Leprechaun Day

St. Patrick's Day, or Leprechaun Day as my kids call it, was a raging success at our house- minus the fact that my girls did not catch a leprechaun. But believe me, it wasn't for lack of trying- they set traps up all over the house. They even both prayed the night before that they would catch a leprechaun which is mildly alarming considering I potentially have to be the one to explain to them why Heavenly Father didn't bless them with a leprechaun. Fortunately though, they never asked. I think they were too excited about all the festivities to make any connections. Or maybe it's just because they are 5 and 3. Either way, crisis averted.

We have a sneaky leprechaun who visits our house every year and drops his treasure around the house all day. He also colors the milk green (Olivia's personal favorite). Otherwise, mommy just whips up a bunch of green food which looks very unappealing but tastes delish. I mean really, who doesn't like green chicken? If you want to get up close and personal with the pictures, you are going to have to click on them. Laziness has overcome me and I am not going to enlarge them. I am such a rebel.

Dinner was good times. This year I bought 5 green hats for my peeps to wear. I know, we have six people in our family. I graciously went without a hat and allowed Dave to wear one. Doesn't he look thrilled?

He really was. He thought I was throwing in the towel this year and not doing any festivities. Ha! Does he not know me?

Why would I want to miss out on this?

Please note that Spencer ate dinner with a green piece of rice stuck on his nose the whole time. Oh how I love babies!

Have you met my Olivia?

I originally planned on directing this post to those of you that think you have the naughtiest three-year-old this side of the Mississippi. I thought it would be nice to offer you reassurance that no, you do not, in fact, have the naughtiest three year old this side of the Mississippi- I DO.

But bless my heart today I am choosing to look at life with a "glass half full" kind of attitude (more or less the 'laugh so you don't cry' perspective). I am choosing to discuss my beautiful, energetic, inquisitive, funny, smart, sassy, cute-as-a-button three year old Olivia Grace.

She keeps things real around here. And by real, I mean REALLY disastrous. Her imagination is above and beyond levels I can even comprehend. She kind of lives on her own planetoid. She plays so cute with her little toys. But then the next minute she is playing not-so-cute in my make-up, "making recipes" (aka: stuffing all food from her plate into her cup of milk and stirring as best she can), the Vaseline, the fridge, the car, the dirt, with the scissors...

How do I survive? It's a dern mystery. Dave and I were wondering the other day about St. Patrick and what made him a Saint. I got to thinking- crap, I should be labeled a Saint. Saint Mother of Livvy. I figure I can label myself as a Saint seeing as how this same sweet, inquisitive child took a tube of lipstick (did I mention that it was red?) to my wedding dress (and every other white article of clothing she could get the tube of lipstick on, not touching even one item of clothing with color) last week and is still alive. I didn't harm her- I just picked her up by both arms and removed her from my presence. Clearly labeling myself as a Saint does not even do this situation justice.

It appears that trouble usually finds its way into our house while Dave and I are catching up on lost time with the DVR. The other night we were catching up on two weeks of LOST. Bad news, my friends, bad news. That is way too much time to assume that your not-so-obedient three-year-old is sleeping in her bed.

Sara yelled from upstairs, "Livvy is in your make-up mom!"

So I instructed Dave that he better hurry on up there because if I were to go, she may not be alive. Seriously. I can only handle so many make-up catastrophes before my head may explode. Or my child may explode just at the sight of my evil eye. It is true.

He came downstairs saying that she had rubbed a bunch of junk in her hair and put some make-up on her face but he put her to bed.

Fast forward to me going upstairs later.

I checked on Livvy and Sara. All was well.

I walked into my bathroom and found brown hair, Livvy hair, all over the bathroom floor.

She had brought a two-step stool into my bathroom from her room and had her way with my bathroom counter, including the hair-cutting scissors.

I went back into her room to make an assessment. All that gunk (I still don't know all of what she put in her hair- skinny hair serum, maybe vaseline, maybe lotion?) she put in her hair had masked the hair cut. Upon closer inspection I could see the damage. Sigh.

Morning brought this bouncy little one into my room. What a sight to behold! I asked her why she cut her hair and she said, "Mommy, I had to get out the gooby." And then when I asked her why she got into the make-up and the "gooby" she replied, "Mommy, I just wanted to be pretty (pause), I just wanted to be pretty like you." What is this three-year-old doing trying to work over her mother? My word. There is no water in her hair yet in this picture- pure grease, er um, I mean "gooby".

