Busy weekend

We had a busier than usual (but good) weekend.

Zach and I had cubscout day camp. Zach was so excited. I love the Wolf enthusiasm for cubscouts. Everything is new and exciting and fun.

Madison signed up for several hours of Girl Scout Cookie boothing at the local grocery store. (I had to help for a couple hours as well) Since most of the booths this year are on Sunday, we had to fit all her booth time into the one and only Saturday they were able to get.

John's sister was in town from Texas for a few short hours. She ran in the Phoenix Ragnar del Sol this weekend. - which was a 197 mile running relay. Corrine says it was fun. Sure, I can see the allure of going on a road trip with a bunch of other women, staying up all night, laughing, bonding, but it's the part where they kick you out of the car and make you run, even when it's the middle of the night, that I don't think sounds so fun. (picture stolen from Corrine's blog- Texas Nelson's- John's sister is third from the left)

I had to give a talk in church on Sunday. Given the fact that I although I was sure I was going to, since I did not in fact throw up, I'd say it was a success.

Corrine's bag was pretty full when she left, (despite the fact that she left behind some very pretty dresses from Maddie's cousin, Kaeli) so she had a tough decision to make- the tutu she ran in, or Girl Scout Thin Mints.

Needless to say, Madison and Christopher took turns wearing the tutu all night last night, but Christopher seems to know on subconscious level, that at some future date, he might not be too thrilled with any photographic evidence of this, so he rips it off when the camera comes out.

Also, I think we decided on having Nick take English on-line so he can take both drama and orchestra. At least that's the plan so far.

the art of swinging

Yesterday Christopher and I went for a walk.

Well, I walked, and he rode his scooter.

Which means he was faster, so he lead the way.

Straight to the park.

After a few minutes at the park, he climbed up on a swing and said, "Mommy help."

So I pushed, and pushed until he was ready to get off,

and then he surprised me by saying, "Mommy's turn" and motioned for me to get on the swing.

At which point he started pushing me.

Seriously, how cute is that?

He pushed me for several minutes giving me enough time to remember how much I used to love swinging.

Going as high as you could, trying to see if you could go in a full circle all the way over the top of the swing set, but secretly afraid you might succeed.

Learning to jump out and just the right moment.

Swinging just as high and as hard as you can, then Flipping upside down, wrapping your legs around the chains, and feeling that moment of thrill as you watched the ground come closer and closer and then just as you think you were gonna get a face full of sand, the earth would start to pull away.

Twisting, turning, spinning.

I was constantly trying to change things up, think outside the box, find a new, cooler way, to go faster, higher, get a bigger thrill, something someone never though of before and would hopefully name after me.

Anyway, that all came back to me as I sat there, letting my little boy push his mommy on the swing. (and it's a good excuse to share all these pictures)

High school is the new college

High school hasn't even started for Nick yet and I'm already finding it overwhelming. Ok, more for Nick than myself, but as the parent trying to help him figure things out, it's still overwhelming.

I don't remember it being this difficult.

First off, when I was in 9th grade, that was still jr high for me.

My schedule was pretty much the following-
1- student government
2 math
3 seminary
4 english
5 science
6 social studies
7- teacher's assistant.

Simple. Easy. My biggest stress in High school as far as scheduling was concerned was I had to pick some kind of art class to take because I needed art credits. Which is why I ended up sticking it out in Sophomore girls choir during my senior year. I was that desperate.

Nick is in High school, and only has 6 periods with which to work with. 8 if he goes to school early (starting at 6:30) and stays an hour later. Basically 9 straight hours of school.

The problem is fitting everything in. Between the required classes to graduate, orchestra, drama, German, seminary and this other program which is basically almost like picking a college major and working towards it, starting in the 9th grade, it's too much. (which, while I respect Nick's desire to be a teacher, I changed my mind 14 times between 9th grade and by the time I was handed my diploma. To tell you the truth- I STILL don't know what I want to be when I grow up, so how the heck are these kids supposed to pick a major?!?!)

