Nostalgia and Phone Books

I was tagged recently by the two Heathers. The assignment was to post your fourth picture from your fourth photo file on your hard drive. Here it is. My sweet kids are intermingled with the adorable offspring of one of my favorite people in the world, Sara Holdman.

Sara and I were college friends and I can honestly say she is my longest standing friend to-date. I didn't make much effort to maintain childhood friendships due primarily to the fact that I was raised like a gypsy child. For me, the friendship cycle went something like this: 1. make friends, 2. move away, 3. miss them, 4. write them two or three letters, 5. make new friends, and 6. forget about the old ones. Don't get me wrong, the gypsy life suited me well. I'm a self-diagnosed ADD casualty; therefore, maintaining really anything for longer than six days was difficult. And to those of you who have known me longer than six days, I love and admire you. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed. :)

Back to my Sara. We lived a mile apart for several years after we were married and reared a few of our babies together. Sara has always been one of the sweetest, kindest, funniest-without-even-knowing-it people that I know. I miss her terribly.

When we were in college together, we took a road trip with our friend Julia to Colorado to visit a guy I was dating at the Air Force Academy. The trip was a bit stressful for Sara, as she wasn't much into traveling. The first night in CO, Julia and I decided it would be fun to go downtown and hit a popular dance club. Sara was visibly stressed out by this idea. And I apparently pushed her "overload" button by razzing her about it, because she grabbed the closest thing, the Greater Metro Denver Yellow Pages, and hurled it at my unsuspecting head. Due to my superhuman cat-like reflexes I successfully dodged the book, but was admittedly shaken by the ordeal, as Sara is a tough one to ruffle. (As an aside, Julia and I spent most of the time driving to and from Colorado ribbing Sara about her now-husband, Willie. For example, we assigned names alphabetically to their 26 projected children. She didn't really like that part of the trip, either :).

Sean, the kids and I are going to Utah for Thanksgiving and I can't wait to see her! The good news is, Sara just moved to a new home in Midway and is still in the process of unpacking. I'm just hoping she hasn't unpacked the phone books yet. My reflexes are nothing like they used to be. :) I love you, Sara!

Mombulance

I'm a relatively attentive mother. I've tried to be there to encourage my kids when necessary and to kiss away the hurts when life (or a treacherous sidewalk crack) has dealt them a spiteful blow. And what I'm finding is that this new stage of life, known perhaps only to me as the post "minute-to-minute-mothering" phase, has reduced me to the allegorical ER doc with an empty ER.

As completely exasperating as it was at times, the years of constantly filling the needs of my closely-birthed fourfold litter suited me in the sense that I was almost constantly needed. And apparently I need to be needed. That makes me sound pathetically needy (I am aware of the blatant overuse of the root word "need" here), but I'm not so needy that I can't admit to my neediness. Did I miss any variation of the word "need?" I think not.

I digress. My point is simply that when I have the opportunity to fill a (you guessed it) NEED, I'm simply elated. Sadly, the obvious needs of my progeny have dissapated, so I have to create my own opportunities. A few examples:

Example #1: When my boys are upstairs playing one of their endless games of football/soccer/kickball/baseball, they often pretend to be members of some professional team, which means in order to be believable they will occasionally have to fake an injury. Enters the Mombulance. Literally. Sirens blaring (okay, so I sound more like a manatee being smothered than an emergency vehicle), I race to the injured player and pin him down and demand to know where the boo-boo is. This is obviously mortifying for a professional athlete, but I remain undettered. They hurriedly point to some random body part, at which time I smother it with kisses. I then allow play to continue.

Example #2: My girls often have some unexplained malady at bedtime, usually having to do with the head/ankle/butt/elbow part of their body (really any part will do; any excuse to postpone sleep). For a few years, I felt pretty crafty giving them a small amount of juice in a medicinal measuring cup, claiming that my snake oil cures all aches. Tonight I caught Kate in the kitchen throwing back 2 tablespoons of Children's Motrin. "Hey Kate, since when do you self-medicate?" I asked, feeling slightly un-needed. "I actually have a headache," she said. "Your juice won't cut it tonight."

But as much as they don't like to admit it at times, they still need me. They still need me to send them out the door with a hug, a kiss and an occasional pat on the backside, they still need me to tease them into a smile, they still need me to sing too loudly and off-key and to do my Lydia impressions. And they need me to be needy; it keeps their little lives in balance. Or at least that's what I tell myself. :)

Tanner and his football stadium made out of dominoes.

Tucker just had to see if he'd fit. And it was working out surprisingly well until he whacked his head. :)

This is what happens when Dad and Kate both need the downstairs bathroom in the morning and Kate is too tired to go back upstairs to do her hair.

We love Tucker. And his current obsession with salmon.

