Thanks A Lot, Han Solo

For the past 45 minutes, Jeff has been watching an episode of the Sarah Connor Chronicles on-line. When it was over he turned to me and said, "That's a really good show. It's a shame you don't like Sci-Fi."

Really? It's a shame that I don't like Sci-Fi? Or it's a shame I'll never fit into Princess Leah's metal bikini?

Friday Freebie

Well, not exactly a freebie, but I couldn't think of anything that rhymed with, Hey! You Can Get $20 Off Dinner at McCormick and Schmick's If You Work Quickly!

Nothing really enables a romantic night out like a coupon, a gift certificate, or a free babysitter... if you're a parent, that is. DINK lifestyle, my old friend, sometimes I really miss you.

This link really works, by the way, you just have to use their online reservation system. Jeff and I went last year on a quiet Sunday night and we're going again this weekend. It's our annual date night.

Just kidding.

Sometimes we have two.

Spring Is In The Air

Few things say SPRING! It's HERE! quite like these super cute transitional shoes from Lands End.

Unless it is the sight of delicate purple flowers gently starting to peek through the surface of the cold, dry dirt, as they struggle to lift their faces to the morning sun.


Oh wait. That's just a thicket of weeds that has been taking over our grass for the last month. The fact that they are flowering so profusely now tells me their collective "beauty" will be even more pronounced next year. Clearly, there is but one sensible solution to this problem. I'll just redirect all the money I would have spent on weed killer to the cute shoes. And to the weeds, I wish each and every last one of you a sincere bon appetite as you dine on my lawn.

Google Reader. It Is Efficient, Oh Yes It Is.

This was bar none the most helpful post I read in 2007. I've been meaning to direct all 7 of you to it for quite some time, but I've been a little busy. Suffice it to say, if you are reading more than 3 blogs a day, I highly recommend embracing Google Reader. And then tell Michelle how thankful you are that she posted it in the interest of educating all of us more recent converts to the blog world.

Meme

My friend Veronica over at Toddled Dredge tagged me for a meme weeks and weeks ago. A meme, you say? What the heck is that?

Firstly, it’s pronounced mEEm (rhymes with seem). I had to look it up because I am not exactly down with the geek speak and had, up until this very minute, been pronouncing it mème (as in crème de la crème). Secondly, by the end of this post, I believe we will all agree the more appropriate pronunciation is mEE-mEE, since it really is all about me. Combine that concept with a game of tag and that is the shortest definition I can give you. Now that we’ve clarified the word meme, let’s get back to Veronica then, shall we?

I started reading Toddled Dredge last August when I came across her Alumni Magazine Meme. Oh my. It is very difficult not to appreciate someone who is this honest, hilarious, and creative. But what kept me coming back for more was her insight and intellect – something I marvel at considering Veronica and Az have managed to reproduce at approximately the same rate as we have. It has been my experience that this particular lifestyle choice does not leave much time for deep, reflective thinking, yet Veronica consistently manages to deliver. And she is very funny. Did I mention that earlier?

So this last Christmas I had a rough go of it. Basically, I’d like nothing more than to kill the getting at our house and to refocus on the giving – and preferably to people who actually NEED to get something, rather than my own children who are awash in The Toys. I think if we could all admit that most toys, regardless of cost, have a life span of about 3-weeks, then we could come up with a plan to redirect some of the outflow currently dedicated to The Toys to pretty much anywhere else. And that would make me very happy. Happier at Christmas time, anyway. At the peak of my frustration over this, Veronica began posting her twelve days of Christmas series which I thought were just brilliant - and intriguing since I had never heard of the Twelve Days of Christmas or the Epiphany. They were so uplifting and inspiring at a time I felt the materialism of the season was overcoming all that was right and good, that I managed to surpress the lurker within and comment...only to find shortly thereafter that I ACTUALLY KNOW VERONICA. It was a tremendously joyous revelation. The type that keeps you up all night smiling to yourself. It was indeed, a little serendipity.