Nick wants to be a jr high/high school history teacher. They have a program for that, and they tell you which classes to take and focus your classes towards a teaching degree and when you are senior you can get an internship or something if you find yourself with all your requirements out of the way. To me it sounds like a class for hopeful pre-school teachers, but Nick assures me they can gear it towards secondary education as well.

We went to the school tonight for a back- to- school night and sought all sorts of advice for filling out his high school registration form. Everybody had their own opinions. At one point we were asked what he was planning on majoring and minoring in and what kind of scholarship he planned on getting for college. And depending on who we talked to, they'd give different advice. They all thought their own particular class was the best and would be the most beneficial later in life. One teacher told me how much money we would be able to save on college German text books if we took German 3 and 4 in high school rather than in college. It wasn't until later that it occurred to me that I didn't have to take a foreign language in college, and who is to say Nick will have to or even want to take German then either?

Most were in agreement that Nick should drop drama, my guess is it doesn't get much respect with the other departments, however that is one of Nick's very favorite classes. He truly feels the most comfortable surrounded by all those other drama geeks. A place where he can be liked and accepted as himself. He could still do after school drama club, which is fun too, but I wonder how that would be different than taking 8 classes instead of 7 anyway?

I think one teacher wanted to suggest we drop seminary as it earns him zero credits, but my guess is I could have probably sued if I even perceived in the slightest amount that she was belittling my religious beliefs. (not that I would have, I would have been annoyed, but that's it.)

One teacher suggested he drop orchestra, because that is the least flexible class. All his other classes would have to work around that one. (hers- the teacher prep program) At this point, that's not gonna happen.

One teacher thought taking summer school just to get classes like English out of the way was a good idea, another not so much.

Also, just to confuse the matter, some of the upper classes have prerequisites, so he needs to figure out what he wants to take as a junior or senior and plan for that and take the appropriate classes as a freshman or sophomore. I don't think I knew what the word prerequisite meant until I went to college.

Basically we have about 3 days to figure out what Nick wants to major and minor in in college, what kind of a scholarship he wants to get, then make the hard choices and tailor his entire high school career towards that goal.

And as luck would have it, Nick's jr high counselor just left on maternity leave.

Ghetto couch pt 2

The ghetto couch is finally gone.

It sat outside for three days with a large "Free!" sign.

Then at the advice of a friend I changed the sign to say "$50" Supposedly if people think you think it is worth something, they think it is worth stealing.

Several days later, it still sat there in our front yard. Apparently we weren't fooling anybody.

So we followed some more friendly advice and put it on Craig's list (for free of course- we just wanted it gone) I was a told a story how this person put a used, ten year old mattress on Craig's list and was inundated with phone calls for several days. (ew)

We included a picture and the description that it was a 10 year old "much loved" couch.

Several days later, I had almost given up hope when I was finally contacted by someone interested in the couch.

I was afraid they would take one look at it and turn right around.

They didn't.

It's currently residing in Tempe, presumably in a college student's apartment.

Hallelujah.

John and I were happy to see it go. But not all of us felt the same.

Maddie cried. She spent some quality time sitting on the couch in the garage, saying good bye before the new hopeful owners arrived to pick it up.

I was right (but what else is new?)

Sometime shortly after getting to know John I discovered he did not like chocolate.

Very Strange Indeed.

It bothered me. HOW could you not like chocolate?

He introduced me to chocolate covered gummy bears. "But that's different." He maintained that the chocolate was somehow different.

He enjoyed the occasional Snicker's bar. Apparently the caramel and the peanuts somehow cancel out the chocolate making it acceptable.

I mean, I understand that some people LOVE it more than other people, the richer the better, can't go a day without some, but to to say you don't like it at all? Personally, I think there's something wrong with their brains.

And still, throughout the years, he has maintained his aversion to chocolate.

