Author: brookeshelf

The Real Meaning of Christmas

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I’m trying to keep the “Real Meaning of Christmas” a priority in our household.  So, every morning before school, I’ve been reading a bit of Luke II or whatever as part of our daily dose of Scripture Power. I expected this to keep the holiday Christ-centered, not as commercial, etc.

What I did not expect was the following conversation . . .

ME: ” . . . and the angel did speak unto the virgin Mary . . .”

JEFF: Mom, what’s a virgin?

ME: Erm.

ELEANOR: Yeah, Mom.  What is it?  They are always calling Mary that.

ME: [looks at watch; 10 minutes until school bell rings] It’s a . . . woman who is young and innocent?

JEFF: So that means you’re still a virgin, Mom?

ME: [nervous laughter]  No, no, I’m not a virgin anymore.  It’s . . . a woman who has never been married?

JEFF: [thinks]

JEFF: [thinks]

JEFF: So is that why people get divorced?  Because they want to be a virgin again?

ME: No, that wouldn’t make you a virgin again.  A virgin is a woman who has . . . never BEEN with a man [rolls eyes at herself] Or, a woman who has never had relations with a man [rolls eyes at bad Monica Lewinsky flashback] or, erm . . . erm . . . errrrururuuruuuummmmm . . .

And so on.  I think I kept stumbling over myself for a few more seconds, and then declared that “this doesn’t have anything do to with Christmas, anyway,” smacked the Bible shut, and sent them off to school.

I friend suggested that I say a virgin is someone who is “pure,” but that’s not true.  I’m not a virgin, and I consider myself to still be pure, honest, faithful person.  All it really means is a person who has had sex, and the emphasis in the Nativity is about the miraculous aspect of Immaculate Conception, but that wasn’t something I wanted to get into right before school (geeez, who knows WHAT note Jeff’s teacher might send home) or in front of my four-year-old.  Ack, ack, ack.

Thanks a LOT, St. Luke.

Festival of Sneeze

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It’s actually the Festival of Trees.  But the convention center was so packed that I truly feared being sneezed upon.  I didn’t look at the trees so much as stand in a line and shuffle past them.

For those of you not in the know, SneezeFest is a fundraiser for Primary Children’s Medical Center.  People decorate Christmas trees and donate them to the festival.  Rich people buy them.  Money is raised for a good cause and all is well.

Some people get creative with the trees, and the results are adorable.  There was a Pooh tree . . .

Later, a Coca-Cola polar bear tree.  (A tribute not just to a product but a specific ad campaign for that product)

The children were especially taken by this little Lego tree . . .

. . . we found the Angry Birds tree amusing . . .

. . . and I loved the Barbie tree mainly because it gave up all pretense of tree-hood.  It’s just a conical pile of boxes.

Eleanor’s expression in the above photo pretty much sums up our attitude towards the evening: basically good but kinda overwhelming.  After seeing 100+ trees you get tree-blindness, and everything becomes a blur of twinkle lights.  Add to that the gingerbread houses, wreaths, candy shoppe, craft booths, live entertainment, and a children’s game area, and, well.

I’m exhausted just writing about it.

Special thanks to my mother-in-law, Kathryn, for coming with us!  I don’t think I could have survived without the extra adult to herd the kids.  It’s been ten years since I’ve been to Festival of Trees, and I think it will be another ten more before I go again.  Beautiful and fun, but whew!

Turkey Trot

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My in-laws took us to “Eat Like a Pilgrim” at Thanksgiving Point this year.  It’s supposed to be an “authentic” Pilgrim-y experience, and I think the emphasis is on the quotation marks.  Want to party like it’s 1699 at home?  Then do the following:

  • Put no forks on the table
  • Provide napkins the size of Rhode Island (men wear ’em on their right shoulders for easier hand-wiping)
  • Put a baby goat in a nearby pen, thereby ensuring that no children stay seated for longer than 2 minutes
  • All women wearing jeans will be put in the stocks
  • Halfway through, a thoroughly oily-chested Squanto should come in and macho-goad everyone into a tug-of-war contest
  • Serve a berry pudding with a lot of refined sugar.  Trust me, the 10-month-olds in your party will LOVE this.  In fact, mine screamed, banged her hand on the table, and occasionally grabbed my arm while screaming and banging if I didn’t stuff berries in her mouth every 15 seconds.

