Oh, did you hear that BYU beat Utah on a "last play of the game" TD in overtime on Saturday?
Nail biter much???
Yeah, that's all I have to say about that.
Oh, but I must address Max Hall's post game comments:
#1- Dude, you need to move on with your life. I am truly sorry that your family was persecuted at the game. But blame the few individuals who acted like classless bums, not the whole university and half of Utah's population.
#2- Both BYU and Utah fans need to get a life. If your entire year is centered around this one rivalry game you really need to get out more. Or find another team to follow so that your attention is divided and life is more balanced.
#3- I love the University of Utah. I love the people, the teachers, the campus, the environment and culture......I could go on and on. I went to BYU for 2 years before transferring to the U. While BYU was a great school with wonderful programs and people, it never felt like home. From the moment I walked onto President's Circle at the U and immediately fell in love with the architectrue and history of the buildings I knew I was where I belonged. My daughter spent the first years of her life living in U married student housing, attending U preschool and spending almost every Friday night at a football or basketball game. In the much villified student section I might add. I think that's why she's such a fan now- she identifies with the school and culture as much as The King and I do. Our "U" years are a vital past of our history as a family. In the best days of my life, the day my husband and I both graduated from the U ranks only behind our wedding day and the births of our children. I LOVE LOVE LOVE my Univeristy of Utah
A Uath Man Am I!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Ahhh, the post holiday depression settles in.
I love Thanksgiving weekend. I think I love it more than Christmas.
I love that my kids are home, my hubby is home, and no piano lessons for 3 days.
It's a beautiful thing.
This year we decided to break out on our own for the first time in the almost 14 years we've been married. We would have done it sooner, but the problem was that I hate to cook and I hate most Thanksgiving foods. Hence, going to the fam or the fam-in-laws made much more sense than eating pb &j at home and calling it a holiday.
But this year we decided to take that bull by the horn and venture out on our own.
All the way to the Grand America Thanksgiving buffet in Salt Lake.
I won't tell you how much it cost. You might die. I almost did.
But it was worth every penny because (A) I didn't have to cook and so (B) I didn't have to touch raw meat and (C) the kids got to eat whatever they wanted and as much as they wanted until they were so full their little tummies almost burst. (Which we warned them before hand that they MUST eat until they wanted to die to validate the $$$$ that was being spent). Their plates were filled with the traditional Thanksgiving foods, but also included waffles, crepes, personalized omlets, salads, cheese, chocolate covered strawberries, parfaits, cream puffs shaped like turkeys, candy, oh I could go on and on. If you've never been to a buffet at The Grand you must go at least once before you die. They do the same spread on Easter and Mother'd Day but as those are Sunday holidays we've never been.
It was amazing.
Some might say that's not a "real" Thanksgiving, but all I say say in reply is that the kids didn't fight once, they ate eveything in sight, and they'll always remember the year we went to the Grand for Thanksgiving. I'm not sure what we'll do next year. Maybe we'll hit the buffet again, but we're leaning towards going out of town. Who knows. All I know is that I want it to be special and different, kind of like us.
I love Thanksgiving weekend. I think I love it more than Christmas.
I love that my kids are home, my hubby is home, and no piano lessons for 3 days.
It's a beautiful thing.
This year we decided to break out on our own for the first time in the almost 14 years we've been married. We would have done it sooner, but the problem was that I hate to cook and I hate most Thanksgiving foods. Hence, going to the fam or the fam-in-laws made much more sense than eating pb &j at home and calling it a holiday.
But this year we decided to take that bull by the horn and venture out on our own.
All the way to the Grand America Thanksgiving buffet in Salt Lake.
I won't tell you how much it cost. You might die. I almost did.
But it was worth every penny because (A) I didn't have to cook and so (B) I didn't have to touch raw meat and (C) the kids got to eat whatever they wanted and as much as they wanted until they were so full their little tummies almost burst. (Which we warned them before hand that they MUST eat until they wanted to die to validate the $$$$ that was being spent). Their plates were filled with the traditional Thanksgiving foods, but also included waffles, crepes, personalized omlets, salads, cheese, chocolate covered strawberries, parfaits, cream puffs shaped like turkeys, candy, oh I could go on and on. If you've never been to a buffet at The Grand you must go at least once before you die. They do the same spread on Easter and Mother'd Day but as those are Sunday holidays we've never been.
It was amazing.
Some might say that's not a "real" Thanksgiving, but all I say say in reply is that the kids didn't fight once, they ate eveything in sight, and they'll always remember the year we went to the Grand for Thanksgiving. I'm not sure what we'll do next year. Maybe we'll hit the buffet again, but we're leaning towards going out of town. Who knows. All I know is that I want it to be special and different, kind of like us.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Two Simple Words....
