Saturday, September 20, 2014

Word Play gone Awry

My kids have outgrown the term "play date". 

So we brainstormed alternative phrases to use that basically mean the same thing--getting together with a friend. 

We threw out general terms such as play, hang, hang out, etc. 

Then Drue proudly suggested hangover. 

I proceeded to fall out of my chair.

She was pleased with her selection and went on to explain the rationale behind her clever choice. "Because we want to have a friend come hang out over at our house."

Needless to say, I vetoed that idea. And all discussion on the matter abruptly came to an end.

We're just going to say, "Can so and so come over?" going forward. 

And I apologize now if any of your children have ever received an invitation to have a hangover at the Hollaways. 



Tuesday, September 09, 2014

Creative Consequence

Ahhhh...the coveted charging cube.

Of which we somehow never have enough of in this house.

Same goes for charging cords.  Almost all of them identical, yet everyone seems to know exactly which charging cord is theirs. And they will defend them 'til the end. 

The phrase, "That's MY charger!" is hollered out about once or twice a week here.  And is usually followed by some sort of wrestling match between the user of the cord and the self-proclaimed owner. Ending with the "owner" trying to pry it out of the user's hands.  (One of these days I will reign triumphant...as soon as I discover David's weak spot.)

Some of us are a little more gracious than others about sharing. And some won't let their charger budge from their device.  It doesn't matter if an iPod belonging to a sibling is completely dead, and theirs is at 92%.  By golly, they're getting in that extra 8% before even entertaining the idea of pulling the plug.
 

It doesn't happen often, but once in awhile, when the kids have exhausted all other possibilities of where a charging cube could be, they will resort to taking mine.

Mine. The one that rarely moves from it's trusty little spot by my bed.   

Mine.  Which allows me to tuck my little phone into it's power source each night as I crawl under the covers.

Last night was one such night.  After I gently transferred the 84 neatly stacked piles of clean laundry from my bed to the ironing board (don't ask, that's another post entirely) I reached down to grab the cord for my phone.  There it was, lifeless on the floor.  No cube in sight. 

I knew the offender immediately.  She was just across the hall.  All I had to do was march over there and yank it out of the wall behind her bed. I was pretty sure I could take her should she resist. 

But wait.  Why should I be the one to venture out?  She should bring it to me.  Much better plan.  The attic fan was on and she probably wouldn't have heard me beckon her to my chambers.  So I utilized the next best mode of communication.  I texted her.

We went back and forth for a minute and I was no closer to getting the desired cube.  So I broke out the big guns.  I got creative with the consequence.  And I got results.  

About 3.7 seconds later she appeared.  Charging cube in hand.  I plugged in my phone and drifted off to the sweet sounds of Pandora. 

Until next time, my cube-stealing cutie...
 

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Warning: Objects on Pinterest are Cuter Than They'll Appear

I'm frantically signing school planners and packing lunches in the morning.

Soccer games are scattered across my calendar.

The entrance to Hobby Lobby is adorned with fake pumpkins and scarecrows.

All signaling my favorite season is fast approaching.

F-A-L-L!

Another sign Fall is near is that the Pinterest boards I follow are blowing up with pumpkin recipes (Mary B!) which have caused me to gain a few pounds as I drool over the pictures.  Oh, and don't forget the super cute Fall crafts.

Part of me wants to pin my own fun recipes and drop everything to make wreaths out of burlap and, well, anything orange.

But, alas, nothing I attempt...I repeat, nothing, winds up looking even remotely similar to the way it looks on those dazzling boards.  Ok, one Christmas canvas I made turned out.  And I try to incorporate it into my decorations as long as possible.  Long about mid- February David will look at it, sigh, and say, "O Holy Night? Really? Still?"

I hesitate to jump on the Fall crafting bandwagon because I can't help remembering back to this past Spring.  Unlike my friends who are already posting stuff months ahead in preparation for upcoming holidays {if you're already posting Christmas or Valentine's Day crafts, I may be unfollowing you posthaste} I was frantically perusing Pinterest boards a few days before Easter to step up my game a bit this year.

Pinterest should really come with disclaimers or something.

Like, seriously.

Even though I know my replicas probably will come up lacking, it would still be nice to have some kind of warning about all the things that could possibly go wrong. 