Unless you are suffering from a sinus-pressure headache (which I was) the evening can be rounded out with stately Pilgrim dancing.  Jeff’s History Face was on full throttle.  To tell the truth, I was rather impressed by the setup.  They even had a calligrapher on hand — a CALLIGRAPHER! — to write out whatever you wanted on little slips of paper.  In retrospect, I regret not taking the chance to get something like “PWNED” written in swirly whirly script.

But, anyway.  Real Thanksgiving was just as much fun.  It was at my parents’ house this year.  We ate this many pies (I made a chocolate chess pie, a mango pie [not pictured] and a pear-frangipane tart):

. . . which was pretty much the only photo I took of the entire holiday.  Oh, except baby Emmy!  She’s my little niece and apparently the only other thing I found as beautiful as pie:

Meanwhile, we gave Katie her own little bowl of whipped cream for dessert.  I love this picture; it’s the epitome of post-Thanksgiving stupor:

Annnd . . . that’s it.  No pictures of turkey, no happy people seated around a table, nuttin’.  I snapped this photo when I got home so I wouldn’t feel so bad.  It’s a display of Thanksgiving crafts and whatnot that I put on our mantel:

Eleanor made this little ceramic dish at school, of which she is rightfully proud:

In other news, during Thanksgiving weekend, the kids were taken to three movies in three days.  All Hail the Muppets.  For them, I am truly thankful.

Hitting the Crazy Juice

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One of my best friends, Julia, came to visit us this Tuesday.  It was an impromptu delight.  We went to the Natural History Museum (no, I can’t get enough) and then she stayed for dinner and helped us decorate our Christmas tree.

All fine and dandy, EXCEPT  . . . my kids decided to Hit the Crazy Juice that day.  For reasons which I cannot fathom, they pulled a series of annoying, nutty stunts far, far beyond the pale of what’s considered normal around here.  In the hours before dinner, they:

  • Were caught jumping on my bed, along with all the sleeping bags they could find.
  • Were caught rooting around in the crawlspace
  • Later, all the dinner knives were found missing.  Turns out they had been hidden in the crawlspace as well.
  • “We were playing hide-and-seek,” explained Jeffrey.  “The knives were the people we were looking for.”
  • Only Jeff’s friend, Win, knew where the knives were hidden.
  • [insert Wrath of Mom here]
  • THEN they wanted to play “Human Avalanche”
  • I said “No”
  • “How about we just roll the beanbag chair down the stairs?”
  • “No”
  • “How about we put the beanbag chair at the bottom of the stairs and we take turns jumping off the stairs and landing on the beanbag chair?”
  • “NO”

Then, dinner.  I don’t think any of the kids ate anything, but they made the most interesting sculptures with their mashed potatoes.

The actual tree decoration was less Norman Rockwell and more running-around-and-screaming.  Katie especially found screaming to be quite the delight.

Julia, if you’re reading this, just know that this is not the normal modus operandi for the family.  Excepting the Katie screams, of course.

Electric Fug

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Today is the day Brian turns 35 years old.

35 is the Ugly Lamp Birthday.  What, you didn’t know?

To celebrate, I hosted an Ugly Lamp competition, and friends and family submitted various unsightly entries.  Lamps could be “Born Ugly” or “Made Ugly.”  Here are the competitors — and I’d like you to vote on your favorite in the comments below!  Which is the ugliest?  YOU DECIDE.

THE SPIRAL THINGY: made out of a washing machine agitator.  Found at DI by Brian’s parents.

THE SPINNING FORTRESS: constructed out of Lego by James, Laura, and their children.  The cube not only lights up, but spins!!

THE GOLFER: brought by Justin & AnnaJune.  Susan, who used to be a Hallmark store employee, said it reminded her of the kind of thing she used to sell.

THE END OF INNOCENCE: decorated by Chris & Susan, featuring a feather boa, plastic ninjas and army guys, glitter pom poms, and pieces of a “High School Musical” jigsaw puzzle.  (They also named it “The End of Innocence.”)

THE APPLEGUTS: A column of “apple guts” — the side product of making apple cider — with an upside-down light-up Harry Potter wand inside.  (Shudder.)  Made by Brandon and Kellie.

THE SPIDER’S PRISON: Pat & Deb found this at DI.  There is a spider trapped inside the glass with those freaky silk flowers!

THE COLONEL SANDERS: Made by my mom and dad.  I think it’s appropriately dreamlike.