Two words which, when uttered by a child, can never bring about anything good....
SMELL IT
I know. Gospel truth, right?
SMELL IT
I know. Gospel truth, right?
Rites of Passage.....
A guilty conscience is a very valuable thing.
This morning on the way to school, Fox decided that he needed to come clean and confess to some stealth nighttime activities that had occurred late last night.
Where was I during these covert activities? Blissfully unaware of anything but my nice warm bed and footsie PJ's. As The King is in Maryland at the moment, I enjoyed the freedom and power of a remote control I rarely get to touch, and shows he'll never, ever watch with me (aka. "eye candy" shows like The Mentalist. Mmmmm.... Simon Baker).
His confession does explain the door slams I kept hearing, but failed to care enough to check out. I was warm people.
Apparently Fox got the itch at bed time to prank his big sis. Sneaking downstairs (which actually didn't require all that much "sneaking" because mom was in her "happy place", but the fear of being caught is half the fun, right?), he grabbed one of the Man Child's sippy cups out of the cupboard and then dashed back upstairs.
A cup??, you ask.
Not just any cup- one with an airtight lid.
You have to know where I am going with this- at least if you have a brother, or boy friends, or cousins, or have had any prolonged exposure to adolescent males.
Yes, he took that cup and farted into it.
Of course, the trick is not actually farting on cue. Any red blooded boy can do that. It's getting the lid on quickly enough that the fumes don't dissipate.
Fart jar in hand, Fox took his "present" to his sister's door and knocked. The poor, trusting girl actually let him in. Fortunately for her, Fox hasn't quite mastered the laws of gases so when he ripped the lid off and laughed maniacally, "can you smell that? Muahhahaha", he basically diffused the odor into the entire space.
I can only image how let down he must have felt when TQ answered "Not really".
Next time, make HER open the can son.
Even though it didn't have the effect he was hoping for, all in all it was a valiant first effort at gross out boy behavior. Where do they come up with these ideas? Who was the first guy to say "I wonder what would happen if I farted in a cup?" I think it has to be one of the classic nature vs. nurture situations. Within each Y chromosome comes the instruction to pee in public, moon everyone in sight, belch so loudly it hurts your ears, and fart with no abandon or embarrassment. That gene just needs a trigger to be turned on. Perhaps it's puberty, or all the preservatives in the potato chips and microwave bean burritos. For Fox, I'm sure the idea has been stewing in the back of his brain for a while now, ever since his dad told him about the time on his mission when he and his comps farted into bottles after a particularly spicy and greasy Gualeloupian meal and then mailed then to the missionaries on the other island in their area. Then the doofus called to see if the poor guys got their package and how bad it smelled. Their efforts, unlike my son's, were successful. Gagging ensued, mouth vomiting occurred, eyes watered and tooth brushes induced bleeding gums while trying to scour out the fume. They probably had to go to counseling after.
So the lesson from all of this?
Don't ever open a sealed jar unless you're sure it came from a chick.
This morning on the way to school, Fox decided that he needed to come clean and confess to some stealth nighttime activities that had occurred late last night.
Where was I during these covert activities? Blissfully unaware of anything but my nice warm bed and footsie PJ's. As The King is in Maryland at the moment, I enjoyed the freedom and power of a remote control I rarely get to touch, and shows he'll never, ever watch with me (aka. "eye candy" shows like The Mentalist. Mmmmm.... Simon Baker).
His confession does explain the door slams I kept hearing, but failed to care enough to check out. I was warm people.
Apparently Fox got the itch at bed time to prank his big sis. Sneaking downstairs (which actually didn't require all that much "sneaking" because mom was in her "happy place", but the fear of being caught is half the fun, right?), he grabbed one of the Man Child's sippy cups out of the cupboard and then dashed back upstairs.
A cup??, you ask.
Not just any cup- one with an airtight lid.
You have to know where I am going with this- at least if you have a brother, or boy friends, or cousins, or have had any prolonged exposure to adolescent males.
Yes, he took that cup and farted into it.
Of course, the trick is not actually farting on cue. Any red blooded boy can do that. It's getting the lid on quickly enough that the fumes don't dissipate.
Fart jar in hand, Fox took his "present" to his sister's door and knocked. The poor, trusting girl actually let him in. Fortunately for her, Fox hasn't quite mastered the laws of gases so when he ripped the lid off and laughed maniacally, "can you smell that? Muahhahaha", he basically diffused the odor into the entire space.
