Monday Mornings With Zachary

Little boys working hard to fill Daddy's shoes.

Ava's Fashions

When going for a walk with Pop, it's important to look your very best.

He Pissed It All Away

March 2007. Colson and Ava helping me paint what would become Zachary's cowboy bedroom. I remember being so impressed that Colson had painted his name backwards.

I had no idea that Cowboy Zachary would one day turn his amazing cowboy bedroom into his experimental cowboy bathroom. He literally pissed on our efforts.

The outcome, prior to hanging the black and white cowhide valance. The room smelled much better back then.

Yellow Stars Of David All Around!

We survived Day 1 of Holocaust Week. Not only that, but people from all over are jumping on board the Nazi Diet cattle train. And by "from all over" I mean other people in my family. Oh, and Richard. So come along and ride with us! You know you want to be a Frank too...

Michael ate fried shrimp for lunch yesterday and brought home a takeout container of leftovers. His excuse was that he hadn't read the list of Approved Holocaust Food yet. Melissa yelled at him, "DO YOU THINK ANNE FRANK ATE FRIED SHRIMP??!??!?!?!! You're a terrible Nazi..." It's off to the crematorium for Michael!

Eric survived too. He instant messaged me at 4pm asking, "Do I have to ask you if I can have a stick of gum, Herr Kommandant?" He's the Hogan to my Klink, I love it......

Dieting is fun.

Mein Salad

It's Holocaust Week! That's right, Melissa and I start a new diet today, one that we created together. It's called the Nazi Diet. Oh stop, chill out. We've called it that because we intend on being just like Nazis when it comes to food. You know, the good part of Nazis. Their dedication and their organization. Admit it, those Nazis had organization and notation down to a science. They were, well, Nazis about it. They wrote EVERYTHING down. Everything was planned to a T.

And this first week we're calling Holocaust Week because we're going extreme. We're purifying our bodies of the toxins. Getting rid of every last one. Processed waste must be eliminated! Heil Protein! We're gettin' all Anne Frank up in dis piece! If you need us, we'll be behind the hidden cupboard in the attic, writing down every last crumb that we shove into our stupid pieholes.

Come on, it's called an ANALOGY. In the words of Zachary Mosley, did you ever hear of that?? We're not making fun of the holocaust, for the love of Beyonce Knowles. It was a tragedy of epic proportion. But it happened, so you can't not talk about it. And, just like every epic tragedy in life, it's up for grabs when it comes to analogy fodder.

We could have called it the Hiroshima Diet. Pearl Harbor Week. The Trail Of Tears Month. But we chose the holocaust because, well, Melissa started it. And then I jumped right on that cattle car and rode it straight into the fiery depths of Auschwitz, because I'm like that. Get me started down an analogous road and I won't get off until my ashes are drifting down like a light snowfall....

Too much?


(I love to freak you out.........)

The Days Have Words Again!

Whee, @HeatherWilson is back at definethis on Twitter!

The New Billy Mays

As I've mentioned before, my Zachary always has his eye out for the latest and greatest tools to improve efficiency. He informed me of the Instyler and the Kangaroo Keeper, and last night as I was cutting a pan of brownies he says, "Mom, don't you know there's a better way to cut those? I saw it on TV. It's this thing that cuts them all at once, and then you can, like, pull the bottom out!"

Perfect Brownie Bake Pan

Monday Mornings With Zachary

Today, you get to watch one of Zachary's favorite Veggie Tales movies, Jonah.

And Jonah "bloopers".

Ava's Fashions

The combination of pink pinstriped denim overalls and bamboo the color of one's hair makes for lovely pictures.

That's A Rap, Folks

Well, after tonight, DJ Jazzy Shmoozizzle will be no more. The once a month 4am drives home from NYC need to come to an end. I will miss the lovely folks at The Big Apple Ranch, but I'm sure I'll return once in a while just to social dance.

This was a fun moment in my life, but one that couldn't last long at my age I guess...

I Found The 38 Special!!

Scavenger hunt at Cabela's today, with Agora Cyber Charter school! Running around a giant store full of stuffed deer and bears, hunting for guns and fishing rods, what could be more fun!!??

Nice Talkin' To Ya!

Andrew called yesterday to ask about something he'd mentioned to me at last week's piano lesson:

Andrew: So did you see Zachary's weird finger thing while he was practicing his scale this week?

Me: No, I didn't get a chance to watch him.

Andrew: Ok, well I'll just go ahead and call Child Protective Services so the kids can get a real mother who cares about their music lessons. Thanks, bye!