THE WATSON & CRICK: an ugly lamp tribute to DNA.  See the double helix hanging off the side?  And the bottom rim is decorated with “actg” stickers.  Made by Amy & John’s family.

THE SUBTLE KNIFE: My 16 year old brother Alex made this one.  The light bulb behind it flickered.

Those were the highlights (no pun intended).  Brian and William made awards together and handed them out (I think the Appleguts won the “Most Likely to be Rejected by DI” award).  In the meanwhile, everyone enjoyed a big pile of pizza and spinach salad.

Plus cupcakes for the children!

And now, of course . . . .

~~CAKE COMMENTARY~~

This is the Marbled Velvet Cake from Rose’s Heavenly Cakes.  With a ganache glaze on top.  It was humble-looking but very tasty.

Happy #35, Brian!  (xxxoo)

Dem Bones

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Brian’s mother gave him the best birthday present — a family membership to the new Natural History Museum of Utah.  As such, we were able to go to a sneak preview open house on Thursday night.

Squee!  I LOVE natural history museums, and this one’s a beaut.  Check out the Big Display Case of Random Things:

This would be so perfect for a game of I-Spy.  Eleanor and I even had a few quick rounds before heading off to explore.

There are scads of hands-on exhibits for kids (and grown ups) to try.  This room will house an insect and amphibian zoo dedicated to Utah wildlife:

Big chunks of fossils from the Green River dig site — underneath a glass floor!

The Paleolab was open, with scientists on hand to show us the finer features of the Diabloceratops.

Over in the corner (behind the guy in the orange shirt) is another fossil, that of the Cosmoceratops, which was just discovered and named this summer.  It had SIXTEEN HORNS ON ITS HEAD.  Just think of the hat possibilities.

Speaking of which, Brian and I were especially taken with this wall describing ceratops‘ relationships:

And, of course, many more dinosarus from the Cleveland-Lloyd Dinosaur Quarry.  I loved the emphasis on paleontology and other sciences specific to Utah.

BUT the spiffiest bit was being allowed to walk back into the storage vaults and labs.  These will be closed to the public once the museum officially opens.

I peeked around, but couldn’t find the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail.  Sorry, Indiana.

But we saw the Archaeology Lab . . .

. . . the dry bio lab (where they taxidermify small rodents!  I know I shouldn’t be squeamish, but ew! my kids asked if they could touch them!  And then they did!) . . . .

. . . the entomology vault, which houses many insect collections like this . . .

. . . aaaaaaand herpetology, with its shelves and shelves of creepy preserved specimens.

Including, of course, Jar o’ Snakes.  Gotta have a Jar o’ Snakes.

The biologist standing next to the Jar o’ Snakes explained that the museum used to have a herpetologist on staff, but now he’s retired and, as she put it, “getting crankier every year.”

The Cranky Herpetologist?  Somebody needs to write a book with that title.  Chop, chop, people.

What’s most disappointing with the museum is that after visiting the herpetology room, I didn’t take any more pictures!  Not the squishy floor describing the Great Salt Lake!  Not the really turn-crank exhibit demonstrating how basin-and-range geology works!  Not the water play tables or dig sites!  Not the Ancestral Puebloan weaving, or the Native Voices exhibit, or the life science floor!

Well, I guess I’ll just have to go back then, won’t I?

Whetstone

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A few days ago I caught William in the kitchen with a big rock in one hand and a butter knife in the other.

“I’m going to sharpen this knife on the stone,” he explained.

Well, no dice, kiddo.  I told him he needs a special kind of stone to sharpen knives.  The one he found in the backyard would just scratch the butter knife up.

“Well, I could just pretend to sharpen it.”

Sorry again — I didn’t want him to carry the knife off and lose it (it’s a dull knife, but he would lose it, trust me).

I suggested he find a toy knife or sword and pretend to sharpen it.  He reluctantly agreed and shuffled off to his room.

Later, he came back into the kitchen with an even larger rock (“I washed it with soap in the bathroom, Mom”) and a big plastic toy lightsaber.  He then put the rock on the kitchen table and did this:

He waved the lightsaber in the air above the rock, without touching it.  (That’s the rock there on the table.  It looks like a potato, but it’s a rock.)

Shouldn’t you slide the rock back and forth along the blade? I asked.

“No, Mom,” explained William.  “It’s a lightsaber.  Lightsabers would just go right through the rock!”

Well, why didn’t I think of that?

