Happy Birthday, J!

So...I thought it would be pretty funny to put 37 candles on the cake I made for J's 37th birthday. The cake was a 4"x8" rectangle with a cupcake in the middle. (It was a camera, but it wasn't impressive, so no pictures.) The candles were placed about 1/4" apart from each other, a motley assortment. The cake was fairly bristling with candles, a few of them randomly sparking as they were the relighting kind.

I was right. It was funny. The heat from the candles melted some of the frosting off the cake. The blown-out candles made so much smoke I thought the smoke detector was going to go off. It was fantastic!

Happy Birthday, J!

BfD

When I ask my boys, "Should we have pancakes for dinner?" and they reply in the affirmative with a resounding cheer, "Yay!!!" I think, "I have the best kids in the whole world!"

"Between the Folds"

In choosing our netflix movie to watch tonight, I suggested the above title. J had watched part of it on a business trip a little while ago. His input? "There are some super-nerdy people in this movie," followed immediately by, "You'll really like it!" What's that supposed to mean, J? But you know what? I really did. I highly recommend this PBS documentary on Origami. Wow. So very cool. And yes, super-nerdy. Which I am. And totally okay with.

Punctuality (or Nature Calls)

First off, let me say that I did not plan to end my blogging hiatus with a "rant post," but I just kinda go with whatever is in my head at the time. Sorry.

So...punctuality. I am a fan. I have always been a huge fan. I think I got it from my mom who set all the clocks in our house 5 minutes fast. I took to heart the saying on the poster in my high school band room: "To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late. To be late is to be in trouble!" I am big into punctuality.

So, since I am so big into punctuality, why, in the past two days, have I sent two separate sons off to gymnastics and piano, respectively, late? Two words: Nature Calls. Let me elaborate. Yesterday at 4:15PM I pull on my shoes, grab my bag, sunglasses, and car keys, and call to O, "O! Time for gymnastics! Let's go!" I hear his little feet on the stairs and look over to see his cute little face peek around the corner. He says, "I have to poop. Do I have time to poop?" And what do you say to that, really? So 20 minutes later, we are finally in the car on our way to gymnastics. He was 15 minutes late. Today at 4:17 S says, "I have to poop." 12 minutes later I knock on the bathroom door and remind him that he has to go to piano. "Okay, Mom!" He finally heads out the door and down the street at 4:35 -- 5 minutes late for his piano lesson. I think about calling out the door after him, "You're late! Run!" but think better of it because, let's face it, he won't listen anyway. What is a mom supposed to do? How is it that the bowels of my sons move fearfully slow? Is it because they are boys? It happens with their dad too. He walk in from work, heads to the bathroom, and 25 minutes later emerges to greet his family. It must be a male thing. What mom really has time to spend 15 minutes or more on the pot? Did Heavenly Father make us this way? Moms' bowels move more efficiently, dads' take longer? How do I foster punctuality in my boys when I'm fighting against nature?

A Small Summer Project

Esther installing our new bike rack.

Hammer drill - $250
5/32" mason bit - $3
Watching my wife hammer drill into the brick - priceless!

A Summer Fling...

This year has been packed with too much business travel during the prime climbing season. However, at the spur of the moment I cashed in on some frequent flyer miles and hotel points, flew up to Oregon, and climbed Mt. Hood.



This trip had to be quick so I packed all the climbing gear in a rugged duffel bag and wore some of my climbing gear to work. After work I caught a late flight into Portland and met up with my climbing buddies who had been climbing Rainier the week before.

We woke the next day early in the morning and started the climb, here are some highlights.



















It was a beautiful day, the view was amazing, and we all made it back safely. The next day I flew home and went back to work -- oh yay!

I Am a Mother

I knew I was a mother when...

I picked my infant baby's nose with my bare fingers when no tissue was available.

I ate saliva-y left-overs without a second thought.

I held close a vomit-y boy when he was sick.

I wore my son's work-of-art pin/hat/etc. proudly in public.

And today, I knew I was a mother when I heard the words, "I hate you!" yelled at me during piano practice.