Percentages

The other day I tried one of those height predictors. You put in your child's age, height, weight, gender, and then you put in the parents' heights. The prediction that came back for Ava was that she'd be 6'8" by age 18. I told Eric, and I read the fine print at the bottom of the results page. "There's a 50% chance that your child's height will be within .07 inches of this prediction, and a 90% chance that it will be within 1.7 inches".

Eric says, "And there's a 100% chance that I'm extremely freaked out by this!!"

Fortunately, I used a bunch of other predictors, and the answer was more often between 6' and 6'2" for her. Which is still too tall. I need to learn how to sew real fast....

The Lady Or The Tiger

Back when we were young, my brother Andrew and I shared a book. I can't remember now what it was called, but it was an anthology of short classic stories. My favorite was The Lady Or The Tiger. I used to read this story over and over and just sit and ruminate on the dilemma. Reading it again as an adult it's still the best fable of all time. At 8 years old I knew she chose the tiger. As an adult I still believe she chose the tiger. Because that's how most people are. Selfish.

But maybe you'll believe differently.


Frank Stockton
The Lady Or The Tiger?

In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors, were still large, florid, and untrammeled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down uneven places.

Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semified was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and beastly valor, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.

But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater, with its encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages, was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.

When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king's arena, a structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of this man, who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric idealism.
<>

When all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheater. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the enclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, great wails went up from the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena, and the vast audience, with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly their homeward way, mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and respected, should have merited so dire a fate.

But, if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was immediately married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that he might already possess a wife and family, or that his affections might be engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed no such subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of retribution and reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took place immediately, and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the king, and a priest, followed by a band of choristers, and dancing maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithalamic measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by side, and the wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass bells rang forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led his bride to his home.
<>

This was the king's semi-barbaric method of administering justice. Its perfect fairness is obvious. The criminal could not know out of which door would come the lady; he opened either he pleased, without having the slightest idea whether, in the next instant, he was to be devoured or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair, they were positively determinate: the accused person was instantly punished if he found himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether he liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king's arena.

The institution was a very popular one. When the people gathered together on one of the great trial days, they never knew whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion which it could not otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were entertained and pleased, and the thinking part of the community could bring no charge of unfairness against this plan, for did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands?

This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in all this kingdom, and she loved him with an ardor that had enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months, until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king's arena. This, of course, was an especially important occasion, and his majesty, as well as all the people, was greatly interested in the workings and development of this trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never before had a subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after years such things became commonplace enough, but then they were in no slight degree novel and startling.
<>

The tiger-cages of the kingdom were searched for the most savage and relentless beasts, from which the fiercest monster might be selected for the arena; and the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the young man might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for him a different destiny. Of course, everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was charged had been done. He had loved the princess, and neither he, she, nor any one else, thought of denying the fact; but the king would not think of allowing any fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal, in which he took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out, the youth would be disposed of, and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure in watching the course of events, which would determine whether or not the young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess.

The appointed day arrived. From far and near the people gathered, and thronged the great galleries of the arena, and crowds, unable to gain admittance, massed themselves against its outside walls. The king and his court were in their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful portals, so terrible in their similarity.

All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be there!

As the youth advanced into the arena he turned, as the custom was, to bow to the king, but he did not think at all of that royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the right of her father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it is probable that lady would not have been there, but her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in the king's arena, she had thought of nothing, night or day, but this great event and the various subjects connected with it. Possessed of more power, influence, and force of character than any one who had ever before been interested in such a case, she had done what no other person had done - she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She knew in which of the two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the cage of the tiger, with its open front, and in which waited the lady. Through these thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But gold, and the power of a woman's will, had brought the secret to the princess.
<>

And not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived, and even returned. Now and then she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or two, but much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant topics, but how could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all the intensity of the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines of wholly barbaric ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent door.

When her lover turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she sat there, paler and whiter than any one in the vast ocean of anxious faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it. He understood her nature, and his soul was assured that she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this thing, hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty was based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery; and the moment he looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she would succeed.

Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question: "Which?" It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.
<>

Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.

He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.

Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady ?

The more we reflect upon this question, the harder it is to answer. It involves a study of the human heart which leads us through devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way. Think of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the question depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric princess, her soul at a white heat beneath the combined fires of despair and jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have him?

How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started in wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she thought of her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel fangs of the tiger!