“Let’s Make Rachmaninoff Go Crazy!”

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I’ve found that lately the best motivation to get Eleanor to practice her recital pieces is to let her play with the plastic busts of Beethoven and Rachmaninoff that I found at the thrift store.

If she plays her little arrangements of “Sonata Pathetique” or “Vocalise” a few times, the statues come down and give her kisses.  If she practices more, Eleanor gets to scratch the composers on the head and I make them moan with pleasure.  When she practices very well, then Beeth & Rach “go crazy” — I make them dance across the keyboard, up and down Eleanor’s arms and around her head while making Daffy Duck-style whoops. Eleanor loves it.  And we play it again.

Disrespectful, you say?  Maybe, but I think Sergei and Ludwig would be DARN HAPPY to know that little girls of the 21st century are still learning and playing their music, and to heck with what happens to a little plastic statue.

All the hard work paid off yesterday at her recital.  Our main focus in the past week was to get Eleanor to keep playing to the end, regardless of whether she freezes or makes a mistake or whatever.  For those of you who don’t play an instrument, please understand that this is very difficult to do.  A lot of adults can’t help stopping to correct themselves.  Learning to ignore errors and keep going is a skill of supreme confidence that usually only comes with the self-flagellation that is repeat public performances.

Eleanor is standing with her piano teacher, Kim

Anyway, the strategy was successful — in her performance, Eleanor totally froze during her solo piece, BUT after an excruciatingly long pause, she eventually pulled herself together enough to come to some kind of finish.  Whew!

The second piece she played was a duet that I performed with her.  Did she make mistakes?  Yes, but you can’t tell — she just skipped over them and kept going.  Yay!

You want to see it?  It’s only 3 1/2 minutes long:

Secret Mail

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Yesterday I found William standing next to our mail slot and giggling.

“I don’t know if you should look in there,” he said, dancing a bit, “because there is secret mail inside.”

“Is there mail for me?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, near bursting with glee.  “It’s secret, for you!”

I opened the little door, and there in our mail slot was a handful of little notes William had covered with scribbles and random letters.

“Is this for me?” I asked.  William just covered his mouth with both hands and dissolved into laughter.

That evening I had a good time reenacting the scene for Brian, complete with hand-smothered giggles, and he sighed.

“You know, there will come a time when William won’t be as cute as he is now, and that will be sad.”

Yes, it’s true.  It actually makes me physically hurt to think of William outgrowing the lovely stage he’s in right now.  Today his creative dance teacher complimented me on his behavior, saying, “I’ve never known such a pleasant-tempered boy.”  I smiled and thanked her, and she emphasized: “No, really.  I haven’t.”

Well, I would say she hasn’t seen him in what I call “The Realm of Pout,” but she has (on the legendary Thursday when he fell asleep in the car on the way to dance.  He refused to participate at all).  So the compliment is wholeheartedly acknowledged.  He’s our sunshine boy.

Pumpkin’d

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Rapunzel, Ninja, Spooky Evil Monster, check!

And one turducken, check!

The cuteness was in full swing, as you can see.  Katie sat on the floor behind me whenever I opened the door for trick-or-treaters, leading to a lot of fawning over her cuteness.  Once there was a whole platoon of preteen girls who all cooed and squealed at her in unison: “Ooooooooo the BAAAAABEEEE!”

Trip to the Haunted Symphony — done!

(I especially liked it when the conductor, dressed like a pirate, duelled someone with his baton.)

Parade at the elementary school — accomplished!

Yes, making Eleanor’s wig took quite a bit of work.  And 2 1/2 big skiens of curly yarn.  But it looks incredible and we are quite proud of ourselves.  Here’s a picture of it in-progress:

Eleanor and I wrapped the yarn around and around the kitchen table in order to keep the strands of hair a consistent length.  Crazy times.

Aaaaaand then the candy.  Our ninja developed a quirky obsession with KitKat bars this year.  As he put it (bursting through the door midway through trick-or-treating), “I TOTALLY HOGGED ALL THE KITKATS!”

Then he went out to get more.  He referred any non-KitKat candy as “discards” and traded most of it for Eleanor and Wimmy’s few KitKat bars.  The result?

Something like 34 bars.  Brian and I are puzzled because Jeff has never, not once ever shown a preference for this kind of candy or even mentioned it.  And now he’s hoarding them and won’t touch a single one until the “discards” are gone.

In other words, a happy Halloween for all.