The "O" Word

No, not that "O" word. Get your mind out of the gutter. But something equally scandalous. No, the "O" word on my mind is "organized." You see, I'm organized. Apparently I've always been organized - when asked to do a spotlight of me at a church young women activity when I was 12 or 13, my mom spent the whole time talking about how organized I was. Now, what a 12-year-old would need to organize, I'm not quite sure - perhaps my Lip Smacker lip glosses were arranged by flavor, or my Barbie dolls were always up and out of the Dream House on time every morning. Either way, apparently it was evident that I was organized, and in fact, that word has been thrown in my direction so many times over the years that I've come to hear it as pretty much my version of "she's got a great personality." Nah, Lydia's not that hot, nah, can't sing, can't dance, can't do any crafts of any kind, no particular talent that we can discern, but oh, she really is quite organized. Bleh.

So this morning, I did one of those silly "what should your dream job be" quizzes online. This one had you choose your favorite/least favorite colors from a number of choices, and supposedly would then come up with your ideal job. A bunch of hooey, don't you think? But guess what my result was? It says that I am:

"The Organizer"

Sigh.

So you know what? Time to embrace my inner organizer. Let me show you my favorite new thing. Warning: If you are not an organizer, and if you like to be footloose and fancy free, run quickly now before you look at this, because it will make you sick.


I give you the Laurel Denise organizer. I just got it to kick off 2011, and I'm loving it. I don't much care for electronic organizers, because I like to have something on paper in front of me. And this meets the mark. Not sure if you can tell from the picture, but you open up your day, and you can see the month and week calendar, and then your to-do- lists for the day, the week, and the month. It's utterly awesome. Like I said, not for the faint-of-heart organizers, or the Sunday-driver-organizers. Before you contemplate this organizer, ask yourself this:

(1) Do you sort your M&Ms by color?
(2) Do you sit in the checkout line and think of how many ways you could be more efficient than the punk-ass cashier?
(3) Do you have a to-do list, even on your days off?
(4) When you go out with friends, and they can't make a decision about where to go, do you have momentary visions of beating them all with your day planner for being so daggone inefficient?
(5) Have you already submitted your taxes?
(6) Even better, have you already started to jot down gift ideas for NEXT Christmas?
(7) When you pass a Container Store, do you get the same kind of thrill your husband does when he passes a Victoria's Secret?

If you can't answer yes to at least a few of the above, this organizer isn't for you. But if you can, oh, my organized friend, get thee to etsy to buy this sucker. And Happy Organizing to you.

Easy Come, Easy Go

Here's the cool purple bike that Ellie got just this morning as an early birthday present.

And here's the locked guest room where it now resides, since Ellie basically screamed from 3pm to 8pm tonight. Five. Hours. Straight. Of. Screaming. Why you ask? Not sure. I think it started with her not wanting to go to the mall, then her not wanting lemonade, then her wanting lemonade, then her not wanting a pretzel, then her wanting a pretzel, then her wanting to go to the Disney Store, then her not wanting to go to the Disney Store, then her wanting to go home, then her not wanting to go home, then her wanting dinner, then her not wanting dinner, then her throwing a fork in Jack's left eye. So yeah, bye bye bike for now.

Hopefully we'll see the bike again soon, but since it requires a "change of attitude" from Miss Ellie, well, it might be there a while. But hey, she got to enjoy it for a whole 3 hours!

Done

OK. We're done.

We've played in the snow.
We've built igloos and snowmen.
We've sledded.
We've made snow angels.
We've drank hot chocolate.

Now we're done.
Please.

We're cold.
We're wet.
My kids are sick of me.
I'm sick of my kids.

I need my kids to go back to school.
My kids WANT to go back to school.

Enough snow, please.

Thank you.

If you're starting to feel sorry for my former-ski-instructor-and-lifelong-ski-lover-husband because he has a family full of snow wusses....well, yeah, sucks to be him. We can hold out hope that the kids will grow into a love for the snowy cold once they're older, but as for me, give me a fireplace, hot chocolate, and a mystery novel anytime. Enough snow for me, thank you.