Take these adorable last minute centerpieces:
I like to be as thrifty as possible when it comes to craft-making. So I was probably more excited than the average dollar store customer when I found these vases and festive speckled jellybeans for...yep...$1 each! I picked up my favorite Spring scented candles at Wal-mart for a few bucks and was feeling pretty good about life. 

This is where a Pinterest warning would have come in handy. Something along the lines of: Beware of using real candy in any type of craft. Children and husbands will find a way to get to it and eat it.

Ahem.

The unmistakable *clink* *clink* of the candles against the glass signaled me multiple times someone was sneaking a jelly bean...or six.

Heck, soon they quit even trying to be sneaky about it.  David and I were having a conversation in the dining room one day and, before I knew what was happening, he pulled out the candle altogether, reached in, and helped himself to a few pieces of my crafty creation. 

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked in disbelief.

"What?" he said, with a mouthful of sugary goodness, "Getting some jellybeans."

My other super cute Easter idea from this false advertising website was a glow in the dark egg hunt.

How. Incredibly. Fun.

It called for mini glow sticks, but my super successful dollar store outing yielded glow bracelets. I was sure I could make them work. Oh, and I grabbed some more eggs while I was at it. 

The warning that would have been helpful here might have said: Be sure and don personal protective equipment before attempting this project.  

A few nights before Easter, I put my plan into action. I told David to keep the kids occupied while I prepared the eggs and secretly hid them in the backyard. I'm pretty sure by "keep them occupied" he heard "turn on the TV so they'll be oblivious to their surroundings."

I snuck out to the driveway where all the loot was stashed in the trunk of my van. I sat cris-cross on the cement and began the assembly process. Turns out, the eggs I bought were a tad too small. And the bracelets were a tad too big

Story. Of. My. Life.

But I was bound and determined to make it work. The bracelets were bendable. Surely if I bent them just so, and quickly closed the eggs, they would....nope. Wasn't working.

I should insert here that I may be one of the least patient people on the face of the Earth when it comes to stuff like this. I just wanted to be done already. I could almost hear the joyful laughter as the kids skipped around the backyard gleefully finding glowing eggs.  

Yet there I was stuffing in glow bracelets, quickly snapping eggs shut, only to have them pop right back open and the bracelets come flying out. 

That's when I got the idea to cut the bracelets in half. They would fit in the egg and the glow juice would be distributed throughout the inside casting an even brighter glow.

I cut the first bracelet and placed it in an egg. The glow juice spilled all over my clothes and the driveway. But the half bracelet nestled snugly inside the egg. This worked perfectly a few more times.

Until the one time it didn't. Half a bracelet sprang out of the egg I was holding and the glow juice squirted in my eye. It burned like a thousand suns leaking into my cornea.

How dedicated am I that I tried to blink it out through my tears and continue on?! (You're no doubt inserting a different word in place of "dedicated" at this point). When I couldn't take it any longer, and feared I would go blind and not even get to see the kids enjoying the egg hunt, I bolted inside and flushed my crimson colored eye out in the kitchen sink.

I finished up and looked at my little bowl of glowing eggs.  There were twelve.  I had only gotten twelve eggs.  If you're quick at math, you'll realize that was only four eggs per child!  What was I even thinking?  I hid them quickly, which was no easy task considering it was nightfall and I could only see clearly out of one eye.

I grabbed my camera and tried to video their reactions when I told them they were about to embark on one of the coolest adventures of their lifetime.  Somehow I didn't press record, so there is no footage.  Which is probably for the best, because they all just looked at me quizzically, wondering why I was blocking their view of the TV.  "Right now?  We're going outside right now?", they asked, not in an excited tone, but rather in a we're pretty comfy right where we are, do we really have to move? tone.

Tate was the most excited, bless his little heart.  As they scattered into the far corners of the backyard, I yelled, "Only get four eggs!"

"Four?!" they repeated, sure they hadn't heard me correctly.

Of course, they found their allotted amount in about 3 minutes flat.  In between complaints of the grass freezing their bare feet and me hollering out, "Do NOT open the eggs!  They will leak poison onto your skin!"

I'm pretty sure I forced Tate to smile for this picture.  My one tangible visual memory of our first, and last, annual glow in the dark hunt.  I probably said, "Hold up your eggs and smile, doggone it."
I rallied back from my Easter flops to try my hand at crafting teacher gifts that were supposed to be beautiful bouquets of dry erase markers. Don't even get me started.  They all fell apart on the walk to school.  I can't make this stuff up.  The petals kept flying off down the street and the pens were falling out of the little pots and rolling down the sidewalk.  

