This post is so lame i am embarrassed to push publish post...

***photo taken from fox.com***
I have some profound things rolling around in this mind of mine. Unfortunately they leave me feeling a little too wide open to share. And maybe use of the word ‘profound’ should be reserved for the great thinkers of our time like ‘Lil C and Mia Michaels. So instead I will share with you some of the Halloween 2009 joys thus far.

Last weekend was our trunk or treat. I have been apart from my husband for quite some time now and he was home for this blessed event. Before he came home I expressed to him my loathing for Halloween and he called me a Grinch, a Halloween Grinch. After getting home and having been away from our many (many, many) children his senses were a little edgy. His children’s normal ways seemed a little intensified to him. Due to my ample time with them, their ways seemed intensified to me as well. That evening, he ‘helped’ get them ready (he told them to get their shoes on, to get in the car, and he lovingly placed the crock pot full of the chili that I had made in the car). On the way there he said “wow, I get it now. I hate Halloween too.” We bonded in that moment. Halloween joy #1. He gets it. Halloween is a lot of work. So much work that Lennon didn’t even have shoes at the trunk or treat.

Rewind to earlier that day…I was shopping at Wal-Mart with Lennon and Crue. I was gathering last minute costumes and supplies. They were both seated in the big part of the cart. They were laughing and playing together. Crue decided that he wanted to be funny and lick Lennon on the arm. She freaked out. “Mom! He’s licking me. It’s ‘scusting!” I replied “Lennon, where do you think that Crue learned that licking people is funny?” Then she said “Oh, me. Okay Crue, you can lick me. That’s funny.” And so he did. And so they continued to laugh and laugh and laugh. Then because they were laughing so hard, Crue needed to use the facilities. Wal-Mart facilities. Halloween Joy #2.

Speaking of #2…That brings me to Halloween joy #3. That evening at the trunk or treat, Crue told me that he needed to go potty. It was said with urgency so I heeded and we headed through the parking lot into the restroom. He sat down and did his business. Immediately after he goes these days he freaks out and screams “I’m done! I’m done! I’m done!” and then he bends and grabs my legs to assume the ‘I’m done position.’ I know my role [roll]. That evening was no exception. He insisted that he was done and bent over. I thought that he might not have been quite done but he was so insistent and loud that I figured that he knew what he was talking about. At the exact moment my hand reached in to wipe him, he exploded like a cannon. All over my hand. Then he said “Okay mommy, now I’m done.” Well thank you, son. Happy Halloween. Halloween joy #3, diarrhea on my hand.

Because it doesn’t get any more joyful than that I will spare you the other joys of Halloween. You already know them; hunting for costumes, class parties, dressing up 79 times in one week, baking goodies and/or shopping for baked goods for afore mentioned class parties. And on and on and on. Tomorrow is Friday. Hallelujah!

Before I part, there have been some cute moments today that I want to have down for the record: ***this isn't lennon. it is representation of Lennon in her costume. Lennon's mother is too tired to upload an actual picture of her own child.***

I was getting Lennon ready for her class party this morning. She told me that she was hungry. Specifically, hungry for pizza. Then she was playing with the white triangle on the skirt of her “cheater leader” costume. It was a triangle. Triangle, pizza. Pizza, hungry. She is her mother’s daughter. Every time she looks at the triangle, she gets hungry for pizza.

Today in the store, I was bent down looking on a bottom shelf for something. She came up behind me and hugged me/tried to knock me off balance. I said “Lennon, you can’t do that. Mommy almost fell. Get off of me, please.” Lennon replied “Mom, I am nurturing you. Don’t you love me to nurture you?”

In the next store we were checking out when a very elderly lady stopped to say hello to Crue. She said “Well, hello there.” He smiled the biggest smile and said back “he-yo, pincess” (hello princess). She melted right there in Target. She blushed and everything. He beamed. It was the cutest little thing. One of my favorite Crue moments. My very favorite Crue moment thus far though was on conference Sunday when we were watching conference. He and I were snuggled up in a blanket and he turned to me and put his little hand on my face and said “I yub you mama. So, so much.” Talk about melted. I did. It’s moments like that that sustain me through his pooping on my hand and his doing nothing but crying and throwing fits for about a month now.