So, this particular meme requires that I list six of my quirks:

1. I received my first pacemaker when I was 28 for sinus arrest with syncope. Sometimes, Karen, I have supraventricular tachycardia and can no longer play tennis because the stretching pulls on the leads. Want to know what’s amusing about that last sentence? Karen doesn’t even read my blog. Which is sad, because I just gave her a cool medical condition she could research. Anyway, I pretty much sucked at tennis, so giving it up was not exactly a loss. In October I had said pacemaker switched out for a flashier model because the batteries in my first one finally ran out. Which begs the question, if they can come up with a pacemaker battery that lasts 8-years, why is it so difficult to come up with a cell phone or camera battery that lasts longer than 4-hours?

2. February 3rd was my own Happy Adoption Day. Because of this, our eventual adopting has always been a foregone conclusion for me, my own experience being so fabulous and all. The question has always been more when than if…until lately. Our oldest child turned 5 on February 7th, and our youngest is 18-months. This is the longest time I have gone between pregnancies and if we want to catch any sleep in this decade we either need to reload now or start filling out the paperwork. So what is holding me back, you ask? Before I delivered our first, I hadn’t taken into account how much I would:

A) Enjoy the whole breeding and nurturing process. I pretty much lactate on sight of an infant.

B) Discover how significant and meaningful it is to me that my biological children look like me. Some of them anyway. But that’s more people in the world that look like me now than before we started reproducing.

Hence the conundrum. Worse, Jeff is relatively ambivalent about the matter. He cares only about numbers. He’ll go one more round of our own, or two if we adopt - because we can potentially get what amounts to a 2 for 1 deal if we adopt internationally. I'd have to ask the genealogy experts on my husband's side of the family to be sure, but if experience is any indicator, the meaning of the word, Freshour, is can't pass up a bargain. Please, world, I beg of you, put more thought into family planning than we have. Really contemplate your options. Don’t just look at your checkbook or into the mirror.

3. Prior to getting married in July of 1999, I was a prolific singer. I sang in the choir at my church, I frequently sang on the worship team, I sang with a small group, I directed a children’s choir, and even did studio work on occasion. For years, performance (though I hate to call it that since so much of it was so very worshipful for me) was an immense part of my identity and a part that I adored. Then I got married and cold turkeyed it all pretty much on the spot. While I've successfully reentered the teaching zone recently, I sometimes I wonder if I’ve still got it. I wonder so much that I'm going to try to get to this conference in June and see if I can resurrect whatever is buried deep within. And then do what with it I'm not sure - especially since the conference is mainly for writers and speakers which are among the lesser of my talents. Way lesser.

4. In my heart of hearts I believe that I am an above average speller. Yet you’ll note the word I confidently wrote with a permanent black marker on the coffee bean canister below.

Someday, we’re going to take the leg out of there so we can drink it.

5. I am selectively empathetic. During my illustrious college career, I majored in psychology. In one of our last senior seminar classes we had to state to the group what we had learned about ourselves. I stated that I realized that I had no empathy. If it hadn’t been the very polite crowd that it was, I believe I would have garnered a standing ovation. My professors visibly breathed sighs of relief that I wasn’t considering becoming a therapist…or a counselor for you early ‘90’s college graduates. It wasn't exactly true. I have an extraordinary amount empathy, just not for people who are distraught that they did not manage to find their soul mate while they were in college. And when you earn your degree at a conservative Christian college, that’s a real problem. It is, after all, the primary reason you all are there. Or so they would lead you to believe with the multitude of carefully organized dating activities.

6. I am passionate about onions. The other night I was making macaroni and cheese and the recipe called for ¼ cup of minced onions. I picked out the largest onion I had, sliced it, sautéed it in olive oil, and tossed the whole thing in there. I thought it was downright delicious. Jeff thought it was a little heavy on the onion. He actually had the gall to accuse me of doubling whatever onion the recipe called for. I found that insulting. Mere doubling is soooo below me. Quadrupling is where I’m at. And he should really know that after 8-years of marriage.

That's it for me. I mean, I could probably think up some more, but there is a fine line between quirky and creepy. I tag Donna, Marit, Lori, Hannah, and Becky.