I can only image how let down he must have felt when TQ answered "Not really".
Next time, make HER open the can son.
Even though it didn't have the effect he was hoping for, all in all it was a valiant first effort at gross out boy behavior. Where do they come up with these ideas? Who was the first guy to say "I wonder what would happen if I farted in a cup?" I think it has to be one of the classic nature vs. nurture situations. Within each Y chromosome comes the instruction to pee in public, moon everyone in sight, belch so loudly it hurts your ears, and fart with no abandon or embarrassment. That gene just needs a trigger to be turned on. Perhaps it's puberty, or all the preservatives in the potato chips and microwave bean burritos. For Fox, I'm sure the idea has been stewing in the back of his brain for a while now, ever since his dad told him about the time on his mission when he and his comps farted into bottles after a particularly spicy and greasy Gualeloupian meal and then mailed then to the missionaries on the other island in their area. Then the doofus called to see if the poor guys got their package and how bad it smelled. Their efforts, unlike my son's, were successful. Gagging ensued, mouth vomiting occurred, eyes watered and tooth brushes induced bleeding gums while trying to scour out the fume. They probably had to go to counseling after.
So the lesson from all of this?
Don't ever open a sealed jar unless you're sure it came from a chick.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Back To Earth...
I just remember what I started to blog about when The King called down from the boys room (see previous post)
I was so sidetracked by the sweetness of the moment that I almost forgot that my 2 year old went all sexist on me earlier.
I was in the kitchen going through emails when MC walked out of my bedroom and yelled (and I kid you not here)
Woman! You get me the remote
Oh no you didn't kid!
The King claims that there is no way he could have said that (where on earth would MC have heard that he asked. Hmmmm. I wonder????). But I know what I heard.
No one has called me woman since my Puerto Rican Grandpa was babysitting us when I was 11 and he demanded, "woman, go get the men a drink"- the "men" being him and my 10 year old brother. It took every ounce of willpower I had to respectfully serve my grandpa and smirking brother, then vow to reap revenge on men everywhere for the remainder of my days.
I've matured a little since then.
But that sword wielding feminist still lives on inside the stay at home, piano teaching Mormon housewife I've become. And when my 2 year old had the gall to call me woman, She Ra almost erupted out of my skin and took him down.
Instead I let his dad deal with him.
Exactly how early is too early to start reading The Feminine Mystique to him?
I was so sidetracked by the sweetness of the moment that I almost forgot that my 2 year old went all sexist on me earlier.
I was in the kitchen going through emails when MC walked out of my bedroom and yelled (and I kid you not here)
Woman! You get me the remote
Oh no you didn't kid!
The King claims that there is no way he could have said that (where on earth would MC have heard that he asked. Hmmmm. I wonder????). But I know what I heard.
No one has called me woman since my Puerto Rican Grandpa was babysitting us when I was 11 and he demanded, "woman, go get the men a drink"- the "men" being him and my 10 year old brother. It took every ounce of willpower I had to respectfully serve my grandpa and smirking brother, then vow to reap revenge on men everywhere for the remainder of my days.
I've matured a little since then.
But that sword wielding feminist still lives on inside the stay at home, piano teaching Mormon housewife I've become. And when my 2 year old had the gall to call me woman, She Ra almost erupted out of my skin and took him down.
Instead I let his dad deal with him.
Exactly how early is too early to start reading The Feminine Mystique to him?
Brothers......
Not 30 seconds after The King went up to the boys room to turn off the light, I heard his soft whisper calling my name, imploring:
You have to come see this....
The first thought that went through my head?
"Oh crap, what have they destroyed now!!!"
As you can imagine I was less that surprised, due to my uncanny motherly clairvoyance, to find immediately upon entering their room the inevitable mess, but no Man Child in sight. What was disturbing, in light of the Titanic grade disaster, was the look on The King's face- it was almost endearing.
Something was very off with this crime scene.
Where's MC? I asked.
The lower bunk was empty, his bedding torn from the mattress and scattered all over the floor with a collection of Lego's, books and cars.
The King pointed to the upper bunk, but all I could see was Fox's peaceful sleeping form.
Look closer- look underneath his head he answered
I climbed on the nearby desk and from the higher elevation was immediately able to see the why my hubby was standing in the middle of a tornado of a mess with a look on his face like he'd just seen an angel.
They boys had fallen asleep together on Fox's bunk, where he reads MC a story every night. They fell asleep snuggling, with Fox's head still resting on the side of MC's chubby little belly.
