Monday, July 23, 2007

First Teeth

Here they are, the babe's first teeth. The first sprang out on July 4th, the second a week or two later. Do you see them? They are too cute. She's just like her sister, who also got her first teeth at 8 months. The boys were 6 months. Don't ask me how I remembered that. I just did. I have never been great at writing these things down, so if I happen to forget the first-sip-of-juice-from-a-sippy-cup day or the first-trip-to-the-doctor-for-a-diaper-rash day, please forgive me.
On another note, we had a fabulous lesson today in Relief Society. We have a new teacher who is fantastic and she taught on this general conference talk. It was fun to talk about everyones' favorite hymns, and realize how many great ones there really are. Some of mine are:

Some of these, I just like the tune. Some it's the words. It was fun to remember how my own parents used to try to teach us the church songs during FHE. I clearly remember poster boards were used. I also remember that we were all pretty much tone deaf. And now my own family sings songs for FHE and guess what, we're pretty bad. But at least we have a piano to drown us out.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Do we get a lot of haircuts or what?

Here she is. And here is my Giant S.
Here she is fake laughing. Note the missing teeth. And the Giant S. Wait, is that piece of hair too long on the right?
Nope, just on the wrong side of the part. I curse cowlicks. *@##*! cowlicks, you can go to @#**#!. I shall interpret for you, "Stinking cowlicks, you can go to h-e-double hockey sticks."
Here we have her trying her best to be serious. And a Giant S. Why do I have a Giant S? Not sure yet. But cute, no? Especially against my fabulous orange wall.
Here is her look of surprise. Isn't her hair cute how it curves under a bit? Unfortunately I will have to do that, as her now short hair likes to go all funky on me, especially the underneath stuff.
What a doll.
So we just cut off most of the princess' hair. Can I just tell you, whew! I don't know why I waited all summer to do this. It would've saved us many hours spent crying (her) and dethatching (me) if we had just chopped it at the beginning of June. I felt a tiny bit guilty when the stylist told us that if we just went a few inches shorter, we could donate to locks of love, and I declined. I, a.) didn't want her hair that short, and b.) didn't want to wait for it to grow for another month. Does that make me a bad person? Please, don't answer that. I don't necessarily want to know.

And by the way, that last post about the teeshirts is what happens when I try to rush through a short little essay on why I love my new shirt and I get interrupted 8000 times.
Short attention span, your name is MelOny.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

T Shirts and Hineys

Am I really going to post again? You lucky dawg.

This is my new favorite shirt. Note the green color. I want you to know I was THIS close to buying white, because that's what I do. I buy white t-shirts. I like white t-shirts. They make me look tan. They look crisp and clean, yet casual enough for jeans or well, who am I kidding, jeans. I like jeans as well. In fact, I probably own about 30 pairs of jeans, or did before I cleaned out my closets and stuffed them in my parents garage, so now I'm down to about 15, of which 2 I wear. Why only 2? Because only 2 look good on me, and I can't bear to throw away a perfectly good 13 pair of jeans. I even have some jeans from high school that are so thrashed that it would be indecent for me to wear them in public, unless of course I put a pair of biker short spandex underneath them like I did in the 7th grade. Remember that? Yes, I was that kind of girl. The kind who would purposefully cut off a pair of brand new stonewashed jeans and proceed to cut holes in them in order for the spandex to show through. Can you say, classy?
Anyhoo, back to tshirts. Or is it t-shirts.? Or t shirts, tee shirts, or tee pee shirts, or shirts you wear when you tee pee the neighbors which by the way I never did. Who am I kidding, I was that kind of girl too.
Right t-shirts. So this adorable little shirt is available at the only store I shop at. Not that I wouldn't like to shop at other stores, it's just that I am usually toting 4 small children everywhere I go so a place that sells you a soda pop and a bag of popcorn for $1 is a place I frequent. And because they have amazing stuff on clearance I never knew I needed. You know, my dearest professor/pizza man used to work here back when we met so it's a bit nostalgic to remember him in the red and tan walking up and down the toy and seasonal department all important and stuff. Those were the days, back when we got a 10% discount on all the necessities of life, like shampoo, diapers, Ansel Adams wall pictures. Man, I wish I still had those. I would use the frames for something.
Okay, so tee shirts. Notice how long this baby is. My dearest will be so happy that my pearly whites will no longer available for all to see. You see, this shirt comes waaaaaay down, almost past my buttocks. He won't have to pull my pants up for me when I wear this lovely. Nope, I can put on my lowest lowriders when to go with this shirt. Not that I own a pair of lowriders, because I hate the feeling of crack peeking out, even if it is covered by a tshirt. Okay, so I own 1 pair of lowriders. Okay 2, but I hardly ever wear them. Of course that's because they haven't fit in years. Once I lose this baby weight, they go into the rotation.
And back to tshirts. Note the tiny pocket. How cute is that? Just in case you have a tiny.....umm.....tiny something to put in a tiny pocket, this shirt would be perfect. Did you notice that tiny rhymes with hiney. Let's all pretend I have a tiny hiney, shall we?
So this is what I like today. Go buy yourself one. Or be like me and buy two.
Did I mention they are on sale this week for $6? What a steal. I'm going to get me some more tomorrow. I keep thinking about the white one...