This Is How You Run Your Blog Into The Ground.

I actually wondered when I started my little blog back in May of last year exactly how I would manage to find the time to post when tax season rolled around and I started drowning - yes, actually drowning - in piles of paper. I believe now that question has been suitably answered. I will neglect it terribly.

Suffice it to say, I fear that while I am profitably employed this can only be a seasonal effort for me. I'll see you all back after March 15th.

Don't Try This At Home

Carter and Griffin take naps in the afternoon. If it were solely up to me, they would maintain this habit well into adolescence. Griffin is a relatively compliant child. He sleeps when we tell him it is naptime - for several hours, usually. Sometimes he even asks to go to bed. Carter, on the other hand, has been a holy terror since he exited the womb. For a while he refused to stay in bed, much less his room for the designated hour of rest. When he did stay in his room, he would be possessed by the right-hand side of his brain, whereupon he would compulsively decorate the place with whatever medium was available to him. Since his room is basically void of any and all art supplies, this required him to manufacture and then produce his medium of choice. And that, dear friends, is where I will end this part of the story. Except that to say, the stars in my crown one day are going to be GINORMOUS.

When Carter wasn’t playing slave to his creative juices, he would wait until he heard us downstairs thereby confirming the coast was clear. He would then silently creep from his room into another upstairs room and wreak havoc. It was the silent part that was the concern because although our house is for the most part child-proofed, there are some areas that would require us to install a gigantic metal locker in them in order for them to be completely safe that’s just not practical. One of those is our master bathroom. Every child safety device we’ve tried in there, he has defeated within days. Yet, that was seemingly his favorite room. We'd hear him up there only if he accidentally dropped or rattled something. Not much inspires panic as effectively as a child in your master bathroom.

We tried all the usual tricks to get him to stay in his room; threats, bribes, Jeff would even sit outside his door for 30 minutes at a stretch waiting for him to open the door. But Carter even got wise to that. It was not unlike him to pretend to be asleep just until Jeff checked on him and left. Then he would sneak out. It was about that time that we had another family with 3-kids over for dinner and were able to ask them what they were doing that was working. Parenting, for me, is a unique blend of strategizing and blatantly stealing other parents’ ideas. I’m sure prayer should be in there somewhere too, but in this case it did not have the desired outcome - that being an angel with a sword prepared to smite Carter down if he dare even touch the door. Because that is specifically what I requested.

Anyway, the much smarter parents we dined with happily said they were locking theirs in. That sounded ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT to us. So the next day we went out and got a couple of locking doorknobs and Jeff installed them. Worked like a charm. Nap time resumed in our home without incident. Until today.

I put all three kids down for naps at 1:30pm and headed downstairs to work for a couple of hours. All was blissfully quiet for about 45 minutes, but then out of the corner of my eye I saw a little person trying awfully hard to sneak past me down the stairs. I probably wouldn't have noticed him, but he was wearing a Tennessee orange jacket that's not exactly subtle. Here, I'll give you a visual.
Yeah, I know. Bright huh? And stealth is usually his strong suit. I'm sure it was just an ever-so-brief lapse in judgement.

Obviously, I had forgotten to lock Carter’s door. What normally happens at nap time is that we set a timer for an hour or so. When Carter hears the timer, regardless of whether or not he has slept, he knows he can leave the room and come downstairs to play. But if he makes noise, or we hear him running around, or he needs to come out of his room for any reason before the timer dings, we start the timer over again from the beginning. He knows the drill, and for the most part it is fairly effective. In this case, the timer had not gone off, so I marched him back up the stairs, pushing in on the lock as I entered the room to make sure I didn’t forget to lock it on my way out.

And then I closed the door behind me.

To be continued… as if it’s even necessary.

(For those of you concerned about fire safety, I promise we just keep the doors locked until we know without a shadow of a doubt that they are truly asleep. This usually requires a physical manifestation such as drooling.)

Ever Have A Dream That Featured 6 Million of Something You Don't Have, But Desperately Need?