But how much oftener had she seen him at the other door! How in her grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and torn her hair, when she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to meet that woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph; when she had seen him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life; when she had heard the glad shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy bells; when she had seen the priest, with his joyous followers, advance to the couple, and make them man and wife before her very eyes; and when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious multitude, in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned!
<>

Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?

And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!

Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.

The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door - the lady, or the tiger?

And Now, A Little Sugar For Your Coffee

Can't help but smile when I'm with my Valentine.





And for those of you looking for more sweet Valentine moments, here's one for ya: We attended Tri-County Bible's Sweetheart Banquet on Saturday night, with Mom and Dad and my brother and sister-in-law Andrew and Kathy, who brought their baby @LittleRFL, also known as Robert. Someone came up to Kathy at one point during the evening and asked, "Couldn't you get a babysitter tonight?". Kathy made a gracious comment, but then later said to us, "You know, after waiting 20 years for a baby, we just like taking him with us everywhere! He is our Valentine!"

>commence chorus of awws and sniffles<


(Bonus points for those who can pick out in which pictures I'm post postpartum...*shudder*, tragic)

Ava's Fashions

Ava always find her own entertainment, even when she's having to sit around watching Colson's birthday party. That's just how she rolls.

Lotso Huggin'

You Wanna Double Down?

Poor Zachary. The life lessons are just never ending for him during these winter doldrums. His too-advanced-for-his-physical-age brain is just Energizer Bunnying it around in his skull while his body is physically cooped up in this house. The end result being almost hourly reprimanding. It's gotten to the point where he's even disgusted with himself, but just can't seem to stop himself.

Yesterday's lesson was about how few choices a 5 year old really has. We had made Valentine's cards earlier in the day, with little candy bars inside each one. There were a few candy bars left, but the kids needed to make a few more cards, so I told them not to eat the rest of the candy bars until after we finished the entire project.

Later that afternoon, I was upstairs with Cole and Ava. Zach had been downstairs playing. He came up, and brought me his toothbrush and toothpaste, asking me to squeeze some paste onto his brush (this is one of his rules, since when he does it himself, he just can't help but to perform experiments of pressure, volume and torque on the tube).

Now, when Zach brings me his toothbrush spontaneously, at 1:30 in the afternoon, asking to brush his teeth, something has obviously gone down. He's trying to dispose of evidence. So instead of taking his brush and paste, I asked "Why do you want to brush your teeth?". He said, "Oh, I just do!" all casual, like it's completely normal for him to be concerned with his oral hygiene at 1:30 on a Thursday. "I didn't brush this morning" he said, with all the earnestness of Hermey..."I'd like to be a dentist!"



I said, "You have one minute to tell me the truth about why you want to brush your teeth. If you don't tell me the truth, you will get a spanking."*

He looked at me with a little glimmer of fear and asked, "So what will happen if I DO tell you the truth?"

"That, I cannot tell you. All I can tell you FOR SURE is that if you DON'T tell the truth, you'll get a spanking. If you do tell me the truth, then we'll have to see. You might get in trouble, you might not. But think about this: if you DON'T tell the truth, then you will get a spanking. And then when I find out what the truth was, your chances of ANOTHER spanking increase dramatically, because I'm so irritated that you didn't tell me the truth about it to begin with.

So if you lie to me right now, the chances of TWO spankings occurring go waaaay up. One for lying, one for the actual crime committed. The way I see it, your best bet is to tell the truth, and maybe face just one spanking. Weigh the odds carefully, and let me know what your choice is".

He paid very close attention to my speech, and then turned his head to the side to think. The wrinkles on his forehead while he pondered were so extreme I could barely hold in the laughter. Then he sighed and said, "Ok, I'll tell the truth," and admitted to eating a candy bar.

Good call, buddy! Because I appreciated the solemnity with which he considered the options, he was just banned from playing the Wii for the rest of the day, although that lesser punishment produced a reaction that gave the impression he'd have rather chosen the spanking.

There's always next time, Zachary.

*disclaimer: obviously this tactic is only justly carried out when a child is young, and you already know what the "truth" is, or at least a very good idea of what it is. The hope is they learn the value, at this young age, of telling the truth even when it's hard to do so and will continue on in that trend.

When Mom's Away

I was scrolling through pictures on Eric's iPhone the other day and found these. His phone is full of pictures of things he and the kids do when I'm away. Oh, the things I miss...