I'm sure I will work up the nerve to, once again, create seasonal items of happiness for my little family.  It will probably take place the night before Halloween when I decide to line my driveway with ghosts made out of gallon milk jugs.  I'll be the crazy lady at Aldi buying a cart-ful of milk, then transferring it to buckets around the house all for the sake of creativity. 

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Out of the Blue

I wasn't going to write a sappy back to school post.

I really wasn't.

Ok, I was.  I had one all started in my head, and then decided against it. 

Because it basically covered the same stuff I say every year.  And what every parent already knows: This stage in life is going by way more quickly than I ever dreamed.

When I woke Tate up the first day of school, I said something along the lines of, "Third grade, here we come!".  He rubbed his sleepy eyes, shook his head and said, "I still can't figure out how 2nd grade went so fast."

When friends or family who haven't seen the kids in awhile exclaim, "Oh my goodness!  They're getting so big!", I smile and agree, "I know! Crazy, isn't it?"

Even though I'm really thinking, "They don't look much different to me."

I see my kids everyday.  I only know they're growing because I have a garage FULL of clothes I'm trying to get ready to sell.

And when they hug me and I bend down to kiss the top of their heads, I really don't have far to go.  Their little heads are getting closer and closer to mine all the time.

This post wasn't sparked by the new school year per se.  Or by any other milestone signifying to the world that time marches on and my babies are growing up.  It was sparked by those little everyday moments that hit me out of the blue.

Like when Tate laughed at something the other day. I just stared at his front teeth that had finally grown in and filled the gap made last Spring.  Those little teeth that kept us up many a night breaking through are long gone. And have been replaced with the teeth that will make up the smile he'll flash to win over his future wife someday.

Or when the shoe salesman measured Drue's foot last week and declared she was now a size 7.  I wanted to crumple to the floor clutching her little baby footprint from the hospital. But I didn't happen to have it with me at the moment.  Plus, he would have thought I was strange. 

Last night was also one of those out of the blue moments.  We weren't doing anything spectacular.  It wasn't a special occasion.  I was taking Drue to soccer practice and at the last minute Reese said she was coming with us.

When we got to the field Reese hopped out of the van as I fumbled with the chairs in the trunk.  When I looked up my breath caught for a split second. Who is this preteen emerging from the front seat of my car? 
She looked familiar. Like a little girl I used to know.  A barefoot girl in tiny pigtails and a cozy purple sweatsuit, holding tight to her "ju-ju" (juice).  They have the same sparkle in their blue eyes. 
Only instead of having to chase this little girl around the soccer field making sure she didn't run too close to the parking lot or eat fistfuls of grass, we were able to just sit next to each other chatting about middle school, new friends she was making, and how she might be able to help her sister with soccer.  

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go dig through the boxes in the garage for that little purple sweatsuit.  No way am I selling that little memory maker. 

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Summer Adventure #1

Summer Adventure #1 was David's idea.  His ideas are usually super cool. Just another reason he's classified as the fun parent.

Thursday was the last day of school, so he planned a campout in the backyard on the trampoline that night and took yesterday off.  We're talking fire pit, s'mores using marshmallows as big as my fist, and a white sheet rigged up between two trees so we could watch a movie.

When David first proposed the idea to me I said, "That sounds like a great activity for you and the kids." To which he replied, "Oh no, you're gonna be out there with us."

Ugh.

The last time I camped out in the backyard I was sore for the next month, or three.  I can throw my neck and shoulder out of whack just turning around to grab something behind me.  It's kind of ridiculous.  At least that sweet husband of mine is always supportive and sympathetic when it happens.

Oh wait, no he isn't.  The perfect husband in my mind is like that.  Mine likes to mock me and pretend to throw his neck out by picking up a paper towel.

Even though I knew my neck would pay for it, there was no way I was actually going to miss out. Part of me was afraid, 20 years down the road, this would become one of their favorite childhood memories and, if I opted to stay inside, I wouldn't be a part of it. 

The weather was perfect. The girls and I cozied up in sweatshirts, Tate scrambled out of the house in footie pajamas, and we settled in. Getting our crew to agree on a movie can be painful.  And there are only so many times I can watch that little clownfish dad search for his son.  We ended up watching Star Wars. Whew.