The kids have done their part. They've trudged through the snow.

And then trudged some more for good measure.

And then they sledded.

And then sledded some more.

Now we're done.

Snow Saviors

Well, it's official. Somehow Jared has managed to be out of town EVERY SINGLE TIME we've had a significant snow event here. I'm not sure if it's intentional planning or sheer luck on his part, but he has skipped out on shoveling for the past 2 1/2 years we've been here. Lucky for me, though, my friends (and babysitters) Crystal and Marie have been snow saviors, saving me from complete trapped isolation with my kids and a big wall of snow.

Yesterday, Crystal was able to come in for a few hours so that I could get some work done, and the kids could get some energy out before the snow hit. She left as soon as the snow started, which was a good thing, because we ended up getting 8 or 9", not a bad snowfall for this neck of the woods. Much to my surprise, this morning Marie was able to hop a ride with her uncle Cleo, who is an "essential" government employee (and therefore must come in no matter what). So they left their house at about 4:30 this morning, and she ended up somewhat sleepy on my doorstep at 6am. So again, I've been able to get some work done, and also have had someone to watch Ellie (not a big fan of cold or snow) while I dig our driveway out. Thanks, Snow Saviors!

(1) Our King of the Mountain


(2) Not so much with Ellie, though, who kept repeating "I like summer and spring" the whole time she was outside


(3) All the kids were out playing while the grownups dug out the driveways


(4) Hope everyone's enjoying the snow!

S.O.S.

Schools are closed.
Weather is nasty.
Stuck in the house with kids.
I'm going to start tapping S.O.S. in Morse code on my window.
Hopefully a kindly passerby will hear my plea and rescue me.
If not, today is officially the day I start drinking.

No more chicken babies

Often I blame all of my kids' bad character traits on my husbands genes. That's when I refer to them as "his kids," not my kids, look to the heavens, and declare that surely they inherited this from his (hiss when you say that) side of the family.

But in this case, I gotta give him his due, they inherited something really good from ol' Sexy Pants: Jack and Ellie are really quite brave.

You see, I'm a big, fat chicken. (But don't call me fat.) Sure, I act all tough, but really, I'm boss of all the chickens, Queen of Chickenland, High Empress of the Chicken Kingdom. I'm terrified of social situations involving more than 10 people, mortified by any personal conflict that might involve hurting someone's feelings, and much like Brandi, I'm even a wee bit afraid of the phone. I'm a killer when it comes to professional business, but when it comes to personal? Big. Ol'. Chicken. Bock, bock (that's my chicken noises).

But oh so luckily, Jack and Ellie inherited their dad's courage. Ellie will storm right into any social situation with zero fear, and isn't afraid of bigger kids or adults or pretty much anything. And even, in the unlikely event that she is scared, she powers right through it anyway. Take her first day in Primary. Primary is our church's Sunday School for kids - the January after they turn 3, they move from the nursery to the big kids' classes. But when we took Ellie to the first day, things were all chaotic - none of the teachers had shown up, the kids were milling around, and it was just crazy. So the Primary leader just said, hey, kids, just sit down anywhere and I'll figure things out. So imagine poor 3-year-old Ellie, no teacher around, no friends close by. I'm trying to figure out whether to stay or go (as the leader is telling the parents to do), when I glance down and notice Ellie wiping tears from her eyes. Quietly, so no one notices. So I ask, hey, Ellie, you ok? "I'm fine, Mama!" she says, still with the red eyes. And it just about breaks my heart, because Chicken Baby that I was at 3 years old, I'd be cowering under my mommy's skirt by this point and begging her to take me home. But not Viking Ellie - she stands right there and puts on her brave face. I stayed of course - not because she asked me to but because I'm a big ol' Chicken Baby - and when I left, she was bravely marching to her by-now-identified-teacher. And I thought, man, good thing she takes after her dad!

