Jackolanterns With a Side of Sarcasm

As happens in most households, once the leaves start to fall and the crisp autumn air turns tangy with the smell of woodsmoke, a child will ask when are we going to carve our pumpkin. They may even tell you how many you need and what they will look like when finished. Being the parent and not wanting to deny them this simple request, you go and find the pumpkins that will come home and be a part of your Halloween. Why? Because you love your children, and the great JOY they (the children, not you) get from having the pumpkins. See that look on Brandon's face? Pure JOY. The boy has been asking and telling me for the last 6 weeks that we need multiple pumpkins that look like this or that, and how he would help gut and carve them because they were HIS. This was about 3 minutes into the whole gutting process. He washed his hands (literally) of the project and was done.


Look at Cliff free handing the incredibly small pattern I found on the internet. This reminds me of "Blazing Saddles". Not that someone of my steady and responsible character has ever seen this movie. The sheriff tells the retired gunfighter he needs his help, so the gunfighter lifts up his hand. "Steady as a rock," the sheriff proudly points out to the gunfighter. Then the gunfighter lifts up his other hand, which is shaking uncontrollably, and says, "Yes, but this is my shooting hand."
Cliff was really worried about free handing, but did a great job.

This is for my brother. He cannot be in the room when pumpkins are being cleaned and carved due to a terrible Halloween accident involving 3 bags of candy, a ride in the car while facing backwards, and a freshly carved jackolantern. Nadia had to make a dramatic face and terrible noises every time she either put her hand in to clean out the pumpkin, saw all the pumpkin guts in the big bowl, or saw anyone else cleaning out the pumpkins. She was done after 5 minutes.

Here is Brandon's finished product, courtesy of Cliff's cleaning and carving. Brandon chose the face and told Cliff he did a good job. I remembered after the carving and setting it outside in the wind why I don't do candles in jackolanterns, but it was too late. Tomorrow night, glow sticks, baby.

This is Nadia's finished jackolantern. I cleaned and finished carving it. While hefting around my own pumpkin-sized self. It takes talent for that, folks. Both jackolanterns turned out well, which means no kids cried and told me I did it all wrong even after following the pattern (that happened last year). No easy Dremmel drills for us. Those are for wusses and incredibly smart people who remember they have a Dremmel before finishing all the detail work. Just a good old fashioned kitchen knife to hack away with while chanting, "Never again, never again, never again..."

Nadia's Birthday, Part 1

This is Nadia May Sharp. She turned 8 on October 25th. Do you think she is excited about it? She is wearing her new Sunday dress, with the brown leggings that I didn't know were see-through until she wore them on Sunday. This is why I should not EVER try to buy trendy fashions for any one.

Here we have Nadia making the gift pile. Do you think she might have been spoiled? Maybe. This is the breakdown of the loot (as I remember it):

1.her own library of the Serendipity books (I remember reading those :) !)

2.a triple combination and Bible set

3.a new journal, pens, and a bookmark

4.a Nancy Drew early reader (for elementary age reading)

5.a gift card (WE LOVE VANILLA!)

6.Legos

7.and...

Barbie clothes. That's right, all you reality runway and model shows, you better look out because Barbie is BACK.

We are doing the friend birthday party this weekend and will have more fall updates next time!

Alas, Poor DanDan, We Knew Thee Well

While having dinner at my parents' house the other day, the conversation turned to why I no longer live with my parents. We told my children that when you get older, you might get married or just feel old enough to be on your own, and that was okay. It is always nice to know that you can see your parents whenever you can, and that they still love you, but when you're an adult, you start to want your own space and your own family. Then my dad stressed that it was important to know it is always good to visit and see your parents and siblings and maybe grandparents, too. Yes, I think empty nest syndrome has been hitting them hard, but grandkids seem to help. Then comes this little jewel:

DanDan: "Would you still come and visit me when you get older?"

Nadia: (shocked look on her face) "No way! You'll be dead!"

He just turned 58.