Next up...figuring out who was sleeping where on the trampoline.  Reese decided the safest arrangement was to have David and I on the outside with the kids nestled safely in between.  And she asked more than once, "What if someone tries to take us?".  I tried to reassure her I doubted someone was lurking around our neighborhood peering into people's backyards, on the off chance they would find an unsuspecting family sleeping on a trampoline.  "Mom, people do strange things these days," she countered.  She got me there.

I thought it would be neat to keep the dogs outside with us.  George loves being outside, so I figured this would be his dream ~ to actually spend the whole night out with his family enjoying the cool breeze.  Wrong.  He took advantage of the cover of darkness to stalk innocent bunnies and squirrels, so I finally had to put him in the house.

We all got situated. 

Then my phone died.  

So I crawled off and ran it into the house to charge.

I got re-situated. 

Then Tate needed to go to the bathroom and was scared to walk the 15 feet to the house.  

So I accompanied him.  

Upon our return I thought, Why didn't I go to the bathroom while we were in there?! 

Back I went.  Almost made it back to the trampoline when David said, "You left the light on upstairs."  

ARE you kidding?

Another trip into the house.  Mind you, each time I entered the house, I was greeted by the dogs who desperately wanted back out for another chance.  No way.  So I had to try and squeeze back out the door without them following me. 

Motherhood.  

Honestly. I've never worried so much about random things happening as when I became a Mother.  Just a few of the thoughts that ran through my head last night:

What is the weight limit on this trampoline? 

What if a spring breaks and we all plunge to the ground below? -  Ok, I voiced this one out loud.  Because Reese followed up with, "I'm right above a large tree branch on the ground."

What if, when we all plunge to the ground, Reese gets impaled by that tree branch?

What if we're attacked by a family of rabid squirrels?

What if we all roll to the middle and suffocate poor Tate in the night?

What if a spark from the dying fire ignites the grass and we have to leap to safety?

I looked over at David and tried to gauge by his expression if he was having any of these same fears.  Nope.  He was peacefully watching the movie, probably just thinking, "Light sabers are awesome."

At some point, as we snuggled under the 12 blankets, Tate pulled off his footie pajamas.  "Ummm...no," I said.  "No sir. Jammies go back on."

"But I'm hot," he protested.  And he was.  I felt his sweaty little back.  "Ok, you can keep them off for now.  But before we go to sleep you need to put them back on."

"Why?"

"Because the temperature drops in the night and I don't want you to catch hypothermia."

"What's that?"

"It's this sickness you catch when it gets too cold and you're not prepared for it.  When the temp drops, we'll all be sound asleep, and it just sneaks up on you."

He couldn't get back into his jammies fast enough.

Around 10:30 pm we were nowhere near the final Star Wars battle scene, so we decided to stop the movie and drift off to dreamland.  

The kids must have been exhausted, because there were minimal squabbles such as "She's on my pillow," or "He's taking up too much blanket."

After some time passed, the trampoline became as still as could be. I had just closed my eyes when I detected what I thought to be a flash. My eyes flew open and I waited. 7...8...9...seconds went by and then the faintest hint of a rumble. 

Thunder! 

I looked at my sleeping family. Then I waited a few minutes to see if it was about to downpour. Nothing. Whatever was brewing was at least 10 miles away. The same thing happened again. Small flash, many seconds went by, and slight rumble.

I knew what had to be done. We had to wake our little sleeping beauties and drag them inside. 

But people camp out in storms all the time.

Then I remembered we were atop a trampoline with metal poles. Probably not the best combination.

In addition to worrying about justifiable scenarios {i.e. aforementioned rabid squirrel attack}, I also tend to worry about really dumb things.

What if we stay out here and do get struck by lightning and all of us perish--my house is a mess! How embarrassing for our relatives who come to settle our estate to find it like that. What would they think? 

So I crawled over to sleeping David, who was unaware of our impending electrocution because he hadn't heard the thunder. It must have a decibel level similar to a baby's cry. Because he certainly never heard those. 

After a few more lightning/thunder combos he agreed we should move this sleepover inside. He started gathering up the movie equipment and blankets while I tried to rouse the wee ones. Reese popped right awake. The other two weren't budging. "Wow," she said. "Tate would not be good in an emergency. He doesn't wake up good."