Jack, too. He may not be as brash as Ellie, but again, he'll go into any new situation without complaining. I've literally never had to force the kid to try anything new, never had to drag him into anything at all. And recently, he really had a tough one to deal with. We switched him to a new kindergarten teacher last week (I won't go into details, but I'm very happy with the switch), but we knew that doing so would be tough for a kid halfway through the year. Again, if it were Chicken Baby Lydia at 5 years old, I'd hide under my bed and refuse to leave the house. But not Jack - we explained that he'd be going to a new class, he was a little weary, but he said "OK, Mom," and that was it. The next day, Jared took him to his first day in the new class (because Chicken Baby Mom was near tears thinking her son would be scared or sad). He showed him where the new classroom was, introduced him to the new teacher, and took off. And you know what? Jack did GREAT. No complaints. No tears. Came home that day (and since then) with a smile on his face and a good report from the teacher.

Man, I tell ya, it's not just Ellie's impossibly long legs and Jack's washboard abs that we have Jared to thank for - it's also their bravery. So please thank Jared that we're not sending two more Chicken Babies into the world, because it certainly ain't me!

Art is Bad

OK, so it's not really bad. Art is actually quite good. And I'm actually quite glad that the kids are really, really, really into crafts and drawing and creative stuff right now. Better than plopping down in front of the boob tube, right? But you know, two kids watching the boob tube is way, way cleaner than two kids workin' their right brains all day. And most often, it involves a lot fewer tears.

Exhibit 1: On the one hand, it is so cool to see how creative they can be. Yesterday morning, Jack runs into my room and asks for a headband. I've learned by now not to ask why, I just pointed him to Ellie's room. Five minutes later, I catch a flash of something out of my peripheral vision, and turn to see Jack with a leprechaun hat, running around leaving "pots of gold" around the house.

BUT............all of this drawing and cutting and taping and pasting and more drawing and cutting and taping and pasting - leaves a big ol' mess

Exhibit 2: Then there's the risk involved - Jack has also decided that he's interested in the chef thing, so last night, as a zippy little appetizer, he decided to make us "alien faces" - vanilla wafers, topped with bananas, topped with chocolate chips - not bad, actually, kinda tasty - ......

BUT........the night before (before I talked with him about savory/sweet), he made us this little delicacy - wheat bread, topped with cheese, .... topped with banana - and yes, I tried it so as not to hurt his feelings - and yes, it was nasty

Exhibit 3: Ellie's been getting into the act as well, and yesterday had the idea to put together a puppet show. We dragged a box out of the garage and decorated it, Jack made a bunch of puppets, and Ellie decorated backgrounds. It was all quite sweet....

UNTIL something displeased Ellie. Oh, the artist's temperament, my friends. Don't even ask me what happened - I think there wasn't enough space in the back of the theater and they kept bumping hands, or something. All I know is HELL BROKE LOOSE. Ellie went on a Godzilla-like rampage, eventually dragging the puppet theater across the room and trying to throw it in the trash. Needless to say, timeouts were involved. But I'm afraid this is just the first of many, because people, you know how artists can be.

(Do notice the good form she shows, though. There's the rage, of course, and the speed, but also the grace that only a true diva can show while trashing a set.)

So....art good? Art bad? Sigh. I guess it's good. I guess I should be glad.

But c'mon.

How about a little TV, kiddies, so Mommy can rest?

Go To Your Room

[While searching for a kids' cup at Target]
Mom: "Geez, I can't seem to find that cup!"
Ellie (pointing to the cup): "Duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Mom: "Go to your room"

[While eating cookie dough]
Mom: "mmmm, this is yummy, huh"
Ellie: "Mommy, you have a big tummy. It looks like you have a baby in there."
Mom: "Go to your room"

Book Club

This happens every time. Every. Stinkin' Time. I go to Book Club once a month. It's scheduled to start at 8:30pm, so that those with young'uns can put them down for bed before coming. That's the theory, at least. Because it sure doesn't work in my house.