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

My uniform

I need an apron.

I haven't decided which kind of apron. Do I go for a full frontal, or just the little skirt variety? Hmmmm...

I really liked this apron my sister in law Liz posted about. Very stylish. It's no longer available on Etsy, though.

I don't know where to find an apron. Do they sell them at Target? Because I hardly ever go anywhere besides Target. I mean, I have 4 kids, come on.

I know I could find one online. But I've never been much of an online shopper. It stems back 5 years ago to some online maternity clothing purchases. Oh. the. horror.

Why do I need an apron?

Because good moms have and wear aprons.

I haven't actually seen any of my friends wear them, but I remember my mom did. It was red with little flowers and an eyelet lace border. It came up around the neck and tied in the back.

Aprons might've gone out of style the same time being a stay at home mom did, but I'm not sure. I can guess somewhere along the line someone assumed that the only women who wore aprons were those stuck in the kitchen. I'm sure there was a big rally with picket signs that had aprons with giant slashes through them. I can guess that all the women brought their aprons and had an apron-burning, you know, to symbolize freedom from oppression. And then the aprons were gone.

I received an apron as a wedding gift. It was hideously ugly, as I recall. I wore it once, and I wasn't cooking in the kitchen at the time. It didn't make all 7 of our moves.

So now I am in need of one. I need an apron to take my job seriously. It'll be my business suit and my bluetooth, my uniform. I'll get ready in the morning, put on my apron and start my job as "mother to my children". If I'm wearing the apron, I'm sure I'll find time to cook dinner instead of heading out to Grandmas. With the apron, I'll scrub my kitchen floors and finally put away the laundry pile. I'll be able to take this job I have a little more seriously, because you can't sit around and do nothing while wearing an apron. I will be the epitome of motherhood.

I told my friend this. I tell her everything every morning at 5am, sometimes 4:30. She quips back,"But are you going to make it? Because that's what a good mom would do."

I need a pattern for an apron.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

The Foohlar Genes Kick In

I could not have been more proud. ( Is it okay to be proud? I have a friend that doesn't like that word, something to do with pride being bad and the Nephites and utter destruction. I'll take my chances and use it. Proud. I cannot imagine another word for this feeling.)
Chance loves swimming. Always has. We have some fantabulous pictures of him at about 18 months swimming underwater like on the cover of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" only he's got swim trunks on. He's never had any fear or hesitation around water. So when one of our friends suggested swim team this year, we thought that it would be perfect for him.
Except for the meets. You know, the competition against other swimmers and the clock. Yeah, he had a hard time with that. He would go out and swim, but he knew he wasn't fast. And he seemed to be nonchalant about any ribbon he received, you know, like he didn't care. Being his mother, I could see through that. But he went, and he swam, and he seemed to be having fun, and that, my dears, is all that matters
So we haven't had any meets for a few weeks now. Last Saturday was the first in a while. It was at a high school that had two pools, one for the younger swimmers, one for the older. So our princess was in one, he in the other. We sat and chatted it up with our friends while we waited for their turns. Uncle Richard had shown up by now. They swam. Same as always, backstroke isn't really their strong stroke. Breast stroke was next. Uncle Richard says, hey isn't that Chance on the blocks? Umm yeah. The gun goes off and he goes. And he's fast. I mean really fast. He's right next to the leader, as you can see in the top picture, he's the guy on top. I remember looking at my husband in amazement. When did he get so fast? Look at him go! Go, Chance, SWIM! I yell as I follow him down the side of the pool, snapping pictures.
And he got second. He was beaming. It was fantastic.
In reporting this to my friend who taboos the proud word, she seemed amused. What? I ask. Apparently this whole competition thing is something she expects from us Foohlars. Apparently it is not surprising that one of my children would kick it at the end of a race. Apparently it's in our genes. Along with the losing things, freckles, and size 10 feet.
What's in your genes?