I think that about wraps it up for tonight. I have dishes to finish up and an episode of The Office to watch while I fold clothes. And cookies to eat and baked and/or store bought goods to arrange on trays for tomorrows Halloween feasts. Also, I need to find something to serve as a foundation for the cream cheese frosting I made last night. Crackers? A spoon? Cupcakes? So much to do before bed time. A woman's work is never done. I’d better get on it.

Before we part, a quote: It's a quote from Lil C that basically sums me up (except that I am not a young black kid. I am however, a young-ish white Kidd. And also, I am from American Fork, Utah which has been compared historically with South Central L.A.. Christy, pay attention. This one's for you): Anyway, his words really hit home.

"A lot of times people don't understand my words, my lingo, my vernacular, because they think that it's a front. Anybody will tell you around here that's just how I talk. Of course, I'm from the hood, South Central L.A., young black kid. I do know the slang. When it comes to commenting and trying to get people to understand the message, that's the only way I know. I just have a pool of words I just dig in and throw 'em out.
"This is the year of the intelligent black man, of course, you know, with Obama being in office. And what separates him from everybody else is the way in which he speaks. He's so eloquent and the man articulates himself and he's still humble because he still fumbles over his words. He still stutters over his words sometimes, so you know it's not a routine. It's genuine. It's organic. And that's me, I think it's good because I represent that same thing."

Deep.

p.s. i beg of you to leave a comment. this post has me humbled. just tell me it'll be okay. try harder next time. And that you still want to be friends/family. I really need to go to bed.

Handwritten Sentiments

Yesterday I was a grump. Today I was a grump. Tomorrow? We'll see. I've found myself frustrated with certain disciplinary problems with one of my offspring. The one who sprung mostly from Ryan's spring. My spring wouldn't yield such results (i keep telling myself...). Anyways, in the grumpy, gloomy, majority of the day there were some sunny spots. They came in the form of handwritten sentiments. They made me smile and love my kids. They are fun. They are fun. They are fun. They are fun. (She told herself over and over and over again until she actually believed it.) I love to find things around the house that my kids have written about. Little reminders or stories, the first scratches of learning how to write their names, or just drawings that I want to save because they make me smile. It's such a lovely little snapshot of where they are right now in this very stage of their lives. I know that someday I'm going to miss this and so the sentiments get saved more often than is probably healthy (according to professional purgers and organizers). Here are a couple of today's sentiments. (I can't get my computer to save my scanned files. I'm too tired to figure it out.)

Sentiment #1

Piper has been fasting for the past couple of months. She takes it seriously. I am so impressed with her innate desire to take her testimony and spirituality into her own hands. She isn't flying on any one's coat tails. She wants to feel it all first hand and is doing the work necessary to do so. The rest of us on the other hand...slackers. Her sentiment proves it.

"10-11-09

Today I was the only one who fasted in my family! Crazy, right! So I sat there watching everyone eat there breakfast. At lunch the same thing happened, I sat there watching my family eat lunch. I will not quit because I know that this is the right thing to do." (followed by a smiley face with long eyelashes.)

Sentiment #2

It's fall break. The kids have been telling me for the last few days that they are craving Utah. That they miss their baby Kyan. He isn't even going to know them. That they miss Daysen and wish that they could play with him. That they can barely even remember what aunt Brandi looks like ("I'm serious mom!"). That uncle Jahde may or may not have facial hair. They can't remember. It's getting increasingly dramatic. This morning after I got out of the shower I found this awesome sentiment:

"Dear mom/dad,

We would very much like to go to Utah. If you take us your wildest dreams will come true. What do you want from us? We'll give you anything!

Love,

Crayton Kidd and Piper Kidd

(an active member of the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints)

Please respond in 10 minutes. Thanks."

Those kids...I love them so much. (She tells herself once. And believes it because they are sleeping over at grandma's tonight.)