Over time, however, I have broken him down. He'd taste this and that... Claim a box of Samoas for his own... and lately I've caught him snitching from my stash of chocolate that he brought back from Europe. (I don't mind, really)

A couple of years ago, I began to form a theory based on my observations- John didn't not like chocolate, he just likes good chocolate.

Then this morning, after I offered him a piece of the Swiss chocolate he brought me back from his last trip to Europe. It even has little bits of chopped nuts mixed in (which he also claims to not like- I'm working on it) He looked at me and said,

"You were right."

(and just cause it bears repeating)

"You were right. I do like chocolate. Just good chocolate. Not that crappy waxy stuff."

Like the little foil wrapped pieces of "chocolate" (I use that term very loosely) you get in your Trick or treat bag. The eyeballs and ghosts and stuff. He didn't even like Hershey's. (Personally I am starting to find it too grainy myself- and once my friend Mindy mentioned that she thinks m&m's tasted like medicine, that ruined m&m's for me too)

(Sidenote, I once had a friend when I was first married who shared a story about when she was so depressed because her husband had been deployed, she drove to the nearest grocery store, bought a 5 pound box of chocolates -for $5, and ate the whole thing. She was so sick it cured her of any chocolate cravings from then on out. She can't think of eating chocolate without getting sick. Of course I am wondering "Why?!?!" Why on Earth would you do that to yourself?!?! Chocolate is to be savored, enjoyed, (in moderation of course). )

Anyway, back to the story. Knowing how his sister enjoys See's chocolates, I wondered if he ever ate See's growing up. "Nope, I figured I wouldn't like it, so I never really ate any." (and I am sure any preconceived notions tainted any exposure to good chocolate he did have)

And so after all this time, John has come to the realization, that yes, "Chocolate is Good."

etc.

I just finished reading a book for book club. The Shape of Mercy. It was pretty good. I enjoyed it. Modern day story with some Salem witch trials stuff thrown in. Anyway, what I spent half my day today reading was not the book (finished that yesterday) but the blog that goes along with it.

The author started a blog featuring the characters in the book. Naturally, being a bloggy person, I was intrigued. All the rules for novels were thrown out the window. Instead of the one point of view in the book, she wrote from the point of view of several different characters, after the book had ended. And threw in some recipes from the cook.

Ever wonder what happens to characters after you close the book? I do! All the time. That particular story is over, but unless they died, life generally goes on.

The story that the writer set out to write is over, but sometimes I want to know what happens next.

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy get married, the end? last I checked marriage was not The End. Did they have a bunch of kids and live happily ever after? Even though I know they are not real people, I still want to know what happens next.

Harry defeats Voldemort. Ok. I want to know what happens next. Yes, Harry marries Ginny, and they name their kid Albus, and send him to Hogwarts, but I'm selfish, and I want more. There's a whole bunch of years, and different stories to tell. I know there are fan-fic sites that fill in the gaps for you, but it's not real unless it comes out of JK Rowling's head.

Anyways, I thought the extra blog was fun. You get a little more fluff so you can feel that yes, indeed, they did live happily ever after.

In other news~

I think Nick is turning into that teenager I've been warned about. In the last couple of days besides sometimes being his old self, he's been moody, sullen, and generally annoyed with me. (To his credit I was harping on the fact that he's failing not one, but two classes- Math and History; of course the irony is that he wants to be a jr. high history teacher when he grows up) Instead of the usual, "Bye, mom! I love you!"when he left for school yesterday morning, I got a curt "bye" just before he slammed the door. Then last night the only time he would speak to me was when I asked him a direct question, and then he usually managed to answer with one syllable or less (a grunt isn't quite a syllable). Fun times.

In some ways I think Christopher is more advanced than his siblings at this age- reading and spelling names, doing puzzles, constructing elaborate structures out of blocks, but in other ways...not so much. I missed the parent meeting for kindergarten next year. One of Christopher's teacher asked me if I was able to make it. Oops. Sorry. Nope. I didn't stress it, Zach went to an integrated kindergarten, which is were "special" kids go. Kids with extra "needs". He grew out of that pretty quickly and is on to normal classes and doing fantastic. So I kinda felt like I've already "been there, done that." I told the teacher so. She indicated that she thought that Christopher wasn't even going to be ready for an integrated classroom.