Like last night. I feed the kids, give them a bath, let them watch their show, read them books, do the whole potty thing, say prayers, and have them tucked in by 8:15. They're not asleep, but they're quiet, tucked in, and aren't showing any immediate signs of escape. As I walk out the door, I turn to Hubby-on-the-Couch and say, hey, the kids are down, could you PLEASE just make sure they stay in bed? See, I'd had a few days of good results (after a phase of REALLY BAD bedtimes), so I wanted to keep the winning streak going. Please, I reiterate, I'd really appreciate it. Sure, no problem, baby, got it covered.

Sigh.

So, in I walk at 10:30, after a good book discussion and a yummy molten lava chocolate cake at Tracy's, ready to show my appreciation (wink-wink-nudge-nudge) to Jared for doing such a good job, and find...

Two kids.
Totally awake.
Bouncing off the walls.
And a husband yelling "it's not my fault! they just don't listen!"

"But don't worry, Mama," Ellie explains, "we had our own book club!"

And they proceed to show me all the "books" they wrote while I was gone. Kids, apparently, can churn out quite a few books when they're bouncing off the walls instead of sleeping. They're kinda cute. But c'mon, couldn't I come home JUST ONE TIME to sleeping kids? Please?

For your reading pleasure, their nighttime books:

(1) the one about the leprechaun and his pot of gold - for some reason, Jack is obsessed with St. Patrick's Day - not sure why

(2) Then we'll explore our spiritual sides with Noah and the Ark

(3) but don't forget our more materialistic sides - with a little Santa story

(4) and oh, those meddling kids, let's read a little story about Scooby Doo and the Gang

(5) and finish it off with Spiderman (shown with his secret identity, Peter Parker)

Hope you enjoyed Book Club this month. Next month I'm hoping that I will not have ANY children's stories to provide you, since they will be safely tucked in their wee beds when I return. A girl can hope.

Revisionist History

Robyn was talking in her blog about starting to write about herself and her childhood in her blog, so that her kids would know more about her. And I thought to myself...

Woman, are you crazy?!?

There's no way I want my kids to know about me and how stupid, crazy, and goofy I was when I was a kid. Are you nuts? If I told them everything, I'd have to tell them about

...that tattoo....

...and that crazy night in Vegas when I married Welsh superstar Tom Jones...

...and that guy buried in my backyard after he called me fat...

...and that undeveloped twin that used to grow out of Jack's neck...

...or that morning I woke up at a bus station in Toledo, with nothing but a slinky and the autographs of all the Backstreet Boys on my left buttock....

...and that crazy rumor about me being the second gunman on the grassy knoll....

...and that I'm not really their mom, but that they were dropped off on my doorstep by a band of roving gypsies...

There's no way I'd want them to know that, people!

Oh.

Oops.

OK, from NOW ON, no more!

Here's to one of the perks of parenthood: Revisionist History.

Amen.

P.S. - if they ask you, I always ate my vegetables and walked 5 miles to school, in the snow, uphill both ways, and was thrilled every Christmas to get an orange and a shiny penny in my stocking - which I would then give away to charity

P.P.S. - oh, and that tattoo? Despite what it looks like, it really says "Choose the Right"

This is why

If you've ever wondered why we're such morons about snow days here in D.C. (like yesterday, when schools were canceled for less than an inch of snow), this is why. It's the bleepin' ice. We actually don't get much snow, but it's so humid here, so moist, and the temperatures vary so much, that everything just turns to ice. Like this morning's thick chunk o' ice all over the cars (and that shiny stuff on the roads? yup, ice).

So that's why we're such bad about inclement weather here. It's the bleepin' ice.

OK, so maybe we're not so good at driving in bad weather, too.

And OK, so maybe we're a little wussy, too. That's a factor, too.

But mainly it's the bleepin' ice.

The Thrill of Victory....

....and oh, the agony of defeat. Guess who felt the thrill and who felt the agony. Hee.


