Preschool Christmas Program

The annual Forest Hill Christmas program was this past week. This has got to be the time of the year where those teachers really earn their money because, wow, wrangling 150 (?) 2, 3, 4 and 5 year olds into a believable half-hour program takes more patience and energy than I have. The differences in Makena and Reese were so obvious this year. First, the 15 months Makena has over Reese make a substantial difference but, more interesting, is the first-child/second-child difference.
Makena did as she was told, stood with her class, smiled, sang her little heart out and absolutely ate up the applause and adoration. Reese, on the other hand, had better things to do...like reorganize where everyone was standing; collect all the props after various songs (jingle bells, etc); and convince her little buddies to be her accomplices. She started on the third riser, decided the view might be better from the top, wandered up there...didn't like that, stepped back down one row at a time and eventually settled on standing in front of the first row of kids directly under a microphone.
Makena giving it her all (yes, she's a cow with a rubber glove for an udder)
Reese's initial location (purple shirt, yellow shepherd's "hat")
Reese's preferred spot (note that the performer in her came out once she found center stage)

Ahhh...the Mall Santa

....our annual expenditure of $20 for the opportunity to take our own pictures. Because, really, even my somewhere-south-of-amateur photography skills turn out better pictures than the ones the Elves take.

Loberg Christmas Cookies

Growing up, we were a household of seasonal culinary predictability. For the past 35 (and more, I assume) our Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners have consisted of the same basics. At this stage in my life, I try to throw in something new every year and, every year, whatever-it-is is met with "oh- this is good" but nothing seems to make an entry into the annual hall-of-fame. This could be a silent commentary on my mad cooking skillz. Hm. I'll have to think about that.
The one constant in our baking world was a cookie recipe that came from my dad's mother. Pressed cookies are apparently a Scandinavian thing. Those clever Norwegians...calling them "pressed" cookies almost makes you forget that the main ingredient is butter. Ooof. Like 6 sticks of butter for one batch. But they're good. And little. Deceptive little buggers- it's not hard to eat 6 or 8 (or 10) in one sitting. 98% of my running miles after Christmas will be dedicated to these:
Let me tell you a little about the procedure. To make a large batch in my single oven is at least a three hour ordeal. Once the dough is made, you can't refrigerate it or it ruins. I have no idea why, but it's true. I learned it the hard way. Every year, as I put the 6 sticks of butter, 7 1/4 cups of flour and other ingredients into my mixer, I think "really?? is it all going to fit??". Then I risk a finger or two trying to keep the dough from rolling out the top of the mixing bowl.
Then the pressing part comes in. I am the proud owner of one Mirro pastry press whose design hasn't changed since its inception back in the 50s. Seriously- I look at the instructional pamphlet sometimes and the little peach and gray stylized drawings of happy, apron-clad, daintily-coiffed housewives are so dated. They should almost have little speech bubbles above their heads that say "I love to cook in my GE Electric oven and then clean up with my automatic dishwasher".
But, every year, my mixer wins the battle against the massive volume of dough (barely); I satisfy myself with the ancient cookie press even though there are much improved models advertised at the beginning of every season; and this year, I had helpers!
The end result: about 250 cookies (about half of which fit into this picture). I've done this twice so far this Christmas. If you didn't get any, tough luck. Wait until next year.

A few pictures

I've been remiss on posting pictures lately. Here are a few from the last week or so.
The great Christmas Tree hunt of 2009. We haven't braved the drive to the mountains to cut our own yet so we just trek down the street to...oddly enough...the same place we buy pumpkins every fall. And buy our pre-cut tree from...oddly enough...the same people we buy pumpkins from every fall.
Here are some of the annual leaf jumping episode. This was a much-awaited event this year and the pile did not disappoint. Reese, mind you, insisted on wearing brown flip flops. I had never previously considered how similar her shoe size is to Bradford Pear leaves.