And I don't even know what is going on here. Except that I almost ended up on the floor when she hit me full-force. :)

My Hero

Today is October 25th, 2008. Three years ago today, my sweet little nephew, Curran Todd Pace was born to my sister Becca and her husband Todd. At three months of age, Curran was diagnosed with lukemia and spent the better part of the next seven months in the hospital, at which time he passed away quietly in the midst of his loving family.

Curran is my hero. I think of him every day. This little guy never spoke a word. He never offered sage advice, never uttered a comforting word to soothe a hurting heart, never told a joke to coerce a smile and never complained about his many discomforts.

I learned so much from a baby boy I only met a few times. I learned that the eyes are not only the window to the soul, but the porthole through which strength drawn from a Higher Power is passed on to those whom we love. I learned that comfort can come from the tender touch of a tiny hand that knows much of pain. I learned that a smile (and man, could this little guy smile!) can say so many things all at once that words can never capture, and that true happiness is found amidst the pain. And I learned that our lives touch the lives of others every day, in ways we will never, in this life, comprehend.

Curran, you touched my life. And your wonderful, beautiful saint of a mother is a constant model of dignity and compassion and I am so grateful she shared you with me through her words and her tears. We will never, never forget you, Curran, our "Smiling Hero" and Superman. I love you.

Every year we send our love to the skies; Kalli exlaimed emphatically today that you must get a lot of mail on your birthday! (Tanner's balloon escaped a little early :).

WE LOVE YOU!

Leaning Tower of Laundry

Heather Smith and I had a friendly little competition today: to see who had more laundry to fold. She totally cheated by putting cute kids on her pile (in an effort to swing the vote in her favor), but I do believe my pile KICKS HER PILE'S TRASH. You be the judge. :)

Powell Pals

Glad to see all the Houser-related males (minus Sean and Rolan) had a great time in Powell this last weekend. See you at Thanksgiving! (Thanks for the pics off of Facebook, Dave.)

Nice hat, Jamin...I think you've been spending a little too much time in May-hee-co. :)

Who is this and why are they wearing a helmet?

I won't even ask.

"Security 308, We Have A Hostile White Female..."

It's 12:30am and I just got off the phone with my sister Becca. She had me rolling.

Apparently a few nights ago Becca had dropped by the college where she's taking a few classes to pick up notes from a friend. She parked her car in a permitted spot that she didn't exactly have a permit for and walked down the sidewalk, never leaving sight of her car. She retrieved the notes from her friend and as she was walking back to her car, noticed that a parking lot attendant was on the scene.

After a brief verbal exchange, it became clear the parking lot attendant, a short woman of Hispanic descent, was not to be swayed; Becca was getting a ticket.

Becca went postal. She let the woman know in no uncertain terms how she felt about being ticketed in a way that only the Becca we know and love can. Exasperated, Becca got in her car and the lady beat on her window, saying, "Unless you're willing to face harsher consequences, you'll roll down your window." Becca rolled down the window and let her have it again (verbally), and the lady pulled out her walkie talkie and called in reinforcements: "Security 308, we have a hostile white female," repeating it several times. HA! I love it! I don't believe security ever showed up and Becca did get a ticket, but at least she was able to vocally vent her frustrations in person rather than keeping it bottled up all the way home. That's just not healthy. :)

Here's how Becca and I decided the rest of our family (a fiesty bunch) would have handled the situation. I hope none of the siblings are offended. :)

Father Con, with his best poker face, would have rattled off some legal jargon, then offered to rent the parking lot attendant one of his homes.

Mother Gloria would have commandeered a tank and mowed down all of the "permit parking only" signs, then demanded to see the woman's green card.

Javan would have removed her tires and put her car on blocks.

Jamin would have managed to get some free stuff out of the whole ordeal.

Judah would have covertly found out where she lives and thrown a flaming bag of poo at her front door.

Anna would have beat her up.

Becca...well, we know what Becca did. :)

Debbie would have given her the stink eye and held a really long grudge.

Tami would have diplomatically heard her out and then driven away, without the ticket.

(Notice I conveniently left myself off the list. You can do that when it's your blog.)

I love my family. :)

Blood and Guts Pie

One of the greatest joys of parenting is derived from productive, creative play. Adding the fact that through this afternoon's play, dinner preparations were also completed, I was one truly giddy mom!

Now some people may refer to this dish as traditional lasagna. Oh no, my friends. Not during the spooking season. Below is the recipe for one ghoulishly delish dinner that Kalli, Tucker and I threw together this afternoon. It's called "Blood and Guts Pie," aptly named by my offspring.

Ingredient #1: Boogers and guts (aka ricotta and parmesan cheese)

Ingredient #2: Shaved skin (shredded mozerella)

Ingredient #3: Scrambled heart and liver (hamburger)

Ingredient #4: Blood (marinara sauce)

Ingredient #5: Pressed bones (lasagna noodles)

Oila! The finished, pre-cooked "human parts" casserole. Mmmm. Can't you just taste it?

And dinner is done!!!!