So Jared noticed that my home team (Washington Wizards, although I still think of them as the Bullets because yes, I am that old) was playing his home team (Utah Jazz) today. Since we were all off work and school, we decided to head downtown for the game. So we hopped on the metro and headed down to the stadium - Jared was sure to take a picture of us in the metro so that everyone could think that we're goofy tourists. Thanks, Jared.

We had planned to have lunch in Chinatown, but it was just too cold to be walking around for too long. So we headed straight for the game and had a heart-healthy meal of hot dogs, french fries, potato chips, M&Ms, and licorice.

The game was a lot of fun - the kids even sat through the whole game without complaining. I'm thinking probably because of the hot dogs, french fries, potato chips, M&Ms, and licorice.

Since the kids were good, we were able to enjoy the game. Well, I enjoyed the WHOLE game. I'd say Jared probably enjoyed the game right up until the last minute, when he realized that his beloved Jazz weren't going to pull out a magical overtime win. Apparently this was an upset - I think it's due to the good vibes I put into the air with the ultimate sacrifice I gave - actually being seen with bad-hat-hair throughout the whole game. You're welcome, Wizards.


Then home again, home again, jiggity-jig we went.

In summary:

Go Wizards!

Hee.

Devious

Jared and I have the typical battles over who does what around the house - and the battles typically result in, you guessed it, me doing most of the work around the house. But see, that Jared, he's a devious fellow, because according to him, it's MY fault that I do most of the work around the house. Because you see, if I would just wait a "reasonable amount of time," he'd get around to doing it. Aye, there's the rub. Because what, my friends, is a "reasonable amount of time"? So let's define our terms - here is how we define a reasonable amount of time to......

(1) Do laundry
Lydia: Twice a week, or when the kids get something particularly messy
Jared: When we run out of underwear (and let me tell you, he's got a lot of underwear)

(2) Cook meals
Lydia: The kids should have a nice, balanced meal and we should sit down as a family
Jared: Everyone knows how to open a box of cereal, don't they?

(3) Do the dishes
Lydia: ideally right after dinner, but definitely before you go to bed
Jared: when we run out of dishes - and you know, baby, if we just had cereal, we wouldn't have as many dishes to wash! Sometimes I'm a genius, baby!

(4) Bathe the kids
Lydia: Every night, or more, if Viking Ellie does something particularly foul
Jared: I'll know it when I smell it

(5) Clean the bathrooms
Lydia: Wipe down every day, do a thorough clean once a week, or more, if Viking Ellie does something particularly foul
Jared: I'll know it when I smell it

(6) Make the bed
Lydia: Every morning - after all, we're not barbarians
Jared: Why make it when you're just going to mess it up that same day? Think of how much time we could save if we skipped that step? Sometimes I'm a genius, baby!

(7) Put the kids down for bed
Lydia: Have a structured bedtime routine every night
Jared: They'll fall asleep when they're tired, right?

But on the other hand....

(8) Maintain the lawn
Jared: Mow every week, water every night for at least an hour, re-seed a couple times a year, fertilize, and don't forget to aerate - gotta aerate, baby!
Lydia: When the neighbors start to complain, or when we lose our kids in the tall grass

See....Jared's not the only one who can play the devious game.

Super Fart Girl

So our Ellie is finally over her bout with the dreaded diarrhea, but as it heads out, it's left her with some lingering issues as her poor little digestive system tries to get back to normal. You see, she has a bit of, ahem, gas. OK, not a bit. Like a lot. Like trucker-sized lot. And it's actually kinda funny.

Now, normally, I'm the LAST person to enjoy fart humor. I find it moronic. But with her, I tell ya, it's funny. Picture this.

Inside Ellie's tummy, the gas begins to build. And build. Leading to discomfort.

Ellie starts up a siren-like scream: "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, my tummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

Which is followed by the spinning. She runs around and round in circles, running, running, spinning, spinning, all the while with the sirens: "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Mommmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, my tummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

And then.

She stops.

And then the helicopter-like fart, which seems to last for dang-near 10 seconds.

And then she giggles.