Oh. Wow. Special-er. Good thing we live in a town with a top-notch special needs program. I hear about people moving to Gilbert just because of that.

And last but not least I have been really craving "pancake soup". It's a soup I had in a restaurant at the top of a mountain in the German Alps. It's beefy, and oniony and has these yummy strips of fried dough. I bought a Bavarian cookbook when I was there, but I am fresh out of beef bones, marrow bones, beef liver, milt and heart, and lovage. Also I don't know what beef milt or lovage is or where to go to find them. Does anybody know? Can you get "beef heart" at the grocery store? That's just for the beef broth. Then I need to make some "stritzeln" - the noodley things. According to the book, "When making Stritzeln they should be fried in clarified butter that has already been used in frying other dough." Anybody have any used clarified butter that I could borrow?

vampires

They're after me.

They want my blood.

They're ruthless.

First, they call the house looking for me, and if I don't pick up, they immediately call my cell phone. I changed the caller ID on my cellphone from "unknown" to "vampires", but they switched phones and I was caught off guard and answered my cell phone the other day. They caught me, and of course when they can get to me I am under their spell and can't say no... They must really love my O positive blood.

Of course in this story, I feel like the bad guy.

I really want to do the right thing and donate blood, but it hurts alot, that needle is the biggest thing I have ever seen. A sharpened straw really. And I feel like crud for the rest of the day.

But I know my excuses are lame.

"It hurts. " Yes, I am sure the guy who is desperate need for my blood can sympathize. I envision operating tables and big giant gashes in dramatic life threatening situations (a la ER or Grey's Anatomy).

"I don't like needles." I doubt scalpels are that much fun either.

"I'm busy" As if they didn't have busy lives before some tragic accident got in the way.

"I feel like crud for the rest of the day." Once again, I'm sure the person bleeding all over the ER can sympathize with my plight.

And yet, when I see that word "Vampires" pop up on my cell phone, I have to make a snap decision to answer or not, cause I know how lame my excuses sound when said out loud. Usually my thought process is something like "Wow I am super busy this week. Maybe my schedule will be a little more open the next time they call." And so I let it go to voice mail. Over and over again.

Of course, they got tricky and changed phone numbers and I answered and conceded to show up. Today. Except I messed up the dates and have a dentist appointment scheduled for the exact same time, so I can't make it cause I have a legitimate excuse. (for once)

I'm not a big fan of dentist's offices either. They tend to like to poke me with needles as well.

Puzzled

Christopher has a new obsession- jigsaw puzzles.

He has spent HOURS working on them. Over and over and over again.

24 piece. 48 piece. 63 piece. The 24 and 48 piece puzzles he does with absolutely no help whatsoever. The 63 piece is a little more difficult (I think it's rated ages 7 and up) but I have no doubt he'll have each piece's location memorized by the end of the week.

We had to buy him new ones because when he finished all the easier ones, he was going after my 1000 piece puzzles.

boys vs girls

For valentine's day my two middle kids needed to decorate boxes to collect their valentines in at school.

Madison pestered me for a week. "pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease..."

Zach mentioned it in passing. "oh, yeah, I need a box."

Upon examination of the three (free) shoe boxes I managed to scrounge up, Madison turned her nose up at them and begged me to take her to Michaels to find something cuter. "Please! I'll do extra chores! I'll pay for everything!"

Zach looked at the shoe boxes and said "I can have whichever box I want? wow. thanks!"

After settling on a set of hat boxes and a package of heart stickers, Madison came up with the idea that she could turn them into a birthday cake because it also happens to be Arizona's birthday on Valentine's Day.