This is what our Dream looks like on paper. It came from Kenya by way of diplomatic pouch last week. I thought it an appropriate way for a dream of this magnitude to arrive.

I'm so emotional about finally being able to have a tangible picture of our cooperative vision that it's rendering me completely helpless to write anything even remotely insightful, or witty, or profound. I've tried, really I have. For a couple of hours. But I just can't seem to produce coherent thoughts. All I can think is if I was a desperately struggling, orphaned child left destitute for whatever reason (the list of possibilies in a third-world African country is seemingly endless), and someone told me that I would from this moment onward be living here, I would think the impossible had occurred. That heaven had actually sought out and found me. And then, increduously, I would run all over exploring the place - being first and foremost a kid. But I would stop short when I came to a bed with my name on it. Because I've never had my own bed. If I even had a small foam mattress on the floor, I shared it with several other impoverished children in my same predicament. And if there was no mattress, which is the more likely scenario, I slept right on the cold ground. But here not only do I have my own new bed, I have new clothes, and shoes, and a school uniform, and books, and toys and...I get dinner even? And then breakfast, and lunch, and then dinner again, all in the same day?

I'd worry for a while that it wouldn't last. That eventually someone would tell me that I had to leave. That I would have to go back to a life of destitution and despair. Wondering where my next meal or drink of clean water would come from. Working from sun-up to sun-down every day despite hunger, thirst, and extreme exhaustion. Sleeping at night under a cloak of fear. But in time I would gain confidence and come to know this big stone building as my home. A place built specifically with me in mind. Where I would not only phyiscally grow and mentally thrive, but I would begin to re-experience the joy of childhood. Ultimately coming to understand what it means to be the cherished, beloved child of the King. Dear God, if even for one small child let it be so!

As I write this, I cannot help but humbly praise God that my own three children have lived thus far under the exceedingly generous, gracious, and protective hand of our Lord. They lack for nothing - a state I am alternately proud of and embarassed by. That they are not reliant on so human a couple as Jeff and I (or any member of our small team) to pull off a 6,000,000 Kenyan shilling miracle on their behalf. That is perhaps their greatest blessing of all.

Joyeux Noel!

For all 4 of you that are still rushing out to your mailboxes each day in hopes of finding our usual Christmas card there, I implore you to go back inside and make yourself some warm, soothing eggnog. I had high, high hopes of getting them out this year, but when Jeff got home from Asia last Saturday, it became readily apparent that we were not going to be able to take a decent family picture. By decent I mean one in which he had his eyes open. And considering I can count on at least 66% of our brood to be staring the other way, violently squirming, or grimacing from the sheer pain of being asked to look happy 20,000 times, I think at the very minimum that both adults should have their eyes open. I know. It's a lofty goal. I do wish I could lower my expectations.

Also, there was a teeny, tiny little problem with the cards. I ordered them at the end of November back when I fully believed in my ability to independently move our Annual Holiday Salutation to the Masses all while enduring an extended absence of spouse. My card selection represented that unshakable optimism, hence instead of buying cards that read, "Happy Holidays", or "Season's Greetings" or something reasonable that implies one has at least until January 1st to get them in the mail, I went with a cheery, JOYEUX NOEL! It was proclaimed four times on the inside of the card, so obviously it really wanted the recipients to have a MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS!, as sincerely do we. But alas, Joyeux Noel has come and nearly gone and even if I sent them all out tomorrow no one would receive them by today. It's a pitiful predicament, isn't it? Always practical, Jeff suggested that we just save them to use next year, but not only did I purchase cards clearly intended to arrive before Christmas, they also have 2007 plainly inscribed within. Now that is some smart shopping, if I do say so myself. Prudent procurement if you will.

As an aside, when my sweet husband proposed to me almost 9-years ago, he read Proverbs 31: 10-31 (aka: Hymn to a Good Wife) aloud as part of his, hmmm...wind-up, let's just call it. Suffice it to say, if my inability to deliver on vs. 13's requirement to "shop around" is any indication, the poor guy really got gyped. But I scored, so all is well. Maybe had he sung the hymn...sadly, I guess we'll never know.