This is the hair I pulled out while I was trying to wash her hair. It doesn't include all the hair I cleaned off the floor the night before. And that bottle baby, that vintage bottle of degreaser that looks like it was purchased in 1956 but was really purchased at Smith's Marketplace last year, that is the key to my sanity. I had to wash her hair with that at least 10 times but eventually we got things workable.

She doesn't look too upset by this situation does she? This picture was taken after her bath and after I had tried to blow-dry her hair only to realize she needed to go back into the bath for another 5-6 hair washings.

I love it when they go for the most reachable hair up front. It will be a good look for her for the next few months.

And let's not forget the side. Who needs hair there anyway?

I guess the positive thing is that her last self-inflicted hair cut was on the other side of her head and is growing out nicely. She has quite the layering going on now.

I figure, it could be worse, right? And I'm sure she will prove me right on some later date. For now I'm glad all fingers were spared and the rest of the hair on her head. I will just have to master my combover skills. I'm going to be a professional by the time Livvy reaches adulthood, assuming she makes it there! Stinker!

Hole-y cow!

Sara has been talking herself into getting her ears pierced for a couple years now. She does all the talking. I have never tried to convince her to get it done for the mere fact that somehow it means more responsibility for me. No thanks.

She always says "When I am nineteen I will get my ears pierced." And she says this often. Like daily. Sometimes we might go through an entire week without this conversation but usually I hear about it frequently.

She goes into graphic details about what she thinks will happen.

Something about a sharp object going through the ear doesn't sit so well with her. Go figure.

In a new turn of events, she came up to me the other day and said,

"Mom, when I turn six, I want to get my ears pierced."

Six?

Well now, that's a big jump from nineteen.

And so, last Sunday she mentioned this in front of Dave and he thought he would tease her by saying, "Why wait until you are six? Let's do it now!"

He was trying to freak her out.

It had the exact opposite effect.

"REALLY???" she squealed back at him.

So I said, "Sara, why don't we get it done for your half birthday?" not realizing that her half birthday was the next day. I mean, I realized it was in March but I just didn't connect that it was March 7th while we were having this conversation and her half birthday is March 8. Yeah... And may I add, she doesn't understand the half birthday thing. She kept saying to me, "So, September is tomorrow and that will be my birthday?" Uh, no.

After listening to her yabber all day Monday about getting her ears pierced that day, I realized that this was in fact going to happen. So I got Dave on the horn and informed him that for Family Night we were headed to South Towne Mall and he was going to like it.

Claire's Boutique was our ear piercing destination of choice. Sara was very excited to pick out her new earrings. That was the one thing she made very clear going into this, "Mom, I get to pick out my own earrings." That was the deal. She chose the rainbow daisy of course- "to match all her clothes".

Soon after she chose her earrings she tugged on my arm and said, "Mom, my stomach hurts." Poor thing- she was getting stressed.

I set her up on the chair and this face showed up:

She got more nervous as they marked her ears. And these showed up:

TEARS! And nothing had even happened yet.

Now for my favorite picture. This face made bringing the camera worth it:

Oh my! Honestly, I don't think she hardly felt a thing. She was already so worked up before they started you could have yelled "BOO" and she would have hit the ceiling. We got lucky that they had two employees there to do both ears at the same time. Phew.

She maintained this face for a few minutes after:

Then it was off to Hot Dog on a Stick and the Merry-Go-Round.

And wouldn't you know it, this face showed up on the scene and has remained ever since:

So let it be written, so let it be known- Sara's dreams came true on March 8 2010- holes in her ears (pretty earrings too) and she lived to tell the tale!

A lesson in boy-ese, spelling test edition

It has come to my attention that I have not been blogging. I am back (for today anyway).

I was rifling through Taylor's backpack the other day and pulled out all his papers. I glanced at his spelling test and noticed he got 7 out of 8 correct.

Not bad.

I usually toss his papers after I take a look but this time I left it on the counter. Dave came home and found it sitting there.

He came up to me and said,

"Did you see Taylor's spelling test?"

I said,

"Yeah, he got 7 out of 8 correct."

He laughed and said,

"Did you actually look at it?"

Me: "..................?"

So I took a look.

Gotta love this 7-year-old boy! I wonder if the teacher used the words in a sentence because if she didn't, #8 could technically be correct. Just sayin'.

Building Zion

I am a firm believer in Family Home Evening.

I was quizzing Taylor on his gospel knowledge the other day. I asked him to tell me the names of the two different Priesthoods. He had no idea. So maybe he is only six (almost seven) but I figure I am slacking in my job as Head Gospel Instructor at the Jackson household. Maybe that is Dave's job but either way, we're married which means we are one person and it is collectively both of our jobs. Okay, I've been sidetracked.