Saturday, July 14, 2007

How to clean up an oil spill:101

Do you know what to do if, let's say, 5 quarts of oil spills all over your clean garage floor, onto the expensive stroller, and covers your shoes and clothes? Let me tell you.

First, you'll want to break the hose out, but Don't! That is a bad idea because then you would have oil and water everywhere it wasn't already. No, a better idea would be to grab those newspapers you've been recycling for cub scouts and spread them out all over the oil to try and contain it. The oil won't want to be absorbed, though, so you're going to need lots of newspapers and pretty much just scoop the oil up and dump it into the trash can. Do this while your wife wakes up from her very short nap to try to clean the stroller. She breaks out the Palmolive, of which you probably only have a few drops left, and the hose. After that doesn't work, she'll try the Simple Green, which will help, but again you won't have much of that left either. So she'll go inside to grab her handy Queen of Clean book while you are still scooping up oil, don't worry, you'll be doing this for a while.
When your wife comes back, she'll have the Spot Shot carpet cleaner spray, because that's what the Queen says to use. And again, she'll only have the tester bottles that came with the housewarming basket the builder left. But it's enough to put a dent into the oil seeping into the fabric of that ridiculously expensive, and let's face it, hardly ever used because your baby likes to be held, stroller. Then she'll realize that the fabric padding comes off! Of course! So she unvelcros, unbuttons, unscrews, until all the oil soaked fabric is removed. She'll take it inside, and stick it in the washer with a ton of detergent and a silent prayer.
At this point, you've pretty much gotten up most of the oil off the floor and all you have left is the thick oily film. But you can't worry about that because you are needed to go deliver pizzas to the hungry and needy people of Power Ranch. So you'll go upstairs, strip off the oil soaked clothes and ask your wife to do her best because you really like that tattered orange shirt you've had for close to 9 years now. She'll sigh and agree, but she might've muttered something under her breath about throwing it out when you weren't looking.
Off to the grind you'll go, leaving behind your wife and 4 small children to finish up the job. Hmmmm....the Queen doesn't say anything about an oily film. And let's face it, your wife has no cleaning supplies left. She'll do a google search and find that what she really needs to do is sprinkle salt all over the film to absorb it, and she can then just sweep it up. So she grabs all the salt in the house and goes to town shaking it all over the garage. She starts to sweep and notices that the salt is working! She'll be so excited, until she realizes she's just used all the salt in the house. Dang. The google search did say flour would work as well, and lucky lucky lucky for her she has a #10 can of flour. More than enough! So she takes the flour out to the garage and sprinkles, spreads, pours it all out. It works too, hooray! Wait, she'll say, are those ants? Oh no! The ants think she's just spread out a buffet. And if the ants think so, so will all the other bugs in the neighborhood. She sweeps and sweeps and sweeps. Wow, she'll say, flour is really hard to get off the floor. Then she remembers the shop vac. Of course! And she'll vacuum the garage. And vacuum. And vacuum. Wow, she'll say, vacuuming the flour off the garage floor is hard work. But finally she'll be done. Looks great! Wait, oh man, she'll still be able to feel the oily film! And if she can feel it, shoes can pick it up, take it inside, and track it all over her carpets, and we all know how she feels about her carpets. Dang. So she'll pack up the children and off to the store they'll go. Never mind that it's close to 6pm and no one's eaten dinner, there's no time for that! Cleaning supplies are needed, and some salt, and while we're there let's pick up a mango and some Diet Pepsi and avocados and yogurt and apples and wait, why'd we go to the store? Right, cleaning supplies.
After they return, put away the groceries, and feed the baby, she'll go back out to the garage. She's bought a bottle of Simple Green spray. She sprays and wipes. It's like magic, the oil is gone! So she'll continue to do this, spray and wipe, spray and wipe, spray and wipe. Wow, she'll say, this is taking a really long time. But the garage floor has never looked better. Finally she'll be done.
At this point she'll look at the stroller fabric she's washed 3 times now and sees that it still has oil on it. She Spot Shots it with the new bottle she just bought and starts the washer again, hoping the oil won't ruin the washing machine, but secretly hoping it will and she can get a new one that doesn't have a funky odor to it.
She cleans up the mess she's made from cleaning up, throws the hose on the side of the house, chats up the neighbor about the pesky HOA, and hears her kids crying. Dang. Timeouts are doled out and she's left with rugs to wash, because they were right inside the doorways that oil soaked feet went in, shoes to degrease, and dinner to make. Okay, cereal for dinner for those who haven't already fallen asleep whilst in timeouts. She takes the stroller padding out of the washer and puts the rugs in. She fills the sink with detergent and shoes.
And that, my friends is what you do when 5 quarts of oil spills all over your garage floor.
What? You want to know how 5 quarts of oil spilt? A spry 9 year old tried to pull a Jack. No, not a Jack in the Box, a Jack like
Jack be nimble
Jack be quick,
Jack jump over a bucket full of oil.
Only this particular 9 year old caught his foot on the bucket and he fell down like Jack and Jill. But don't worry, no crowns were broken. Yet. Besides, what mother doesn't like to spend 6 hours cleaning up one ginormous mess?