And runs off, leaving us smiling. Until we detect the horrible, terrible, awful stench that makes you think you've wandered into a Teamsters Union meeting.

It makes me wonder how I got this kid.

Then I remember my own experience, when I had just had Jack in the hospital. You see, I had to go into the hospital the day before, and I had to fast. Then nothing except ice chips the whole next day when I was in labor. And then after he was born, I was put on a liquid diet until I had, ahem, shown that my digestive system was working properly. That's all fine and good, but by the second day of my liquid diet (the 4th day without food), I had HAD IT. I was starved. So I beckoned Jared to my bedside, and demanded that he go out and get me some real food. Jared dutifully ran off, and returned with a (I kid you not) ginormous barbecue-bacon-cheeseburger with a side of greasy fries. And I ate it all. And then. Oh, and then.

For the next two hours, I moaned and writhed and moaned some more, realizing just why my doctor had me on a liquid diet. And at that point, I would have given ANYTHING for the sweet relief of even a teeny, tiny toot.

So when I see Ellie, and hear her siren song, and imagine her poor little tummy, I remember my own poor (not-so-little) tummy, and I say "Fly, Super Fart Girl, Fly!"

96

That's my score - well, not score, really, but how many I got right in a row without an incorrect answer.

Pioneer Woman recommended freerice.com - not sure of the overall purpose of the site (too shallow to read it thoroughly), but they have a vocabulary quiz. For each multiple-choice question you get right, I guess they donate 10 grains of rice to the World Food Programme or something like that. Guess I really should read that. Anyhoo, it also tallies how many questions you get right in a row, so my goal (I'm anal, need a goal) was to get 100 in a row. I didn't. But hey, next time I want to waste time I should be spending productively, I'll try for that 100. Then maybe I'll set the goal to get to the highest level of vocabulary (apparently that's level 60). Or maybe I could nurture my children, spend quality time with my husband, or do the dishes. Nahhhhhhhh

The word I got wrong? "Warble." I knew it had something to do with a sound, but the correct answer was "trill," and frankly I didn't know what trill meant. So now I do.

Cool site.

Word of the Day

D is for the Dirty underwear, socks, and pants
I is for the Irritable bowels of Ellie
A is for Animals - we're living like animals, my friends
R is for Reek, which our house does
R is for did I mention it Reeks?
H is for Hygiene – what’s that? Perhaps H should be for HAZMAT
E is for Every tear I shed, thinking of the days before I had to clean up other people’s diarrhea
A is for All the cleaning I need to do as soon as she. Stops. Pooping. Please.

I like these kids

I'd like to announce something. I like my kids.

That sounds like an odd thing to say, I know, you should ALWAYS like your kids, right? Yeah, well, not so much with me. I've always of course LOVED my kids. But I'll be honest - not a big fan of babies and toddlers. Sure, they're cute in short doses, but all day (and all night)? Every day? 7/24/52/365? Yowza. I'm just not a big fan of the poop and the pee and the snot and the constant, constant, constant I-can't-have-2-minutes-without-two-kids-attached-to-my-waist. And especially since Jared has traveled so much during our marriage - overwhelming.

But now? They're pretty darn cool. They can actually have interesting conversations, are fully potty trained, and I can actually take a shower and not worry that they're burning down the house. It's pretty awesome. They're pretty awesome.

So here's an homage to their awesomeness.


Jack's my little puppy dog. He's loving and affectionate and loyal. Like the puppy dog, he's a bit of a crazy nut, and will definitely wear you out by day's end. And just like the puppy, he gets "that look" when you catch him grabbing for that unauthorized cookie. But unlike the messy puppy, he's actually a bit of a clean freak, still counts when he washes his hands, and is very particular about things. He's pretty low maintenance - one year he asked Santa only for some Spiderman underwear, and when we were planning a "Mom night" coming up (while Jared has a "dad's night" with Ellie), all he asked to do was pop some popcorn and watch TV. He's also an awesome artist (he wants to be an illustrator and an "arthur" when he grows up), and will make you a dozen projects a day - yesterday, I was the proud recipient of a magical hat, a penguin-inside-a-penguin, a bookmark, some fake money, an alphabet book, a Mad Hatter mask, and a picture of Jack giving me a picture of myself. And his cool-human-trick? The kid has a memory like you wouldn't believe. He remembers basically everyone he's met, what color they like, their sister's name, whatever. It's amazing.