No Tricks, Just Treats

Every year, the YM and YW in our ward do a special Halloween treat night. They make all kinds of goodies under the name of the Halloween Phantom, and deliver them to different houses in the ward. Nadia and Brandon love this idea, so we have our own family version of it. We make lots of treats and deliver them to our neighbors and friends. As you can see from Ben's face, he thinks this is a great idea.

Once again, Brandon decided to make a terrible tower of candy corns cupcake. His words, not mine.

This is Nadia's cupcake. To the untrained eye, it might look finished since it has a healthy dose of sprinkles on top. But then, this would mean you don't know the Queen of Bling, aka Nadia.

Aaah, much better. Don't worry, we are not finished with the fall festivities yet. We still have Nadia's birthday (I can't believe she's EIGHT!!), Halloween, and lots of other fun things before we get to another frigidly cold winter.

Hooray For Home Schooling, Part 2

Okay, I have a confession to make. This is hard for me, so please, silence until I get it off my chest. I am afraid of school secretaries. This is another reason why home schooling looks attractive at the moment, and actually the biggest reason why I was so scared I had lost Brandon's shot record.
Some of you may ask, "What are you talking about, Sarah? Why are you scared of a secretary?" First, I say to you, she is not a secretary, she is the SCHOOL secretary. Big difference. Let me tell you, there is something very intimidating about a lady answering the phone, sending a fax, and filling out a tardy slip all at the same time. "What is the reason for the tardiness?" My mouth always turns to mush when she asks me that question. I never seem to have an excuse that's good enough, either.
Mind you, we are not a perpetual tardy family, at least not when it comes to school. The problem is we have the occasional late start in the morning, the doctor is running late, or someone is sick and slowing things down. We have never been over 10 minutes tardy.
None of that seems to matter when she asks you the question, "What is the reason for the tardiness?" It doesn't matter that your youngest was up all night with a fever and congestion and finally fell asleep 10 minutes before the start of school on the stair step. It doesn't matter that the contractors who are measuring for your counter tops are still talking and measuring your odd lazy susan cabinet that isn't standard in any way, shape or form. It doesn't matter that you were actually on time until the local stray cat came darting out from underneath a parked car, and you had to stop and check the damage. These are all merely excuses, not reasons for a tardy. You need a REASON.
This was my biggest fear in losing that shot record; having to face the school secretary and hearing her ask that dreaded question, "What is the reason for losing the record?"
I had to go and talk to her today because the school website still has all of last year's information and I needed this year's in order to ask Brandon's teacher a question. Do you remember that scene in "Oliver" when that poor, thin and wretched soprano of a boy finishes his disgusting gruel, comes up to the counter that is too tall for him, and asks, "Please, sir, may I have some more?" That is how it felt to go up to the window and talk to the fearsome school secretary. Benjamin was with me for cuteness factor and support, and I was able to ask my questions and get the information I needed without a crack in my voice or have anyone asking me if I have restless leg syndrome because my legs were moving while the rest of me was stationary.
Ben and I made it. We may survive it if we have to go again. Which we will have to do, because unfortunately, some of the info I need is wrong. I will let you know when we go to brave the den of the fearsome school secretary again, and ask you to cross your fingers for us. I'll need it.