I showed Zach a cute idea I found on another blog- sixtypiggies where you turn your box into a valentine eating monster. "Nah." I offered construction paper to decorate it. "No thanks." Stickers? "eh." He opted for the no-frills white paint with red lettering.

And at the end of the day, everybody was happy.

Is that your natural color?

I asked John not to get me flowers this year.

In theory, I love Valentines day, but in reality the whole holiday makes my eyebrow twitch.

Nothing says "I love you" more than an oversized teddybear, a giant box of cheap chocolates, a cheesy card, and overpriced flowers you bought all at the last minute at the corner drug store or the giant tent outside the grocery store.

Don't get me wrong, I love it when John brings home flowers. A simple bouquet of daisies he thought would brighten my day, or a pretty bunch of tulips to let me know he was thinking of me. I can live with that.

But paying extortionist prices for roses because the calendar tells you to? No really, I'm not having one of those "me thinks the lady doth protest too much" moments. Please. Just save your money.

That being said, John and I were at Costco yesterday and walked passed the flower display, and I let him talk me into a bunch of daisies. His arguments were these-

-"they're pretty"

-"Madison will love them too, you can share them with her"

-"I need to set an example for her of what kind of husband to find"

- "I also need to set an example for the boys of what kind of husband to be"

-"they're less than $10"

Well, they did brighten up the kitchen, Madison squealed with delight, and hopefully the kids took notes. And an hour or so later, they also made me laugh. I thought they were an unusually bright color.

The smell of my childhood

is wood. and stain. and varnish.

When we were setting up the book case in my diningroom, and removing the shrink wrap and protective cardboard pieces, I leaned in, closed my eyes, took a big wiff, and said "Oh, I love that smell."

Greg (the guy helping me move and the son of the owner) looked at me with a somewhat puzzled expression and said, "You do?". (I'm sure he thought I was weird or crazy or both)

Some people love that 'New Car' smell. I could care less. I like the 'New Furniture' smell.

The freshly cut wood, the faint wiff of stain and polyurethane.

I confess to secretly opening the cabinet doors on the book case and drawers in my desk and inhaling deeply when nobody is looking. It'll fade away soon enough. And I made all my kids come and smell and appreciate it too.

You know how scent is one of those things that brings you back to a time and place?

For me, the smell of new furniture takes me back to my childhood home.

My bedroom was in the basement, right next to my dad's wood shop. He was always in there working on something. He built most of the furniture in my parent's house, and a good percent of the furniture in my house right now. My mom even had her own band saw and spent the better part of the late 80's and early 90's in the basement cutting out wood for various relief society homemaking projects. Homemaking leaders from all over came to her to have her cut out wood for them.

Anyway, somewhere along the way I learned to love the smell of new furniture.

It's here. Oh, and they're here too.

♪♫♪ It's here, it's here, it's here it's here! ♪♫♪

And by "it" of course I am talking about my furniture.

I know, I am kindof ridiculously excited about it. It is just stuff. Materialistic things.

But I've waited a really long time. (Seven years.) And I saved my very own hard earned money. (I actually have callouses from stirring and cutting caramels-true story) And it's really pretty.

In fact, I'm having a hard time letting the kids near the desk. The desk that we bought so they would have a place to do their homework where it wouldn't be in danger of having orange juice spilled on it. (another true story) Last night Madison wanted to sit at the desk and research sea horses for a school report, and take notes in a spiral bound notebook, and that once harmless metal coil started to look a lot more like razor wire sitting on my desk.

The people at Cortate were super nice. I know they were at the mercy of the shipping people and the builders just as much as I was. They knew I was a single mom this week, so Hope (the owner) had her son Greg, follow me home, and set up the furniture in my house- twice! It took two loads in the trailer. Needless to say- I gave them caramels.

I had it all arranged in my head, where everything was going to go, but I was unprepared for how pretty the back of the desk was going to be. It's now my favorite part. Sadly, the desk is up against a wall right now. I need to figure out how to rearrange my furniture now to fix that travesty, but at the same time not look weird and awkward. (the furniture arrangement, not me. I gave up on that battle a long time ago.)