I leave you this fine Tuesday evening with a few festive photos that will undoubtedly bore everyone but our childrens' grandparents to the point of...oh, who am I kidding? The entire blogsphere no doubt LOVES to scroll through pictures of the most beautiful, smart, kind, loving children in the world making Christmas cookies. That's why all 14 of you so frequently log in, right?

Griffin is pretty excited about the whole frosting prospect, as you can see.

Carter, like his father, takes a very thorough, methodical approach to cookie decorating. He'd be better at it if his own mother would remember that he's left handed and put the frosting bowl on the other side of the table for him. He's like a lefty we've unintentionally mainstreamed.

Griffin, like myself, is more about efficiency. He just grabs a handful of sprinkles and loads the cookie up.

We've been known to take the two-fisted approach if one hand isn't fast enough.

Whereas Carter's mission is to cover every square milimeter of the cookie so that the yellow frosting is completely void of light. But I believe the payoff for him might be a tad greater.

This is what ecstasy looks like to a 4-year old. And in case you didn't get that...

Now if you will all pardon me while I go find the DustBuster.

High Fashion

She's smiling because she doesn't realize how silly she looks.

It's a Kind of Love That Frequently Requires a Ladder

Say Hello to Larry.

Larry is my Father-in-law. I believe my Mother-in-law would prefer I refer to him as my Father-in-LOVE, but I just can't. get it. out of. my mouth. Without kind of smirking that is. But I do love him, really I do. And I have reason to believe that he loves me in a way that reaches beyond that of my own father, my brothers, and certainly that of my husband.

It's a kind of love that says, "I'd love to hang your Christmas lights, Melanie." And you know I've never heard those words out of Jeff's mouth.

Well, in all honesty, Larry didn't actually say them out loud either, but he got right up on the ladder and therein lies the difference. Also, as you can see here, he looks genuinely happy about it. And that was after he replaced a critical outdoor electrical outlet in order that my high voltage dream might live. Action with a smile. Now that's love. My female readers know what I'm talking about.

This is Griffin. When he wasn't trying to use the drill, he was trying to reorganize all the hooks, and bolts Larry needed to hang my lights. He was helpful in a way only really energetic three-year olds who refused to take an afternoon nap can be. Okay, he wasn't helpful at all, but he was enthusiastic.

Here Griffin is wondering why Babu didn't hang the wreath higher...or where his mother hid the drill.

Here Larry is just being thankful that we didn't buy the McMansion we were considering earlier this year. And contemplating why he didn't just say no to his Daughter-in-Love's ridiculous request for illumination so merry and bright. (Oh, I know. It's because I didn't grow up at your house and you're afraid if you deny me my electrical wishes I'll stop filling my freezer with ice cream when you come over.) I plan to milk that barest hint of uncertainity for the rest of my married life.

This is Griffin. He's scratching himself with a rake. And Carter. He's wearing every piece of headgear he owns at once. Per usual. This picture pretty much sums up my life with the two of them. Thank God for Peyton or I'd probably be scratching myself with a rake too by now.

See how Larry loves me so much that he races to LEAP up on the ladder with his hands full of lights. (It's an action shot, ya'll. That's the only thing my old Canon S30 takes these days.)
And here is his finished product. Finished for today that is. We went on a drive to see lights after dinner and the boys mutually do not feel that we've put up enough. And since they mutually agree on so little these days, I may have to accommodate their wishes for a few more.

But probably not this many more. Although, just out of curiosity, I'd like to know how much ice cream this would cost me.

Larry? Larry? Where did you go, Larry?

Our 1st Annual Day-After-Thanksgiving Event

We opted to stay home for Thanksgiving this year, one of the reasons being that we thought it was time to start some of our own family traditions, and oh baby, did that decision ever pay off today.

Just as an aside, we did the usual turkey blow-out yesterday. I have little hope of ever being able to completely ditch the turkey on Thanksgiving, but the cornbread dressing I did manage to fight off. I am, however, killing the turkey repeat for Christmas. I'm shamelessly stealing another family's tradition and making curry on Christmas. Somehow it just has a better ring to it.