Campout

As I'm finishing cleaning up from breakfast this morning, Reese runs into the kitchen and declares "we're camping out!!". Sure enough, there are blankets and pillows spread all over the living room. Fabulous! As I round the corner to check on the campsite, I notice Reese leaning up against a wall essentially doing a wall squat. My legs hurt at the sight of it, no thanks to Tony Horton.
Anyway, I asked her what she was doing and she responded "peeing in the woods."
OK.
(thankfully, she was not being literal)

Lies

We have lied to our children more in the last 6 days than we have in the last 4.5 years. We finally got an Elf-on-the-Shelf. Our elf, please note, is straight from my Grandmother's trunk-o-Christmas-deocrations and he's been around since at least my childhood. A friend described him as "like one of those dried-apple people they sell at Cracker Barrel". He wasn't far off.
Esmerelda (who is a boy, mind you) makes his appearance somewhere in the house every morning, observes the kids and their behavior all day, then goes back to the North Pole each night to report to Santa. The next morning, he magically appears back in the house...ideally in a different spot from where he was the previous day. Makena doesn't quite buy it, but she hasn't decided how to express it. Please note how the lies just roll off the tongue...
Makena: how does he get here every morning?
Me: he flies.
Makena: when does he get here?
Me: while you're asleep.
Makena: does he wear the same clothes every day?
Me: yes.
Makena: when does he wash them?
Me: Oh, Mrs. Claus washes them every Sunday (Betty Friedan just rolled over)
Makena: well...when does he eat?
Me: when he's at the North Pole. He only has to eat a little bit every day. He eats elf bread.
Makena: (eyeing her dinner roll) will he fall off the shelf (or window cornice, Christmas Tree, mantle, etc)?
Me: no. He's very good at balancing. He practices yoga.

upon observing the other few elves that Grandmother has displayed at her house
Makena: you have elves, too, GG??
GG: yes (not quite sure how to answer)
Makena: well...what children are those elves watching?
Me: those are retired elves. They used to watch children every year, but they got too old. Now they hang out here with GG & Honey's friends.
Makena: do they play Wii Bowling with Honey?
Me: I don't know- you'll have to ask Honey.

Regardless of whether they buy it or whether their behavior is affected by it, they have a BALL racing down the hall first thing in the morning trying to find him in his new spot.
Merry Christmas to all and remember...a wrinkled old (potentially cross dressing) elf named Esmerelda is watching!

One day, I'll find my gift

I'm almost 35 and I still find myself wondering what my special talent is. I can't paint, can't draw worth a flip, am not patient enough to be a teacher...I guess if you count Excel skills as a gift, I might qualify. Do you see my dilemma?
Our friends Jen and Chris Hunt have an incredible talent: they're real friends. I mean true, genuine, honest-when-they're-happy, honest-when-they're-sad, be-angry-with-them, drink-with-them, celebrate-with-them, cry-with-them friends. For some strange reason, they choose (voluntarily!) to love our family. I mean, I can see loving Makena and Reese, but Brett and I are another story. We're one big mess of people, yet they continue to brighten our lives by being part of it.
Their secondary talent is that they're fantastic photographers. Jen took a leap of faith a year ago and started her own photography business. Chris joined the party. They're good. Really good. It's hard to take this big mess of people and make it look this good.

Follow this link to see more pictures
Jen Hunt Photography Pictures

OK, now this is cool

That's broccoli. Grown in our own garden! I'm thrilled with how well it did. Turns out, broccoli is a very pretty plant- it's got these huge green-blue leaves that let water bead up on them any time it rains. I realize broccoli doesn't get most sane people all worked up, but we've really enjoyed an afternoon ritual of walking out to the garden, cutting off a big crown and munching on it as an appetizer while we're prepping dinner. (the health benefits are only slightly diminished by the full-fat ranch dressing it gets dunked into) The fancy lettuces I planted also grew like crazy, but they're trickier than head lettuce. Their leaves are fairly flimsy and wilty just about the same time they get large enough to eat. Hard to make presentable salads with wilty lettuce leaves. I'll just keep buying that at the store.

Here's one more random thing. My mother, the keeper-of-all-stuff, recently handed me this
Those are the gum-paste flowers that were on our wedding cake (not the bright pink ones- not quite sure why she added those silk beauties to her little arrangement). I had about four days worth of faux sentimental need to keep them after she gave them to me. Then I, the thrower-away-of-all-stuff, returned my china cabinet back to the 21st century.

Parental Rite of Passage #367...