And in other news, the girl scout cookies arrived today too. Madison and I worked for the better part of the day delivering, but still have many more people to go. It seems I am incapable of not carrying on a lengthy conversation at each and every doorstep. (who, me? Talk alot? No way.)

My week so far

Supposedly my furniture was due to be delivered to the store this week.

That's what we were told on Saturday.

Supposedly as of Saturday it was sitting in a warehouse in Phoenix and would be delivered on Monday, and I could come pick it up on Wednesday.

Supposedly.

And John is out of town.

Naturally.

Of course when I arrived on Wednesday with the borrowed trailer attached to my Suburban, they told me it's still sitting in that warehouse in Phoenix.

"It should be here any day now!" they optimistically told me.

Meanwhile I have a trailer attached to my car, so I don't feel like I can go anywhere because I don't feel comfortable driving it around. Which of course makes it all the more annoying when I mess up the dates and show up a week early for my dentist appointment . And I can't park it in my driveway let alone my garage because it's too long, and I don't feel comfortable going anywhere with it, so it sits in front of my house.

Also in front of the house is the ghetto couch.

With a giant free sign on it.

I've been told that if nobody takes it in the next couple of days, I should put a new sign on it asking $50 and it should disappear in the middle of the night.

FYI- There's a plate of sugar cookies in it for anyone who helps with the furniture.

I'm rubber, you're glue

With the help of my mom banning it over the summer, I have been able to successfully break my kids of their TV addiction. More specifically their addiction to the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon.

It's been heaven. I thought I was going to go crazy if I had to watch the same stupid re-runs of Zack and Cody or iCarly one more time. Or if I had to listen to the whining and the begging when I did assert my parental control over them and turn it off myself.

Anyway, after a moratorium from my mother (it's been awhile since she has had to tune out idiotic television) the kids finally came to a realization that they could indeed live without turning their brains to mush on a daily basis.

And so the TV stays off, for the most part. We're a little more selective with what we watch these days.

A few weeks ago John discovered a new channel that popped up on our cable. Hub. Who knows how long it's been there? I stopped channel surfing a long time ago, because when I actually sit down to watch TV, I have plenty of "my shows" recorded on the DVR to catch up on.

Anyway, on this particular channel, they show reruns of Family Ties.

Quality Television right there.

John and I were both excited. When he was younger, he wanted to be Alex P. Keaton, and when I was younger I was in love with Alex P. Keaton. (clearly John and I were made for each other from an early age)

So as I do with any show, I started DVR-ing them. Then, at my leisure, I can plop myself down on the couch, put my feet up, and take a break for a half hour or so.

The other day I was doing just that when the kids came home from school. I felt I deserved a break after squeezing lemons for the past two hours. Madison sat down next to me, watched the rest of the show, then looked at me and said:

"Wow, mom. I can't believe you like that show. It's even dumber than anything on the Disney Channel."

Is not.

mixed messages

I'm not sure about that. Something about the word "lard" makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. However I will testify to the magical combination of fats (butter + shortening) and carbs (sugar + white flour) preferably in the form of cookies, makes me really happy.

Oddly enough this thought doesn't gross me out as much as it probably should. A parasite in my belly digesting all those cookies for me? I could probably live with that.

save for a later date

-updated-

I was sitting in church today and a memory was jogged in my brain that I hadn't thought about in years.

I'd mentioned in a previous post how when we were building this house, I would love to wander around it's semi-built state and try to imagine how it would look when it was done.

That's a little thing I picked up when I was younger. When I was ten or so, a new housing development was under construction only half a block from my home. A couple of streets over, really. I would periodically ride my skateboard over there and wander through the half finished homes, looking around, thinking about whatever. I don't really remember my exact thoughts. Maybe I would pretend it was my house, or wonder what kind of people would be shortly living in it, I can't remember.