A few months ago a miracle happened. The Man Child discovered that his big brother is the coolest person on earth. Subsequently, Fox discovered just how great it is to have someone adulate and idolize you. Every day when we drop Fox off at school, MC begs for hugs and kisses from Fox before he can leave the truck. He calls out the window, "bye Fox, bye Fox, bye Fox" as many times as it takes for his big brother to turn back around and give him a big wave and a "bye buddy, I'll see you after school". From that moment until exactly 3:00 when we pull out of the garage, MC asks if we can "go get Fox now". The is no smile bigger on his face all day than that given to his brother when he runs across the school parking lot at 3:25.
They are best friends.
Thank you Man Child, for making Fox your hero and thank you Fox, for being a big brother who is worthy of being emulated.
You have to come see this....
The first thought that went through my head?
"Oh crap, what have they destroyed now!!!"
As you can imagine I was less that surprised, due to my uncanny motherly clairvoyance, to find immediately upon entering their room the inevitable mess, but no Man Child in sight. What was disturbing, in light of the Titanic grade disaster, was the look on The King's face- it was almost endearing.
Something was very off with this crime scene.
Where's MC? I asked.
The lower bunk was empty, his bedding torn from the mattress and scattered all over the floor with a collection of Lego's, books and cars.
The King pointed to the upper bunk, but all I could see was Fox's peaceful sleeping form.
Look closer- look underneath his head he answered
I climbed on the nearby desk and from the higher elevation was immediately able to see the why my hubby was standing in the middle of a tornado of a mess with a look on his face like he'd just seen an angel.
They boys had fallen asleep together on Fox's bunk, where he reads MC a story every night. They fell asleep snuggling, with Fox's head still resting on the side of MC's chubby little belly.
A few months ago a miracle happened. The Man Child discovered that his big brother is the coolest person on earth. Subsequently, Fox discovered just how great it is to have someone adulate and idolize you. Every day when we drop Fox off at school, MC begs for hugs and kisses from Fox before he can leave the truck. He calls out the window, "bye Fox, bye Fox, bye Fox" as many times as it takes for his big brother to turn back around and give him a big wave and a "bye buddy, I'll see you after school". From that moment until exactly 3:00 when we pull out of the garage, MC asks if we can "go get Fox now". The is no smile bigger on his face all day than that given to his brother when he runs across the school parking lot at 3:25.
They are best friends.
Thank you Man Child, for making Fox your hero and thank you Fox, for being a big brother who is worthy of being emulated.
Happy Hour At La Casa de Loma
This is what I came upstairs to this evening after a long afternoon of piano lessons.....
I could have easily joined their downer parade, but then one wet smooch from a dirty, crumby mouth made my heart smile.
Then everyone starting showing some love.
I think we picked our earthly families long before Heavenly Father kissed us goodbye and sent us on this crazy journey of mortality. We may drive each other nuts sometimes, but I can't imagine 4 other people I love more in this world and who I can't fathom an eternity without.
I could have easily joined their downer parade, but then one wet smooch from a dirty, crumby mouth made my heart smile.
Then everyone starting showing some love.
I think we picked our earthly families long before Heavenly Father kissed us goodbye and sent us on this crazy journey of mortality. We may drive each other nuts sometimes, but I can't imagine 4 other people I love more in this world and who I can't fathom an eternity without.
Monday, November 2, 2009
And the Evidence Keeps On Building.....
The Man CHild just told Fox to "shut up"
I am going to h&## in a handbasket for sure.
He just says it with such authority that it's almost funny.
Notice I said almost.
See, Loma good mom.
I am going to h&## in a handbasket for sure.
He just says it with such authority that it's almost funny.
Notice I said almost.
See, Loma good mom.
10 Lessons Learned on Halloween
#1: If you are going to have a party for 30 thirteen year olds, forgo the nice expensive Lofthouse cookies and homemade garlic bread and just buy 10 pizzas and 20 two liters of drink. Plates, cups and napkins are also unnecessary.
#2 At said party, buy earplugs for everyone within a mile radius NOT attending the party so that you maintain neighborly goodwill and familial affection.
#3 If your 9 year old gets the Swine Flu on All Hallows Eve, try to convince him during the peak of his 104 degree fever hallucinations that all of the doorbell rings are actually the sounds of happy little birds floating around his head NOT his friends and neighbors enjoying trick-or-treating without him.
#4 Quit using slang in front of your children. When The Man Child dropped his pizza he cried out to the delight of all the teenagers present, "OH FRICK!". You know what that actually sounded like. Needless to say, they didn't mind him hanging out with them too much after that.