Now, Ellie, she's my crazy-ass Viking. She's brave and audacious and loud and can go a little medieval if you cross her. (I mean that- watch your back, people. You've been warned.) She's also incredibly messy - watching her eat is not a pretty sight, and her room often looks like a tornado just swept through. But despite that, she can be quite girly, and loves to put on "makeup" (lip gloss), pick out hair bows, and put on pretty dresses. She wants the world - whereas Jack just asked for a simple mom's night, for Ellie's dad's night, she said she wanted to "go on a plane, then go to dinner, then go camping." Yes, my friends, she'll be a very scary teenager. But she's also very cuddly - especially with her daddy - and very generous. She loves to sing and dance and strum/blow/bang on whatever instrument she can get her hands on, swims like a fish, and wants to be a mermaid when she grows up. And her cool-human-trick? Where Jack has a memory for people, Ellie can remember where everything is. I mean that - you lost a cell phone six months ago? She'll remember where it is. A colored pencil that rolled under a desk a year ago? She'll be able to find it. I'm still not sure if it's because she's got a great memory, or if those "lost items" were actually things she stole. Either way, though, it's a cool trick.

So there you have it. My cool kids. I like 'em. I think I'll keep 'em.

Out with the old, in with the new

When I was growing up, my parents always had a New Year's day tradition of eating black-eyed peas and greens for good luck. Apparently it's a Southern thing. We're not Southern, but hey, when my dad makes a pot of spaghetti sauce, he tries to convince everyone we're Italian, and we're not that either. But anyway, I happen to hate both black-eyed peas and greens, so the past couple of years, Jared and I decided to start a new tradition. So now, each New Year's Day, we invite all of my family over for brunch. It's a lot of fun to see everyone. There's a lot of prep involved in cooking for 50, but we enjoy that part - the hard part is keeping the kids from destroying the house while we're cooking. And the nice thing, too, is that as we kick off the new year, our house gets a thorough cleaning, which is absolutely required after 26 kids have plowed through it. This year's cleanup and recovery effort involved 2 hours of cleaning, 2 shampooed carpets, 1 broken elliptical, and 3 broken toys. But it resulted in a bright and shiny house to kick off the new year.

The new year also kicked off with new Sunday school classes for the kids - Ellie was especially happy since she moved from the nursery to the big-kids class. It was so cute to see how excited she was heading off to class. On the way home from church, we asked how her first day was:

Mom: "Ellie, how was your first day of Primary?"
Ellie: "When we went in the room, it smelled like a fart"

So there's that.

And now it's time for me to write my New Year's resolutions. Yes, I actually do those. I'm just a goals kinda gal, and I like the orderliness of having tidy little 12-month timeframes for them. I eat my M&Ms by color, too. Yes, that's me.

Anyway, one of my goals - and I'm serious here - is to get my kids to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I'm serious as a heart attack, people.

My kids won't eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Or peanut butter and honey. Or peanut butter and banana or marshmallow or whatever. And that's just wrong. It's un-American. Terrorists don't eat PB&Js. Americans do. It's just that simple. So that's my goal. One of them, at least. Oh, sure, there's also the losing 10 pounds, and eating healthier, and reading the Bible, and blah blah blah boring goals. But the PB&J one? That's my focus, people. You gotta have your priorities, and I figure if I send my kids off into the world not eating PB&Js I've pretty much failed as a mom and as an American. Happy New Year. Now go eat a PB&J for Uncle Sam!

(That's our brunch spread. I know I look grumpy there - really, I was trying to stay out of the picture, but failed.)