Anyway, I do remember getting caught. Technically I was trespassing. This older couple caught me one day and the lady proceeded to yell at me. I was totally scared. When she decided that I meant no harm (I wasn't a vandal, just curious) she invited me to come back and visit them after they moved in.

I don't know why I went back, probably to prove that I was a nice girl or something, but that was the beginning of a long-time friendship.

The sad thing is, I can't remember her name (I'm sure my mom will call me and tell me Ü) and haven't thought on that for a long time.

I went back pretty often for quite awhile I remember. I think we had a weekly date. She taught me to embroider (a skill I have also completely forgotten). We'd talk about all sorts of things (not that I remember much, just that I loved talking to her and hearing her stories).

Clearly I don't remember much, just bits and pieces, but I wanted to write it down and have it in a permanent place so that I can be reminded again. She meant a lot to me, and it kinda bothered me today that I had completely forgotten about the time I spent with her.

I might not remember much else, but I do remember the feelings. Curious at the new house, scared when I was caught, probably a little bit prideful, which prompted the return visit, then all those good feelings that come with learning a new skill, making friends, hearing fascinating stories, feeling accepted for who I was even though clearly we had very little in common...

Also the thing is, I think I will probably have to have a few more years experience, and a few more insights, but I think I often wondered why she took the time to spend with me? It's not like she was a lonely old widow with no contact to the outside world, and I was the one ray of sunshine in her week. Cause it wasn't like that at all. I was some kid that she caught trespassing, but ended up giving embroidery lessons to. Did she look forward to the time we spent together like I did? I'd like to think that it was a two way street, but I don't know.

I want to say I learned some valuable life lessons sitting in her front room, learning the names of the different stitches and listening to her stories, but I can't really think of any at the moment. I generally believe that most people have something to teach us, something that makes us better people, something beyond learning a dying art. (who embroiders any more?) (Or at least that I have a lot to learn from those around me) So for today I'd just like to write down the memory, and then maybe I'll have a flash of insight at a later date.

Or maybe I'll just get warm fuzzies at the forgotten memory. Whatever.

-update- My mom called. Her name was Florence Harris. She still lives in that same house. And when she sees my mom she always asks about me. And she calls me "Kris". Always has. I'd forgotten that too.

SHDA- back in business

When I was younger- ten or eleven, my best friend Michelle and I formed a club- "The Sherlock Holmes Detective Agency" or SHDA for short. We had one big case we never solved- Michelle's older brother had some cassette tapes stolen from his car. Despite the physical evidence found- grass on the floor of the passenger side of the car, possibly from the perpetrator, the cassettes were never recovered. The case went cold. And we found more important things to turn our attention to, like boys, or painting our fingernails.

Using my detective skills I honed so long ago, I was able to solve a mystery today.

We shall call it "The Case of the Missing Viola."

It was a cold and windy day. An unusual chill had settled over the city. Outside, the people passing by could be seen scurrying to their various destinations. A frosty wind blew in their faces, and bit at their noses and ears.

But inside, a woman was oblivious to all of that as she sat at her desk, a mug of hot chocolate growing cold in her hands, lost in thought. She was a private investigator. She specialized in finding lost things. But today she just sat there, thinking about that one case that still haunted her nightmares. The case she was never able to solve. That was over two decades ago, the perps got away, the cassette tapes were never recovered, and still it gnawed at her insides.

Oh, sure, she'd developed a serious reputation for being able to find things. Mostly shoes and jackets, and remotes and the occasional favorite stuffed animal or blankey, but still...

Suddenly a shrill ring from the telephone broke the silence. On the other end the voice was frantic. The young man was clearly upset and panicked. "Can you help me? I've lost something important. A viola. It's a matter of life and death! I need it within the next three hours, or I will be in serious trouble!"

"Give me the details. And I'll think about it." She said. She wasn't sure she wanted to take on another hopeless case. Sometimes it's just better to cut your losses.

"I left for school like I do every morning, with my viola in hand, stopped and picked up my friends, walked to the bus stop, but when I got on the bus I realized it was missing! I just don't know what could have happened to it! I'm always just so careful."