#5 If you want your children to become famous philanthropists, you should probably teach them to say what they are really thinking only in the presence people who will love them no matter what they say/think, or at least when the window is NOT open. For example, while driving through downtown Salt Lake The Man Child yelled to the homeless man walking down the sidewalk "That Man Stinks!" My reply of "holy crap, close the freaking window if you are going to judge people" was probably not my best parenting moment.
#6 If you want to compete with the full on multiple fatality Halloween crime scene staged in the cul-de-sac down the road you'd better put on a better show than just running the Thriller video on a tarp via projector in your front yard and turning the flog machine on full blast.
#7 If you plan on using a fog machine, warn your neighbors so that they don't call the fire department thinking your house is engulfed in flames (this lesson was actually learned last year but it doesn't hurt to reiterate).
#8 Swine flu can actually be a blessing if you haven't finished your sons' costumes.
#9 Make sure your sons don't choose to be characters that were popular 2 decades ago and the only way you can buy an "authentic" costume is to shell over $75 bucks or more to some collector on Ebay who has probably role played in them a little too often for me to ever be comfortable having the fabric ever touch my kids' skin.
#10 Watcher in the Woods was scary when I was 13, but toady's teenagers are just too jaded or emotionally numb to get a single goose bump raised by it. They also don't appreciate the brilliance of Willow, and clearly their hormones are out of whack because they cannot understand why we oldies thought Val Kilmer was hot. Ice Man children, Ice Man!
So that's Halloween 2009 for La Casa de Loma. The holiday left me with a basement to re-clean (ground m&m's and smarties to pry out of the carpet and teenager smell detoxification), candy and cookies to pawn off on unsuspecting neighbors and students so that The Food Nazi (aka The King) can stop freaking out about all the calories and fat, and the pieces of 2 almost Ghostbuster costumes to figure out what to do with. Anyone need a proton pack? Anyone, anyone? No?
Jerks.
Oh, and for a good laugh........
That was then (2008).....
This is now
Being the Food Nazi really has paid off! What a hottie!
#2 At said party, buy earplugs for everyone within a mile radius NOT attending the party so that you maintain neighborly goodwill and familial affection.
#3 If your 9 year old gets the Swine Flu on All Hallows Eve, try to convince him during the peak of his 104 degree fever hallucinations that all of the doorbell rings are actually the sounds of happy little birds floating around his head NOT his friends and neighbors enjoying trick-or-treating without him.
#4 Quit using slang in front of your children. When The Man Child dropped his pizza he cried out to the delight of all the teenagers present, "OH FRICK!". You know what that actually sounded like. Needless to say, they didn't mind him hanging out with them too much after that.
#5 If you want your children to become famous philanthropists, you should probably teach them to say what they are really thinking only in the presence people who will love them no matter what they say/think, or at least when the window is NOT open. For example, while driving through downtown Salt Lake The Man Child yelled to the homeless man walking down the sidewalk "That Man Stinks!" My reply of "holy crap, close the freaking window if you are going to judge people" was probably not my best parenting moment.
#6 If you want to compete with the full on multiple fatality Halloween crime scene staged in the cul-de-sac down the road you'd better put on a better show than just running the Thriller video on a tarp via projector in your front yard and turning the flog machine on full blast.
#7 If you plan on using a fog machine, warn your neighbors so that they don't call the fire department thinking your house is engulfed in flames (this lesson was actually learned last year but it doesn't hurt to reiterate).
#8 Swine flu can actually be a blessing if you haven't finished your sons' costumes.
#9 Make sure your sons don't choose to be characters that were popular 2 decades ago and the only way you can buy an "authentic" costume is to shell over $75 bucks or more to some collector on Ebay who has probably role played in them a little too often for me to ever be comfortable having the fabric ever touch my kids' skin.
#10 Watcher in the Woods was scary when I was 13, but toady's teenagers are just too jaded or emotionally numb to get a single goose bump raised by it. They also don't appreciate the brilliance of Willow, and clearly their hormones are out of whack because they cannot understand why we oldies thought Val Kilmer was hot. Ice Man children, Ice Man!
So that's Halloween 2009 for La Casa de Loma. The holiday left me with a basement to re-clean (ground m&m's and smarties to pry out of the carpet and teenager smell detoxification), candy and cookies to pawn off on unsuspecting neighbors and students so that The Food Nazi (aka The King) can stop freaking out about all the calories and fat, and the pieces of 2 almost Ghostbuster costumes to figure out what to do with. Anyone need a proton pack? Anyone, anyone? No?
Jerks.
Oh, and for a good laugh........
That was then (2008).....This is now
Being the Food Nazi really has paid off! What a hottie!
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