Friday, July 13, 2007

Daughters and Hiding Places

I love my daughters. Of course, you say, they are your daughters. But I think it is unfathomable to quite understand the phenomenoa of having a daughter until you have a tiny one placed into your arms. It is surreal.

This is my not-so-tiny-anymore baby of mine. She is adorable. She is beautiful. She looks so much like a Foohlar, from the big browns to the rosy cheeks. My other daughter was created in the image of her father. She is quite beautiful as well, with her lovely blonde locks and her bright blues.
I love that they are beautiful in their own seperate ways. But I mostly love that they have these personalities that are gorgeous. The determination, the kindness, the love they have for me. It will be fun, and at the same time, heartwrenching to watch them grow into young women, I hope and pray they will be strong. I cherish the thought of seeing them as mothers to their own daughters, children of an eternal family.

I mostly can't wait for the day my princess calls to complain that her daughter, my granddaughter, has once again lost her (shoes, glasses, gift card to Jamba Juice). Ahhhhh, yes, I'll say. Losing things. I know all about that. (I believe it's genetic, passed down through generations, just like freckles and size 10 feet.)
I'll say, "Why don't you look in her brother's room on top of his action hero helicopter landing pad? Or perhaps in her sister's closet, underneath the shoes, back behind everything?"
Because those would be the most likely places Your Daughter would put things.

Thursday, July 12, 2007


My sweet baby, whom I always refer to as my baby even though he is no longer my baby, has new hair. He has always had old hair, the hair we let grow and then cut, just a little though and not too much. A few weekends ago, right before church, I'd had it with the strands in his eyes and took a number 4 to his head. Wow. It's official. He is grown up. Can't you tell?
Next month we'll be sending him off to school, through crocodile tears and gut-wrenching pleas(my own of course). Pretty soon he'll be an adolescent, breaking girls hearts (besides my own of course). We'll send him off on a mission, he'll come back married with 3 kids and I'll still be standing in the bathroom, holding tufts of his beautiful, soft, straight brown hair, regretting that thing I did when I cut off his hair. I changed him from my baby into a man with one fell swoop of the clippers.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

This is a pin cushion...