"Where was the last place you remember seeing it?"

"I set it down on the front porch at my friend's house."

Aaaah. She thought. This should be simple. Run on over to "The friend's house" and it should be there. "Sure. I'll take your case."

An hour later the case had turned cold. She searched the front porch of the friend's house. Talked to witnesses, asked questions. No leads.

She searched her client's house, every room, every corner. Maybe he never even left the house with it? It's been known to happen. It wasn't there.

Re-tracing her client's steps, she wandered the streets. Searching through bushes, behind walls, any place a viola could hide. She came up empty.

She called her usual contacts to see if they had seen anything or heard anything of any rumors flying around about a hot viola out there on the streets.

The neighborhood association- "Sorry. Try landscaping."

Landscaping- "Haven't seen anything. We'll let you know if we do."

The junior high where the client attends- "Sorry, nothing has turned up yet. Did you try transportation?"

Transportation- "Nope. Sorry. Good Luck."

The P.I. returned back to her office in defeat. She'd failed, and now that kid was certainly in trouble with more than one person. As she sat drowning her sorrows in a glass of fresh squeezed lemonade, mentally retracing her own steps, something was nagging at her in the back of her mind. What had she missed?

The clock was ticking. Only an hour to go.

And then she had it. As she mentally retraced her steps back to the bus stop, her mind stopped in front of the elementary school. The elementary school that stood just next to the junior high bus stop. In her mind she saw kids walking to school, only minutes after the bus would have left. Maybe one of them would have noticed a viola case sitting abandoned on the sidewalk and turn it in to the front office. Maybe. Just maybe. It was her last shot.

One phone call later and the viola was located. A responsible citizen had indeed found and turned in the missing viola to the elementary school.

With only minutes to spare, the viola was rushed to the junior high so her client could have it in time for his orchestra class. The day was saved.

She returned back to her sparsely decorated office, indulged in a piece of celebratory chocolate, and contemplated just how much to bill her client. Usually she settles for just a "thank you" or a big hug. But this job was more difficult than merely looking under the bed for the AWOL shoe. This would require some serious payment. Like doing the dishes for a whole week or something.

The End

When life gives you lemons...

make lemonade. And then maybe some lemon bars.

Then when you're done with that, realize that there are many people out there that life hasn't given lemons to recently and they would love to make their own lemonade. So get on blogger, and facebook and beg people to take some lemons off your hands.

Seriously. John and the boys picked 11 (eleven!) grocery sacks full of lemons. I've already given away one whole bag and squeezed enough lemons to make 3 gallons of lemonade. 2 bags down, 9 to go.

If you're interested, please let me know!

The Ghetto Couch

Once upon a time there was a lovely little couch.

It was just perfect for a little family of four.

It was much loved by it's owners.

Over time, that "love" took it's toll.

A missing leg here, a rip there, a tear here, a hole there...

And those loving, dirty, dirty hands.

Oh, the owners did their best and had it cleaned several times,

But alas, the little family outgrew the couch and decided that it was time to replace the sad, holey, wobbly, disgusting, dirty, torn, smelly, and downright embarrassing couch.

So it was moved from the back family room to the dining room where everybody who came to the house could see the retarded couch sitting alone in the room.

And there it sat. For a year.

The parents would talk about sending it to the sidewalk with the hopes that someone else would take it away, (it happens all the time here in AZ) but the children would cry.

They thought about putting it in the little boys' room. Reassembling the bunk beds (instead of two separate beds) and placing the couch where one bed once stood, but then they realized the flaw in the plan. The mom started envisioning "active" children leaping off the top bunk onto the couch and smacking a head or breaking an arm or a window or something equally destructive.

Right now the debate is to put it in the loft (toy room) or not. Toys would have to go. Probably the massive Little People set. Sent to Good Will? Given away? Stored in the attic for grand kids? (I figure it could be as little as ten years, hopefully not less)