...is surely having your kid puke at your in-laws' house. We've actually already crossed that bridge with Reese, but to a very minor extent. This weekend we had the pleasure of a very sick Makena at 1:30am. Poor thing, it stinks to be sick, but it really stinks to be sick when you're not even at home. It really stinks when you're a parent, you're not at home and your kid is sick.
It was actually a banner weekend for us at the lake. Willow, who usually observes the water from a snooty, been-there-done-that-don't-want-to-get-wet-today distance, decided to take a flying leap off the seawall into the cold water. None of us was expecting it and I was the only one who witnessed it. As luck would have it, I was all the way across the yard and had to holler to Brett's dad to grab her. The water is high now (typical for late fall) so there was no beach for her to walk out onto. Dogs with short, smushed-in noses aren't known for their swimming prowess. Dayton fished her out by her collar and she spent the remainder of the evening wrapped in a towel in my lap. Hmm. Maybe that was actually her master plan. Or maybe she's just losing it.
Reese, in typical three-year-old fashion, ignored our constant instructions not to rough house on the leather couch. What do you think you get when you put a wiggly three year old (wearing socks) on a leather couch? You get a three-year-old who is no longer on the couch. She managed to fall head first onto the hardest hardwood floors ever installed.
We're such good parents. One sick kid who gets every last bit of bedding messy. One dog who probably lost a vocal cord being yanked out of the water. One kid with a bright blue goose-egg on her forehead. All in one 12 hour time span!

Dinner conversation 11/17/2009

italics are my thoughts

Me: girls- tell us what you did at school today
Reese: I-
Makena: NO! Me first.
Makena: Luke brought a book to school today. It was about a boy named Luke. Not the real Luke, a pretend Luke.
Brett: who was he?
Makena: he had a father who was black. He was dark, but at the end he had a white face and white hair. hmm...this is probably some version of Star Wars, but there's still an outside chance we're talking about Michael Jackson.
Brett: what was his father's name?
Makena: Dark.
Brett: Darth Vader?
Makena: Yeah, yeah- that was it. Dark Vader. He was black but he started white. this discussion could go south fast.
Brett: still not quite confident we're talking about the same plotline...were there any princesses in the story?
Makena: NO.
Brett: trying again....were there any girls in the story?
Makena: yes- Princess Leia. here we see what a princess is not in the eyes of a four-year-old. poor Carrie Fisher. she really drew the short straw on the whole princess deal. can't a girl get some tulle and a hair stylist?
Me: Reese, what did you do today?
Reese: I WAS LINE LEADER!!!

I come from a long line of artists

No really, I'm serious. My mother used to paint and needlepoint. My brother majored in studio art and has been competing in and winning art contests since he was in lower school. My grandmother paints, my aunt paints and teaches art classes, I've got an architect cousin, another aunt who needlepoints... Anyone who knows me, however, knows that absolutely zero of that familial talent got routed my direction. My branch of the family tree is flowered with accountants, builders and engineers.
Now, I'm not saying I can't do some creative things, I just do them in my own way. In terms of crafty things, if I see it, I can copy it. However, I will generally take the project's written instructions, Six-Sigma them to death, and simplify the entire procedure. Martha Stewart would be appalled.
So...this brings me to the point of my post. After six years of naked walls in our house, I finally bought a piece of artwork! A friend of ours (Janine Medlin) sold some of her works recently and I was thrilled to find this gorgeous painting of a cherry blossom branch! It's hanging proudly in our foyer. (this picture doesn't do the colors justice- you'll have to come visit and see it in person!)
Yesterday, actually, was a very intense left-brain exercise day for me. I also bought three other pieces at a show held by more of my creative friends. Two name canvasses to go in the girls' rooms and another one that's kind of a photographic representation of our last name. I'll have to post it when I get it- it's too hard to explain.

Happy Halloween! We got soaked, did you?

