "the hellhole of allergens."

While I didn't react as horribly as some, they did discover that I'm allergic to a few things around here--primarily eastern oak, mesquite, and ash trees (one of which grows right outside my bedroom window--that explains a lot) and a weird weed named artiplex/scale that grew from a small pinprick to a huge, itchy welt during the test.

I began an allergy regimen that should show some improvement in 30 days. Five days in, and I've seen nothing yet.

I'm praying for rain today so that all the pollen can be washed from the air.

It's miserable.

The worst part? It is the most gorgeous weather ever right now. Kids riding bikes, tossing balls, drawing chalk pictures. Me? Holed up in the house with a snot rag and a bottle of Claritin. I'm hoping for some relief before the weather gets hot and the "hellhole of allergens" turns into the "hellhole of summer."

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Friday, February 20, 2015

A Most Memorable Date

We've all had those dates, right? The date that we anticipated for a week, tell all our friends about, and count down the hours until he arrives?

Eve had that date yesterday.

Brad takes each of the kids on a date about once a month, but no one loves them as much as Evie. She left with big dreams for the evening--a quick bite to eat at her favorite restaurant (for a Happy Meal. She is five.), a stop at the used bookstore, and finished off with an ice cream cone--chocolatey and swirly and melty and sweet. That ice cream cone was licking her face and fingers by the time I got her in the shower. She splashed and scrubbed as I headed down the hall to finish some ironing.

Then I heard it. The scream.

You know the one.

The one where you know something really bad happened.  The one where siblings drop what they're doing and yell, "GET MOM! QUICK!"

That's the scream I heard.

When I rushed around the bathroom corner, I found a wet blond head sticking out of one of my good towels. Why was she using a good towel? She knows better.

Blood mixing with bath water was running down her neck. Where was the injury? She couldn't tell me, not in her hysterical post-shower drippiness.

There it was.

On her chin.

After mopping up the blood and water, I realized it needed stitches. And she was demanding something else.

Her daddy.

Brad was gone, but as soon as he heard of the emergency, he changed his plans, picked Micah and his friends up from basketball practice, burst through the front door Superman-style, scooped up his pajama-ed and dry baby girl, hustled down the street to our neighbor's house. Why the neighbor? He's a doctor and had offered to stitch her up at his office.

This is the image Brad sent me.
Bath hair that never got combed then dried. A small drop of blood on her clean pajamas.

He said she didn't like the numbing shot too much, but once it was numb, she fell asleep for the seven baby stitches Dr. P placed on my baby's face.

Eve had to tell me all about it when she got home--how the bandaid is "water-prooth" so that she can get in the bath and not get her stitches wet. How she cried and had to keep her arms in a blanket "so they wouldn't get cold" (smack the dr. as he worked).

Most importantly, she had to remind me that she hadn't read her new book to me yet, and even though it was 9:45 pm, she needed to read before bed.

I expected her to wake up cranky and unwilling to get ready for school, but she was fine. She had to learn how to eat with a bandage on her chin, and she was a little worried that her classmates might make fun of her. I asked her if they'd made fun of her friend when she broke her arm and had to wear a pink cast for a month. When she realized she wouldn't be teased, she was all smiles and ready to show off her injury at school.
Off she went.

Most of my kids have split their chins or their foreheads or their knees or their somethings open at some point.

Add another one to the record books.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Closer and Closer . . . And Yet So Far

I'm so ready for this to be done. For what to be done?
I may have mentioned this little project we have going on . . .

Parts of it are getting close to finished.
This was the best photo I could get of the hallway and bedrooms without a tripod. The staining and paint are mostly done. Electricity is not done, and a few junction boxes now need to be moved.
Tile is waiting to be installed. Hardwood is in the garage acclimating. Rolls of carpet and pad wait patiently next to boxes of fireplace stone.
Still need portable heaters because HVAC is not done yet. Vents in; heating and colling units not in. The wall reserved for wallpaper . . . not ready for wallpaper. More prep work needs to be done, and the installer will have to make another trip on another day.
I adore the trim--the trim around the windows and along the stairs. I love the color of the walls.
The color of the island . . . is wrong. Completely wrong. As is the color used on the laundry cabinets. They will be repainted. And that will take more time.
But the farmhouse sink? Yeah. Pretty perfect under that window that looks out into the Ponderosa forest.

The sewer is already installed but can't be finished until we have power to flush the system out. Most of the siding is done--except this stretch across the front . . .
. . . and around the garage. Hyrum hunts for treasure every time we visit. This time he secreted his finds in his pillow case so I couldn't find them till we were home,and it was too late to reprimand and confiscate.

We took the kids to the river which flows this time of year but is dry in summer.
I can't wait to start making memories here.
Memories that include a flushing toilet and beds with sheets.

Just sayin'.