He finally lifted his sleepy little head and I calmly explained the situation. He gathered his blankets and starting scooting to the edge of the trampoline. Where he promptly curled back up again and returned to his slumber. 

About that time, David returned for more blankets and lightning lit up the sky followed by a loud boom. Tate leaped from his spot, and thank goodness David was there to catch him, because I'm fairly certain Tate forgot he was on top of the trampoline. 

The girls ended up in my bed and the boys got the basement. And I was able to turn my neck easily while changing lanes today. A win-win. 

Hopefully we'll try it again before it's 112 degrees and we have to wrap ourselves in Mosquito netting. But I won't say when exactly our next campout will be occurring...for Reese's peace of mind. Lest you decide to go trampoline stalking that night. 













Monday, March 10, 2014

Rebel with a Cause

Reese and Tate engaged in a deep political discussion tonight at bedtime.

Wanting to verify what Reese was telling him, Tate called in to my room,  "So, Mom, when we're teenagers....?"

Reese, however, cut him off and clarified, "No, Tate. When we're eighteen...we'll have Freedom of Speech."

I had been expecting to hear her say they would be able to vote, but their topic of discussion took a twist there at the end. 

"What?" I chimed in. "What are you talking about? When you're 18?"

"Yeah," Reese continued. "When we're 18, we can say whatever we want."

For a split second I worried that, come October 2020, we were going to have an outspoken protestor/demonstrator/flag burner on our hands. 

Thankfully, I figured out the more likely direction her train of thought was heading. 

"So...what...you're just going to go crazy saying all the words we don't let you say now?" I probed. 

"No," she explained innocently, "I just want to say 'b-u-t-t' one time. Because I haven't been able to say it my whole life."


Friday, February 14, 2014

Home Alone

It was a tad chilly in our house today (courtesy of our furnace going out I would discover later) so I turned on a cozy fire and sat in front of it for a good part of the morning.

Since the Valentine's Day breakfast I made for the kids was kind of a bust (picture crumbled sausage patties that were supposed to be in the shape of little hearts), I decided to run out and grab them lunch from one of their favorite places, Chik-fil-A. 

We have started leaving the kids at home while we run a quick errand. Note: We decided not to classify our jaunt to Colorado as a "quick errand" and had my Mom come and stay with them those few days. 

Leaving them at home, even for a short time, feels strange, as do most stages of independence when you first enter them, I suppose. I imagine absolutely everything that could go wrong and all the worst case scenarios. 

They're not allowed to answer the door or the phone (they know our numbers and can answer those). They're also not allowed to shower (what if they slip and fall?), play in the backyard (a meteor could hit them), or microwave popcorn (pass the gasoline and matches please). Most of the time since our trips are so quick, I come home to find them all sitting in the exact spot where we left them. 

As I was getting my coat on to head out, I noticed Tate had taken up residency by the fire, soaking up its warmth. He hasn't mastered the art of sitting by the fire. Instead, he perches precariously on the bricks. 

"Tate, will you be ok if I leave the fire going while I'm gone?" 

Just as he answered back "Yes!" Drue answered back "No!" 

He immediately sat on his bottom with his feet flat in front of him. "See, Mom? I will."

Drue is fiercely protective of Tate even though you wouldn't know it from the way she harasses him much of the time. During our first trip to the beach a few years ago, she was in tears saying there was no way he was getting in the water. She was scared to death he was going to get eaten by a shark. 

And if we're out running errands and he gets out of my sight for a millisecond, she's on it. Frantically trying to locate him and scolding him for wandering off. 

I said, "For Drue's peace of mind, I'm going to go ahead and turn the fire off."

But Tate kept trying to convince me it'd be fine and nothing would happen. To which Drue kept trying to argue the exact opposite. 

Out of curiosity I said, "Drue, what would you do if he were to fall backward and catch on fire?", thinking for sure her fire safety skills would kick in and she'd say smother the flames with a blanket or have him stop, drop, & roll. 

However, she had a different approach in mind. She looked at him, then looked at me and said, "I'll say 'I told you so'".

Needless to say, I promptly turned off the fire, as had been my plan all along. And I contemplated taking the starter key and all lighters with me. I'm happy to report I made it to and from Chik-Fil-A in record time and only called to check on them once. And I don't have any other quick errands on the horizon. 

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