But back to our Spin Around the Speedway. For the past decade or so, Lowes Motor Speedway, which is only about a 15-minute drive from our house, has sponsored a day-after-Thanksgiving fund raiser for their own children's charity. What they do is open up the track to the public and in exchange for a small donation, you get to drive your own personal vehicle 3 laps around the 1.5 mile speedway. I've wanted to do it since I heard about it last year because we do not have a Porshe or a Corvette or a Mustang. We have a Toyota Sienna mini-van and the thought of racing it around a NASCAR speed track sounds to me like a whole lot of silly.

It was a blustery afternoon so we bundled up the kids and loaded them into the moti...only to discover that the battery was dead.

But you will note from this picture that even the reality of having to jump start the van did not diminish Jeff's enthusiam for the fun that lied ahead.

This is our "ticket". You'll also notice that the gas light is on. But the "race" is only 4.5 miles, so we figured we could make it. That's right, our battery is having issues and we are nearly out of gas. Probably getting ready to drive 70 mph around a banked turn is the last place we should be.

But having come this far, we were not going to get out of line now - especially because we were in FIRST place following only the pace car. Obviously, we're going to WIN! You'll note, some of us took care to wear our crash helmets. And our Buzz Lightyear costume.

We were very, very, very, oh so very, very, very, excited. And when we weren't being excited, we were wishing we had race tires on our van like the ones behind Jeff. Or wishing we had a Dodge Viper like the guy in the group in front of ours.

I did pretty well on the straight aways.

But not so well on the banked turns. I get the concept of centripetal force mentally, but it's a completely different story when my mini-van is driving on what feels like 2-wheels on at least a 45 degree angle. All I could think was, "Please Dear GOD, don't let us roll the van with our three kids inside."

But by the third lap, I had developed a renewed appreciation for my 11th grade physics class and was even enjoying the turns myself. And, we didn't run out of gas. The gas light actually went off while we were out there driving laps.

Anyway, it rocked. We are totally going again, and again, and again. This year an event, next year a tradition. You may all consider this your official invitation to join us.

Finally, An Activity They Can All Enjoy

Hi Mom. What took you so long? We've been unloading this cupboard for like, 30 whole seconds.

I think this is the last of them, Carter.

Okay, now everybody play at once. Hey, it's where the Hansons got their start.

McDonald's, We Bid You Adieu

Okay, so. The granite. You will remember that our kitchen previously had a kind of fast food appeal in terms of color scheme. Which was fitting since that is basically what I cook. Nothing really earns you that round of applause at dinner time as when you serve fish sticks and tater tots on the fine china.


A while back Griffin had pushed a kitchen chair into the corner of our klassy mottled green laminate, and with his mighty, 2-year old strength managed to take a big chunk out of it. Additionally, the laminate had some stains and burn marks on it - a few of which were made by us. We have a hard core caffeine habit here and are apparently pretty messy in our haste to inject it in the morning.


For some reason I feel right now as though I have to justify dumping our ugly old laminate. Okay, that's the real reason. We just thought it was ugly. It had some problems, clearly, but it was the ugly factor that drove us to it. But we lived with it for 4-years, so I think that's laudable. Especially considering that we took down the hideous wall-paper almost immediately. This is why (It's a very small picture of the corner of our kitchen, but I believe you will get the drift.)

I think we can all agree that Fast Food Kitchen is better than early 90's Country Kitchen.

So after Jeff and I went through our brief bout with lunacy, we realized there were a lot of things to like about our current house and that we should just fix some of the stuff we don't like...such as the funky green countertops. The following is what has transpired over the last couple of days.

Say Hello to Julio and Jose. They look like they genuinely like working at our crib, don't they?

Until they encountered a minor problem. Yeah, our cheap Taiwanese supplier had cut the backspashes a whole 1/8 of an inch too short. How do you make a gross error like that?

Needless to say, we suffered backsplashless for a few days, but now our granite installation is complete and, as predicted, I indeed feel more like a chef than a short order cook.