The end of the night consisted of one Snow White "shibbering" and one Belle who was so tired she could barely stand it. Let me take you back to the beginning.
Noon. We're in full regalia. Hair, shoes, everything.
We had a "spooky spa" party from 1-3 where the girls dressed up in their costumes and got their nails painted, faces painted and tattoos applied to any bare patches of skin.
After a quick stop at Grandmommy & Granddaddy's for a costume review, we had about 30 minutes to "sit still" before the neighborhood party. Woohoo! That was fun- we had cheerleaders, fairies, Batman, a flapper, football stars...you name it.
While the kids discussed....uh...whatever it is 3,4,5 and 6 year olds discuss, the prevailing theme of the parents' conversation was "if we all plan to leave here by 6:15, we can be done and home in time for ____" (in our case the ____ was the Texas routing of Oklahoma State (8pm start time)). So we all sauntered down the cul-de-sac a few minutes after 6:15. Approximately 1.5 houses down the street, the sky opened up and *whoosh* everyone was soaked. Golf umbrellas only go so far with families of four- two of whom want to walk at their own paces.
What's (semi) interesting is, in a non-scientific poll of friends and family the following day, no one could remember it ever raining on Halloween where they grew up. It must be a spooky weather anomaly that for the past 35-ish years it has never rained on the evening of October 31 in Texas, North Carolina, Connecticut, New York, South Carolina.....

The Life Cycle of a Pumpkin

I love October. Growing up, it was generally during the last week of October where Houston got its annual two days' worth of fall (which translates to 75 degrees. anything lower than that was "winter"). Here where it gets cool enough on some October days to justify a sweater and even s'mores over an open fire, this is what happens to a pumpkin.
Reese & Makena identify their favorites
The men gut and dismember the pumpkin. A true dad ritual.
While the kids are silly and swinging
S'mores with 6 kids and an open fire pit is a little overwhelming. Somehow we managed to keep all children, dogs and most toys from getting charred.
Travis got marshmallow duty with each kid.
Reese decided it was her calling to direct traffic around the fire (note leftover s'mores on her face)
Brett with his final product (we call it a redneck skull with West Virginia teeth)

Swine Flu Musings

We're coming out of the Swine Flu at our house. Makena and Reese both had a relatively easy battle with it that lasted from last Thursday until Saturday/Sunday. For us, it really wasn't as bad as all the hype. Our poor (lucky) kids got to subsist on movies and whatever random food they agreed to eat. Here are some of my observations from our quarrantine.

• At the end of the fairy tale, Snow White rides off into the sunset with her prince to go to his kingdom. Why? He's just a prince and, presumably, there's still a king in his kingdom doing all the important stuff. We never hear of any king in Snow White's home kingdom and the Queen gets offed at the end of the story. Why doesn't Snow White take the prince back to her kingdom where there is, presumably, no one running things? Buh? What are we teaching our daughters? Get a spine and go run your own kingdom!
• Mary Poppins, after giving Jane and Michael medicine magically flavored like strawberries and cupcakes, takes a spoonful herself and declares "ah..Rum Punch!". I never noticed Mary Poppins liked the bottle before. That could explain some of the dancing penguin scenes.
• Any movie is made better and more enjoyable when watched in Mommy & Daddy's bed. This could explain the scratchy throat I have.
  

Lyrics

We are now the proud owners of a three-CD set of kids' songs. 130+ snappy, snazzy tunes to keep your preschoolers singing at the tops of their lungs all around town. Thanks, Christine. Here are some of the songs included in the collection:

• "Ankle" Doodle Dandy
• Clementine- have you ever listened to the words of this macabre, incestuous song? In the first verse, Clementine kicks the bucket- drowns, to be precise "she is lost and gone forever, Dreadful sorry, Clementine". Then Clementine's lyricist lover pays her tribute with these words: "How I missed her! How I missed her, How I missed my Clementine, But I kissed her little sister, I forgot my Clementine." Niiice.
• Hole in the Bucket- this one prompts Makena to sing/yell at Reese "DEAR HENRY, DEAR HENRY" anytime Reese approaches me and asks me to fix anything.
• Waltzing Matilda- this Australian classic is sung by a Scottish man with a very thick accent. Confusing to me, but this is the hands down favorite.

A few random pictures. These are their prized princess nightgowns (thanks, Tara!)
Here they are ready to leave for gymnastics. Their cheapskate mom finally bought them leotards so now they can hang with the coolest kids in the class.
This one made me laugh- I went into Reese's room to wake her up from her nap one day only to discover she had relocated the menagerie of animals, books and pillows from her bed and recreated it directly under her bed. She was out like a light.