Aging Fashion Icons

Whether in jammies

or formal wear....

whether riding in a mid-life crisismobile

Or posing with a thug gangsta....

whether carrying a baby

or carrying a baby...

whether playing angelic ingenue....

or badass party girl...

whether rocking a granny sweater and spectacles

or an ethnic headband and beads....

whether long Breck girl hair

or wacky highlights...

whether posing as a ballroom dancer

or a bowler....

whether drinking from a phallic straw

or rockin' Jingle Jugs.....

....one thing is for sure. My best friend can carry off any look with more style and grace than the rest of us all rolled together. Happy Birthday to the Grace Kelly of the nineties, Jackie O of the noughties, and sure to be Princess Di of the twenty-tens. May your reign as the Queen Of The Most Appropriate/Stylish Outfit And Most Gracious Demeanor/Behavior For The Occasion continue to inspire the rest of us wannabes forever.

(wish I had a picture of her in her Chili's shirt with giant globs of guacamole down the front. although come to think of it, she looked fresh as a daisy in that too...i'm hoping, if i'm around, that her family will let me dress her in kmart clothes and frosted eyeshadow for her viewing. just once i want a picture of her looking tacky, is that so much to ask??!!)

Putting Mange To Good Use

Learned something new the other day while studying the Vikings with Ava. The Vikings used two navigational tricks while sailing. One, they released ravens, who normally fly towards land, and followed them. And two, which I thought was ingenious, they'd pluck a flea from their hair and set it on a table. Why? Fleas always hop north!

I wonder how they knew that?

Ava and Clifford

Good Fatherly Advice

Cole was messing around with me yesterday morning while Eric was getting ready for work, pretending he didn't know what I was asking him to do. I wasn't in the mood for his games, and I told him in no uncertain words that his days were numbered.

As Eric left the room to leave for work, I heard him whisper to Cole in the hallway:

Dude, fyi, when Mom says, "Cole, you're making me want to punch you in the face", you've gone too far and it's time to stop. Just lettin' you know...

Coming To You Live From 2nd Grade

For her Literature course, Ava had to read a novel and then complete certain exercises based on that novel. She chose Stone Fox by John Reynolds Gardiner. It's a cute little book, amazon.com's synopsis:

Stone Fox (HarperCollins, 1980) tells the story of a boy determined to win a dog sled race to save his grandfather's farm. No one has ever beaten Stone Fox, an imposing and silent Native American, but little Willy trains daily for the race with his beloved dog, Searchlight. It seems like Willy might even win the race until heartbreaking tragedy strikes.

For her final project, Ava had to choose between two options. One was to retell the story of the race as if she was a news reporter sent to cover the story. The other was to pretend she was the main character in the story, the little boy, and write about the difficulties she had to overcome to keep her Grandfather's farm.

Well, Ava chose the former, no surprise there, and the story she wrote was so full of character I had to share it. Who knew she knew how to write in the style of a newspaper reporter??



"We are here in Wyoming, at the dogsled race in the city Jackson. There is lots of people, so excited and ready for this. We are at Main St. All snowy here. The little ones race first. They're off! Here they come, back again! Oh, that was a close one! Now it's time for the other ones. Ohh...this is exciting! There's Stone Fox...he looks ready.

The other men are begging to win, but Stone Fox will win for sure. Oh, there getting ready.GO! Look at them! Stone Fox is dead last! Willy is 1st place! This is great! Willy is going across the lake! Is he disqualified? No! He's back on South Road! Stone Fox is picking up speed, but still in last place. Up, Stone Fox finally made his move. He's now in 2nd! Little Willy is still in 1st! Now Stone Fox! Now....oh my! Willy's dog just feel over, dead! Stone Fox walks over to Willy and speaks! "Anyone crosses that line....I shoot." And everyone believed him. He nodded at Little Willy. And Willy won. Great show, guys!"

REAL Hospitality

A sister is someone who invites you to her house after a Roller Ball for pizza, and when you walk in, she hands you three things; a perfectly mixed cocktail, a pair of soft old fleece pajamas to change into, and a Ziploc baggie for the rhinestones that are glued onto your face.

Pretty Feet

Last night I told Colson and Zachary to take a shower. Zachary went into my closet to take off all of his clothes. He came out saying, "Mom, I really love wearing socks...I wish I could wear socks all the time, even in the shower." I wasn't paying much attention to him, so I just told him to get in the shower.

When he got out, I told him to get his pajamas and bring them to me. I have to cover his body with Aquaphor at night after a shower, and while doing this, I noticed he was standing with his toes curled under. I asked why he was standing like that, and he got a guilty look on his face. He put his toes out, and behold:

Ava must have been having a grand old time yesterday afternoon.