Sweet darling baby, your face is not a pin cushion. Please don't pick up handfuls of pins from the cushion and try to eat them. It is a very bad idea, as you have learned. Please tell your mommy to get off the computer and pick the pin cushion up off the floor. Pin cushions don't belong on the floor, they belong up high on a shelf away from tiny little hands.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

For your enjoyment....

Emme took this picture, which I love. Aren't I freckly? Don't I have a major vein running along my neck?
Here the darling Claire is, yes she has learned to pull herself up.
But she's not super sturdy on her feet...
And she gets real sad when she falls.
Another Emme picture. Do us all a favor and don't zoom in on my toes. Do you like the K'nex robot? Emme made that. It took about a week but she did it all by herself. She is the most determined kid I know.
In my own determination for a new leaf to be turned over, I am going to post more, with more pictures of things I love for you all to oooohhh and ahhhhh over. Aren't you lucky?

Thursday, July 05, 2007

When upon life's billows,


Life is good. Because I'm no longer the raging beast I was last week, I've decided to take a moment to count my blessings. So here goes, in no particular order:
  • A husband who loves me, who even though we aren't what you would call a 'romantic-lovey dovey until you want to hit them-couple', still finds ways to make me happy, like cleaning the downstairs while I take a nap
  • Children who are fun to play in the pool with, and who like to cuddle while watching fireworks
  • A baby who smiles all the time and loves to be held
  • A beautiful home that doesn't take too long to clean
  • A car whose air conditioning works great
  • A healthy body that endures the pain I put it through
  • Nursing bosoms
  • Parents who make me cookies and let me swim in their pool
  • Sisters who invite me over to eat yummy breakfasts
  • Brothers who invite me over to eat yummy dinners
  • Friends who let me vent so that I don't hang onto the little things that bug me
  • A warm and cozy bed right underneath the AC vent
  • Enough money in my wallet to buy some groceries
  • Pay day today!
  • Awesome inlaws, (you know which ones you are)

This of course is just a random list of things off the top of my head. I was having one of those days last week when life didn't look quite as peachy. I was sure that my troubles far outweighed any supposed blessings. It was in one of those moments when I just wanted to scream at the world,

"life isn't fair!"

when my princess started practicing the piano. Her song for the week was "Count Your Many Blessings". Hmmmm. Right. I forgot. Thanks for reminding me.

Are you tempest tossed?

I can send her over. She's pretty good.

Monday, July 02, 2007

Don't give up the ghost

Dear Sissoo Trees,

It seems as if you've all been having a hard time lately. I hope it's nothing I've done.

I can imagine how you must feel. This is your first summer away from the nursery. You all probably miss the misting and the shade and the constant nurturing that you received while in your developing years. Life must have been blissful.

But now here you are, planted in the hard hot earth. No shade anywhere in sight. All alone.
I've done my best to make sure you get the correct amount of water. It's so hard to figure that out, what's too much, what's not enough. (The jacarandas out front had similar issues last year. We finally have figured them out, but the frost pretty much destroyed their trunks. Be grateful you didn't have to endure that. Perhaps in a few years they will be back to their old selves.) Your previous caretaker insisted that you liked to be dried out before you were watered. I tried that, and you got pretty upset. You turned all yellow and brown, wilted, and your little leaves fell to the ground. So I've upped the watering. Your leaves look much greener now, and I'm assuming you are happier.

You don't even have to tell me about the dog. I know, I know. He keeps digging around your roots, ripping off your precious little branches. I've done my best to scold him into submission, but I can't guarantee his obedience. He considers the backyard his territory, and anything in it free game. We're working on him, so please have patience. He's really a good dog!

If you can just get through this initial summer, I think you'll enjoy it here. We're planting copious amounts of grass soon, which will cool down the yard immensely. The autumn here is beautiful and winter glorious. No snow, just an occasional frost, which we promise we will try to protect you from.

We can't wait to sit in the shade of your branches, and watch the glistening of your leaves. Please hang on. Don't be like that natal plum, which gave up before he was even planted. I know you can make it.

Here's to many years together,