Potluck Post

Who doesn’t love a good potluck luncheon? Okay, I don’t either. I am always brought back to my childhood when I was playing with all of the neighborhood kids and we ran into Schmarla Schmistiansen’s house (name altered so as not to offend because I am sure that the neighbor from my childhood who is probably now like 80 is reading this post. I doubt that she would ever be able to figure out that I put a ‘Schm’ in place of the real letters of her name.) We all had been playing outside and doing kid things [sweaty, stinky, mud pie making, booger smearing things, I’m sure] when we decided to run through the Schmistiansen’s house. I knew that there were always the Schmistiansen’s 30 cats wandering and destroying the neighborhood. My parents resorted to the trick of sprinkling our trash in the cans with Tobassco sauce. Word of its’ efficacy spread through the neighborhood like wildfire. It was the hot topic amongst my mom and her friends. They had to ban together. Who has time to clean up the contents of entire trash cans every morning? Now, as a mom, I can see how annoying that must have been. The Tobassco saucing technique, however, was much more humane than what the Schmorgenson kids did (with permission from their parents) to the cats. It shall remain unmentioned on this blog, because there have been enough psychological studies done in the last 20 years to know that children who did that to animals have most certainly grown up to be mass murdering cannibals. And heaven forbid they are reading my blog right now. Not that they could possibly de-code the “Schm”. It’s way too complex a system, for even the most cryptic minds.

Anyways, back to the running of the kids through the house. We entered. It was my first time in the house. I had been around the house and knew that it was unkempt. But in the house was a whole different story. The cats. For every one of the 30 cats I had seen outside there were four inside holding down the fort. They were EVERYWHERE. I distinctly remember Schmarla making dinner for her brood of many children. Instant potatoes. I had never seen potatoes in a box before. It was so intriguing. One of her daughters suggested I try some, and then a cat jumped off the counter into her waiting arms. Then three other cats stood around the bowl waiting to see if I loved the potatoes as much as they did. I hesitated because it was against the rules to eat at the neighbor’s houses. It was rude. I also hesitated because I was in shock at the number of cats walking on, lying on, purring on and probably somewhere in the house, birthing on every flat surface in the Schmistiansen home. There was cat hair everywhere and I was feeling really funny inside. But the potatoes beckoned and at the lead of two of her children (one of whom had a huge cold sore or Impetigo) and two other neighbor friends, I did it. I did what they did and scooped out a handful of potatoes and partook. And I knew that if that was wrong, I didn’t want to be right. In that moment, I thought that the 12 Schmistiansen children were the luckiest kids on the block. Maybe in all of Utah County. Instant potatoes were my new dream, now come true. We all must have felt that way because before we knew it the giant bowl was empty. The five of us and the three cats all sat there wanting,no,needing more.

And here begins the Schmistiansen correlation with potluck luncheons. Every time I am at a potluck, I can’t help but think of the cats on the counter and wonder if there is a Schmarla hiding among us, serving up her best grub. When, in reality, if I had any idea what was really going on in that kitchen, I’d throw up in my mouth. I can’t help it though, I always fill my plate. And I almost always find a hidden treasure in the spread of colorful food. Like Schmelly Schmoddard’s creamed corn. Heaven. On. Earth.

At the beginning of this post I intended to make a quick reference to potluck luncheons because I was going to present my week to you and I was certain that it would feel like a potluck luncheon. Mostly boring blandness possibly sprinkled with a gem or two. And then I got carried away and told you way more than I intended. It's stories like this one that make me realize why my parents always gave eachother "the look" when I began telling them a wonderful rendition of a simple event. I have tendency to complicate. Anyways, last night I attended a rocking 80’s themed party. I stayed up until 1:00 a.m. and now I feel hung over. As I type, my head is throbbing and my pictures of the week to upload are in Ryan’s car which he has taken to play a quick game of football before General Conference starts. I’m going to skip the recap of my week. Maybe I’ll finish tomorrow. I’ll give you some appe-teasers though (in keeping with the food theme).

Monday, positive affirmations and the affirmations vs. the truth. Tuesday, a text to melt my heart and annoy my husband. Wednesday, urgent care and some stitches. Thursday, a field trip and realization that dads work through pain, just like moms and don’t get enough credit. Friday, the party. Saturday, well I won’t make you wait for today. I’ll leave you with a picture of me in my current state. I don’t know if you’ll be able to tell, but I washed my hair last night after the party and there is still a streak of pink and remnants of too much teasing, in spite of the oil treatment I applied at 12:30 a.m. I washed my face and there is still a trace of hot pink lip liner, and teal eye shadow. It was that good. But now I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m too old for late nighters. Happy Saturday. I’m off to watch conference. And if we’re still on the subject of food, conference is no potluck luncheon. It is a schmorgesborg (no spell check for that one), chuck full of amazing recipes that were made in the cleanest kitchens around! I can’t wait!!!