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.....