My point is, tonight Dave and I decided to discuss the Priesthood with the kids. We talked about what the Priesthood is, who can hold the Priesthood, and the different ways in which the Priesthood is used.

At one point during our discussion Taylor jumped up and proclaimed he had something great he needed to do and he would be right back. He ran into the kitchen. I didn't check up on his efforts because I was laying all gimpy-necked on the couch.

He returned a minute later holding a plate with broken bread on it, inquiring as to where he could get little cups of water. Sacrilege at my Family Home Evening? I think not. So we had to set him straight on the ins and outs and ups and downs of the sacrament, bless his heart. Some kids play house, my kids play "pass the sacrament". Oh heavens.

So moving straight on from sacrilege to blasphemy, we worked with the kids for a few minutes to memorize the words Aaronic and Melchizedek. Now, I have never thought much about the complexity of saying either of those words... until tonight. I realize now there is probably a reason Taylor didn't know the answers the other day because saying these two words is a pronunciation nightmare.

My two favorites:

Moronic Priesthood (Yes, I am still waiting for the bolt of lightening to strike through the roof)

and

Mechanic Priesthood.

They struggled to get the words right. We laughed. They laughed. Hopefully they learned something.

Good times, my friends, Good times.

Building Zion one dysfunctional step at a time.

That should be our family motto.

Grab a spoon

Come to think of it, don't grab a spoon cuz I'm not sharing this baby! I'll eat him up all by myself. Delish!

Come. Sit a spell in my looney bin.

I woke up with a kinked neck that has just gotten progressively worse throughout the day.

Lucky me, it also happens to be Dave's Air Force weekend so I had to get all the kids ready for 9:00 church by myself. Last night I figured I was way ahead of my game because I had the kids all bathed before bed. Unfortunately, I have learned that only works in my favor when one of my little beauties doesn't pee herself and her bunk mate while sleeping. Livvy came running to me this morning, "Mama, Sara peed on my Jammie's and on my tummy." I know, sounds strange but essentially that is what happened. So much for safety in numbers. And just in case you aren't already cringing in my behalf, I will have you know that she peed on the very bedding that I just changed the night before, on the top bunk no less.

Church was the usual circus and by the time it ended, my head pretty much felt like a bowling ball on top of my neck.

My visiting teachers came by for a visit at 2:00. I was sprawled out on my couch under a blanket, trying not to fall asleep during their visit. Hey, I have been normal (relatively speaking, of course) for every other visit they've ever made.

When Dave finally got home I had him massage my neck and shoulders (beat them into raw hamburger). We (and by we I mean me) made dinner. We then had a birthday party to attend for a niece of ours. Before we got everyone packed up, me and Dave were sitting at the computer laughing at a couple different YouTubes.

More specifically, this one:



And this one:



While deep in YouTube Heaven, Dave was dropped back into reality when he turned his head and noticed not one, not two, but three green spots on the rug. What the? And there stood Spenny, innocently blinking his big eyes at him.

"What is that?"

As these words came from his mouth, I checked back in and we both turned and looked at Spenny as he turned to run out of the room. And that's when we saw the damage.

Friends.

Help.

Needless to say, we were a tad bit late to the birthday bash. I do have to thank my friends at church for offering packages of fruit snacks to Spencer. If not for their generosity, you wouldn't be witnessing such a wicked awesome display of poopiness.

Back to the birthday party, let me just lay all my brilliance out for you on the table. I was sightly flustered on our way to the party what with Spencer's pee soup poo and all. I grabbed a card as we ran out the door, scrawled a birthday message inside, threw in $10, scrawled "Regan" across the front, then licked it closed. It was then that I noticed I wrote her name upside down on the envelope. Idiot. So whatever. Rush. Rush. Rush.

We got to the party and I was explaining my upside down name mishap to Nikki when Aunt Amy comes across the room to pick up Livvy (who is wearing her church dress) and lo and behold, Liv flashes her nether regions to the whole roomful of people. Apparently in the world Livvy lives in, panties are optional.

It was not until I walked into the kitchen minutes later did I finally realize that we were not in fact at the party to celebrate Regan's birthday, but Hali's. I think I need to be committed. I had thought this out and thought it was September. September. Maybe my kinked neck is the aftermath from all my brain cells stampeding out of my head. So I guess it's November. And it's Hali's birthday. And I've lost my mind.

Regan did ask Nikki if she could keep the cash. Her name was on the card, after all. I reassured her that if she did keep the money, when Regan's birthday rolled around, Hali would most definitely be $10 richer.

My neck still hurts...