One moment while I just turn on the oven so I can put the chicken nuggets rosemary-olive oil foccacia in to bake.

Doesn't my new faucet look fabulous? I wish I could say that I did an extensive amount of research to pick the one that would best suit our current and future needs, but I shamefully admit I was reeled in by Delta's latest ad campaign. I feel compelled to support levity in the world wherever it happens to be. Even if it involves a talking sponge.

(Also, for those of you out there planning a kitchen remodel, www.vidavici.com has really competitive pricing on faucets. By competitive, I mean about 25% less than our friends at the Home Depot. Additionally, it pays to marry a plumber like I did because you can save at least $200 in installation costs. Though for some of you that little tid-bit may be a hair too late.)

And would you take a look at my cavernous new sink?!! I think I spent more time hunting down a decent sink than I spent picking out granite. My one non-negotiable was that it be big enough that I could soak this giant frying pan in it.

(Yes, I realize my disposal is full of yuck. I promise to run it just as soon as I publish this post. And to never take a picture of my full disposal again. Or to at least make sure there is only one meal of grossness sitting in it before I take a picture of it.)

What's that? You'd like to see another picture of my whole kitchen rather than a bunch of pictures of my new fixtures?

If I must.

Old News

I have been so busy lately that I have allowed my poor blawg to languish. But today I plan to pay retribution with one spell binding post after another, because not only is our INTERNET CONNECTION AT WORK DOWN THIS MORNING, even if it comes up no one can call me to tell me to get back to work because I've UNPLUGGED THE PHONE. Wait, it gets better. The little bandits are all off tormenting the seraphs at Wachovia's back-up care site, and my really hot husband is home today. Oh Lover Boy! (Wait, did I just say that?) Sadly, as enticing and irrestible as I am, Julio and Jose are also here because we are having new kitchen countertops put in today. Truth be told, any sort of willy nilly would probably give me performance anxiety, assuming I didn't giggle myself to death for fear of discovery. I'll dedicate an entire post to it (the granite installation), but in the meantime, here is a little of what you've all been missing. I originally thought I would try to be creative and compose a song to encapsulate it all, but I think I've taken one too many sniffs of the epoxy.

We went to the NASCAR speed park a couple weeks after Griffin's birthday to putt-putt golf.

Here is Jeff explaining the finer points of the game which, if I remember correctly, amounted to, "Carter, your ball is green. Griffin, your ball is orange. The end."

Putting is Griffin's forte. He totally got the concept that he was supposed to get the ball in the hole (which is pretty easy when you are teeing off only a foot away from it).

I think Carter missed this shot. He's a sore loser. As a matter of principle.

Overall, I believe Jeff was pleased with their progress. Personally, he double-bogeyed every hole, which explains the big 5 he's standing by. And to think when we met he had a 12 handicap.

In other notable events, I had my pacemaker replaced on October 23rd. I'm on the 8-year plan. We had to call in the grandparent reserves to help see us through.

Griffin and Peyton are not friends, as you can see, but it's a great shot of my mom, don't you think?

And this is a purely gratuitous picture of Peyton. Because I am about to post some Halloween pictures of the boys and I couldn't pull it together enough to find her a costume too. I was busy undergoing potentially life-saving surgery, remember?

Here is Buzz Lightyear getting his suit zipped up.

And Woody getting some help with his boots.

Voila. Carter remains in costume and character even 9-days later.

I think there was probably a better picture of the three of them together, but look! In this one I actually combed Peyton's hair. I'm such a good mom, caring for all the little details and such. She's going to be really proud years down the road when she uncovers all 40 of these 2007 Halloween pictures only to find she is not only sans costume, but her hair was only combed for one of them. This is what the rest of them looked like, poor thing.

Lastly, we bought a new car. New to us, that is.

It looks surprisingly like our old car, doesn't it? But the price was right.

Now if we could just get someone to come clean out our garage so we could get it in there.

See, we really have been busy. And now Jeff and I are off on a romantic excursion in the new car to go look at hardwood. Oh be still my beating heart.