Hooray For Home Schooling, Part 1

Just so you all know, I do not home school my children. Yet. But after the problems I have experienced yesterday and today, I just might. Maybe by ranting about it, I will feel better and that urge to yell at administrators will go away. We'll see.
Yesterday, I received a call from the school telling me that Brandon doesn't have a copy of his shot record in his file. I needed to find is ASAP and bring it over to them. So I go to look in my handy dandy purse, which is like the magician's hat and holds EVERYTHING. Seriously, it holds everything. There is a pocket in there just the perfect size for immunization records, and just a little too big for temple names. But that is an entirely different blog post.
I look and find Nadia's record, Benjamin's record, some dumdum lollipop wrappers, and the receipt for some pants I bought someone over a year ago. Brandon's record isn't there. So I look in all my other purses, which all have that same convenient pocket. 20 minutes later, while cursing myself for having a purse fetish and deciding which half need to go to DI, I still haven't found that yellow paper. I start to get worried, because it also has his social security number on it, and if I accidentally left it somewhere, like a doctor's office or the school when I made the first copy so I could register him, I am in big trouble.
Now, some of you may ask why this is such a big deal. The doctor's office has a record there, and it would be easy to go and fill in a new one. Oh ho, not so. I would be labelled as THAT mom. You know, every time something came up like I wanted to start a preschool or get a new job, it would be dragged out into the open.
First Lady: "Yes, everything seems in order here...wait a minute. Does it say that you lost an immunization record here?"
Second Lady: (gasps of terror)
Sarah: (nodding my head in shame) "Yes, it does. I was hoping by typing it so small, it would escape your notice."
First Lady: "Well, we certainly can't have anyone with your lack of morals and organization in such a high position of responsibility. You may go now."
Second Lady: (shaking her head as I leave) "And she seemed so nice. What a shame."
First Lady: "Yes, but remember that even the nice looking apples can have rotten cores."
It is now time to pick up children and wake up Benjamin. I say that in reverse order, because I hate to wake up Ben. He is like me, and doesn't wake up easily or prettily. After fighting him that we really do have to go, staying is not an option, and yes, I will carry him to the car, I go and wait for the other two to get out of school. Which means I also have more time to worry about this lost record and the damage I have done to poor Brandon that will last his entire life.
While sitting there waiting for them to arrive to the car and wondering how much it will cost to replace Brandon's entire identity, I try to remain calm and think where else I need to look.
After picking up kids and getting back to the house, I start rifling through folders in the filing cabinet drawer, on the bookshelves, and then start looking in the desk drawers. I finally found it in the bottom of my drawer, in an envelope along with all the other information needed for his school registration, like his birth certificate and proof of address.
Oh, what sweet relief to know I wouldn't be labelled as the mom who lost her child's shot record. I really don't know if I could have lived that down. Especially since I can no longer eat Haagen Dasz and dark chocolate truffles with abandon. You see, I gained too much weight this month. But that is another blog post and tragedy all unto itself.

Hormone Hating

Can I just tell you something? I hate hormones. I really do. Especially when I am pregnant and they seem to make life so much harder than it really is. I know why they are there, I know what they all do, because I am a freak that way and have to know everything, but they can sure be a pain. Literally. Let me give you some examples.
Did you know that hormones can make your nose more congested than normal? And that they can also cause blood vessels to swell and rise closer to the surface? Did you know that I have both symptoms, and so every time I sneeze or try to blow my nose, I end up with a bloody one? Really gross, and not attractive in the least on date night or in the middle of church to have a bloody wad up your nostril or in your hand.
Hormones also put you on that lovely emotional roller coaster that makes you cry at everything. Do you have any idea how much I hate crying? Especially right now, with my nose spurting forth who knows what? I have to take at least three tissues with me to get through any kind of testimony meeting, movie, or children's show.
Those awful little hormones also attack your self esteem. That's right, as if women didn't have enough issues without them. Not only are you gaining weight at an abnormally fast pace, along with everything in your body swelling out of proportion, hormones have to come along and make you feel even worse than you normally would about it all.
Last week, my dad was talking to one of my brothers on the phone. This brother lives in CA, and so doesn't get to see us very much. They talked about the weather, sports and fantasy sports, and of course they talked about what was happening in all the families.
My brother asked about us, and if I was looking pregnant yet. My dad replied, "Oh, she definitely looks pregnant." With my hormonally crazed mind, I didn't take this as "Yes, you can definitely see that cute little pregnant tummy now." I took it as, "Son, you live by the ocean. Have you ever seen a beached whale that's been sitting there bloated in the sun for 3 days? Imagine that whale about to give birth to twins, and that's your sister."
It took a lot to calm me down and convince myself it was all in my head. I do look pregnant, and that is a good thing, since I really am. And if it takes a half gallon of Haagen Dasz liberally sprinkled with dark chocolate truffles to help me keep this perspective, then all the better, I say.