Garden update

I know you've been waiting for this one! We closed the books on our summer garden about three weeks ago. The tomatoes were still going, although not strong; the bell peppers were on their last leg; the jalapenos are actually still up there (couldn't stand to toss them- they're producing like crazy)...it was the okra that was killing me. Our six okra plants were each over six feet high! I was harvesting a least five or six pods every day. We've got more okra in our freezer than I know what to do with- if I call you for a new gumbo recipe, you'll know why.
A good chunk of the reason Brett and I decided to start P90X was because of the ridiculous amounts of fried okra we ate this summer. I mean- yum!- but not so good for the waistlines.
Anyway- we've planted what will have to pass as a fall garden for now. I was surprised at how hard it was to find seedlings for fall veggies. We really only have a mix of lettuces and broccoli but, with eight broccoli plants out there, we've got our veggies covered for a while.
And, for good measure, here's a picture of our newly naked fenceline. Those outbuildings you see in the background are two neighbors' away. We can see clear across clown-neighbor's yard and intrusively into the yards of two people we've never been privy to before. Be sure to take note of the falling-down fence- this picture just happens to include a section of the fence where all the rungs are present. Not intact, but present. There are other sections that have only two, one and even no rungs at all. That's not an illegal hazard or anything. Pool. State law. I'm just sayin'.
Here's the best picture I could find with the bushes in their former state of shade-and-screen-providing loveliness.

September wrap-up

We seem to have sped through the last half of our month and *poof* here we are in October. Since returning from the beach, we've started back to school, started soccer, started gymnastics and been teased and taunted by hints of fall weather. Since the birthday party I haven't gotten my camera out much so I don't have any more Pulitzer-prize winning photographs to share. Instead, here are a few thoughts and experiences we've had lately.

• A four-year-old and a three-year-old fight about the stupidest things. "She took my baaaaaby doll!!!" "She told me it's raining outside!!!" "You're only in the three-year-old class and I'm four!!!" (??)
  
• A four-year-old will argue with a fence post. "Mommy, what are we doing after lunch?" "We're going to the library." "No we're not."; "Mommy, can we go swing outside?" "Yes, but we have to wait until Daddy finishes cutting the grass." "He's NOT cutting the grass!" (cue Brett walking by the back door behind the mower); "Mommy, is Texas playing today?" "No, they don't play again until next week." "No, they play tomorrow."
  
• Our next-door-neighbor recently scalped the 20-year-growth huge bushes that a) provided us a significant amount of afternoon shade and b) provided us a very necessary screen between our yard and his. If I were to chronicle this clown's antics over the last 6 years you'd be blown away. This last maneuver is likely to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Stay tuned to see if I call the city and report him for a falling-down fence around his pool/property that isn't up-to-code. Yes, I'm that vindictive right now.
• Brett and I are a month into our new workout routine. Check out your local infomercial channel for TMI on P90X and there you have it. I actually like it- it forces me to work out almost every day. Some days, though, I have to do the workout during the day when the kids are here- they LOVE it! Makena jumps around doing "tires" and little Heismann poses and they will both sit through almost the entire ab routine. Hilarious!
• Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), since most evenings are taken up with jumping around the living room like fools (ie- P90X), we're way behind on our fall TV. What sad little lives we live.

I don't have any more gems for now (aren't you glad?). I think of great and witty things to post during most days but, as you can see, don't manage to get around to posting them. I'll try to be better in October.

Reese's Birthday(s)

Three words. Best.Present.Ever.
My parents deprived me of little (although, had you asked me that 20 years ago I would have had a fantastic case to present to DSS- I mean, really, where was my shineynewbeemer on my 16th birthday?). They did, however, deprive me of a Snoopy Sno Cone Machine. I can now count my life as complete.

Our neighbors decorated the flowerbed outside Reese's window with three pink flamingos (per Reese's request) and a balloon the morning of her birthday.Then we celebrated with friends later that weekend. After a week of calling for constant rain that day, we managed to get sliding, bouncing, dinner and cake in before the weather won. Good times were had by all!Check out the full-body launching into the pool action: