The Wills Family

She’s got the world at her feet.

This post should be read by mothers raising their first child,
it truly could save you some suffering in the long run!

I have to laugh whenever I see people boasting the talents of their toddlers. I am not laughing AT you my mother friends, just WITH you. (unless you aren’t laughing, and then I guess I am laughing at you) I so used to be the same way. I used to love to compare my little girl with other children. “Oh, yeah, she knows all of her alphabet, she can count to 100, and she has every Book of Mormon prophet memorized” and this was at the age of 2. (and this was the truth)

But, several years ago that child comparison game got very old for me. How did I get past it, you ask? I just birthed a few more kids that weren’t labeled as “prodigy material”. It only took me two seconds to realize that just because one child learns faster, it didn’t make her entitled to better success. My other two children are also very bright in their own ways, and they have every bit of a chance at success than Abigail does. (even if Bella is almost 5 and still doesn’t know how to write every letter)

I used to drill Abigail over and over again, and she loved it. My other two children, don’t love being drilled. And, I am happy to report that I have gladly accepted that they will learn most everything they need to know in school; I do not need to send them into school ready to pass kindergarten. (I did that with Abigail and all it did was lead to her own boredom)

Abigail could read at 3. She could do math by 4. She is extremely smart. In soccer, she can play a mean forward, but because she is even smart on the soccer field, she is put at midfield (she is smart enough to play offense and defense).

Abigail was labeled as “smart”, but what did that do for her? It hasn’t boosted her drive, it has only made it tainted. I recently read an article in the Reader’s Digest that says that a parent should not praise a child’s intellect, but their effort. We found this out the hard way.

Here’s the quote from the article, Inspire Your Kids:

Social psychologist Carol Dweck, PhD, tested the effects of overpraise on 400
fifth graders while she was at Columbia University. She found that kids praised
for “trying hard” did better on tests and were more likely to take on difficult
assignments than those lauded for being “smart.”

So, now that Abigail is 8, and still ingenious, what do we focus on? We focus on her motivation. We focus on the fact that just because she is smart it doesn’t mean that she can sluff.

It is a fine act of balancing. We want her to pave her own way, and not do things because we want it, but because she wants it. When I recently read this article I felt really good about not pushing her too hard. I knew there had to be a reason (besides our own laziness) that we shouldn’t have to stay on her case 24-7.

Little did I know, that Abigail has a great effect on other children. Do you remember Doogie Howser,? Well today, psychologists are calling The Doogie Howser effect good for competition. They say that because of overachieving children, normally developed children try harder. No wonder that Sophia and Bella are more driven, they are trying to keep up with Abigail. Abigail better watch it, or they will just pass her right by.

Consequently, I knew there was a reason that I recently have been learning not to compare myself to others. I just figured out that everyone has the world at their feet and everyone has a different role to play in that world. I don’t need to push myself because Doogie is a child doctor, I need to push myself towards the goals that I set for myself. Who cares what Doogie is doing?

And it is precisely for this new found knowledge: that of the Doogie Howser effect, that I am reminded again that LG is a genius and I am just one of those hamsters in the wheel trying to catch up. LG never pushes himself because someone else seems to be doing better than him. He truly doesn’t even pay attention to what other people are doing. When I used to ask him, “how did everyone else do on the final?” He would say, “I don’t know Alice, I really don’t care.” And he was serious…do you see how that can make a person emotionally healthier?

Why doesn’t he care, you ask, because he has always known that he is a genius. He was told so since he was a child. He was an oldest. And, as the oldest, what do you think that he is always working on? You got it, his motivation! (You see, this is just one big round cycle) Me, on the other hand, I was a middle child. I have always known that my intellect is average and that if I wanted to outdo others, (especially those people called my smart older siblings) it would come by pure effort alone. And, I am proud to say that I took that challenge head on.

Until recently, that is, when I learned that when you jump off the wheel, it means that you get automatic “smarter” status. Guess what, in the past few months, my IQ just jumped a good 20 points or so. Now, that’s what I call having the world at your feet.

Are ya’ a Yankee?

My parents always taught us to try and understand and love all people. This makes it a little easier to fit in where ever I go. I believe that my California born and raised parents did an amazing job of preparing me to survive in the South.

I got a good sense of their amazing child rearing skills this Sunday. I have had almost no prouder moment than when Phyllis, my lovely favorite lady, who is black, was introduced to my brother before Sacrament Meeting. She said, “Oh, boy, I just love your sister, she is like my twin!” I didn’t think that was possible! All three of us got a good chuckle thinking of the literal fact instead of the intended meaning.

My brother who was visiting from Utah chose to sit down next to Phyllis, who is black. I later chuckled to myself as I heard David lean over to Phyllis during the Sunday School lesson and exclaim, “Ain’t that the truth?” Phyllis then replied with, “Amen Brother”.

Just read these you oughta know facts if you plan to move to the South and thought I would share:

The North has coffee houses, The South has Waffle Houses.
The North has dating services, The South has family reunions.
The North has switchblade knives, The South has Lee Press-on Nails.
The North has double last names, The South has double first names.
The North has Ted Kennedy, The South has Jesse Helms.
The North has Indy car races, The South has stock car races.
The North has Cream of Wheat, The South has grits.
The North has green salads, The South has collard greens.
The North has lobsters, The South has crawdads.
The North has the rust belt, The South has the Bible Belt.

Remember, “y’all” is singular, “all y’all” is plural, and “all y’all’s is plural possessive.

Get used to hearing “You ain’t from round here, are ya?”

If you hear a Southerner exclaim, “Hey, y’all, watch this,” you should stay out of the way. These are likely to be the last words he’ll ever say.

If there is the prediction of the slightest chance of even the smallest accumulation of snow, your presence is required at the local grocery store. It doesn’t matter whether you need anything or not. You just have to go there.

If you do settle in the South and bear children, don’t think they will be accepted as Southerners.
After all, if the cat had kittens in the oven, we wouldn’t call ‘em biscuits.

And you may as well reckon that your life will turn into a country music song ‘fore you know it.

Geocaching

My brother David was just visiting on a business trip and he introduced us to the world of geocaching. We had so much fun! I can’t believe I didn’t take my camera…next time. I just love you David, and I really am sorry for all the torturing as a child. (I will blog about the “shut up” game another day)

Yeah, even though I am in my 30’s and David is closely approaching the BIG 3-0 also, he still had to act brotherish, in a torturous kind of way today. He waited until after he had me hooked on the geocache find to tell me, “Alice, this may not be the best hobby for you.”

I have no idea what he is talking about….just because I would search for hours, not share the GPS with my children, ruin my new tennis shoes in the mud quicksand, scale hotel walls, and let my chicken burn in the oven to find that darn canister, he thinks I am a little overzealous…oh, the nerve! He knows how obsessive compulsive I am and he didn’t even give me a disclaimer. He will never admit it, but secretly he was trying to addict me….I am sure it makes him feel better to have another adult join his madness.

And, so what if I took one more stop later in the day when no one was looking…still haven’t found it, but no one else has in the past year either. They don’t even know if it is still there, but gosh danget, I will succeed…eventually. And, yes, this will be such a GREAT hobby…what else would lure me away from blogging!

Domonick’s back!

I just read this story from my Wierd news RSS feed. It talks about a cat who bolted away from her owner on a trip to the vet 3 years ago. When the found cat’s microchip was scanned he was taken back home.

LG refused to pay for a microchip for our cat. I understand his cheapness, but I wonder if he was changing his mind during several of my sleepless nights that we couldn’t find Kitty Bear. One night when she was a baby I stayed up all night and cried when she wandered away.

I went all around town putting up lost pet signs the next day just to have my neighbor across the street come rushing over to tell me that she saw the sign down the street and her daughter had taken the cat in for the night. (My neighbor is a HUGE animal lover – I could have kissed her)Kitty Bear had been meowing at the wrong door. Yes, she is smarter than that now. The only time she gets lost now is when she slips into someone’s dresser drawer for a good warm night’s sleep. But, man I was a wreck. LG had the nerve to say, “Man, Alice, what will you act like if anything ever happens to one of our kids.”

But, between this story, my previous post, and thinking about Kitty Bear I have been reminded of our cats growing up. I cannot tell you how many cats we had growing up…..at least 20. The funny part: we always thought it was the same cat coming back.

We would always exclaim, “Mom, mom, Domonick’s back.”

My brother had named our first black cat with one little white spot under his chin, Domonick (after Dominoes). Of course the cats would disappear from time to time. (Wouldn’t you want to escape from a family with 7 children?)

We were always a little sad whenever our cats would go missing, but to no avail. it would turn out o.k. when another black cat would show up…I guess black cats with little white spots must be quite common because I am sure that Domonick could never survive the surrounding wild infested with coyotes. Or did he?

Grandma Dorothy

When I recently wrote a story about my mom, I spoke of how my mom learned to love people from her mom. I absolutely adored my really amazing grandma, Dorothy. I am blessed to come from a family of loving and caring people. Ever since my mom’s mom died in 2006, I have wanted to write about Grandma Dorothy. Shannon’s post about her Grandpa Charlie inspired me even further.

I will try and make this short because my post about my mom was SOOOOO long. As long as I preface this story with the idea that sometimes life’s greatest lessons are taught in an instant I will not feel like I have chided Grandma by making this shorter.

Grandma and all of her family were very poor. Grandma came from a different generation however and because she was poor, she felt an even greater need to keep what she did have spotless, tidy and ironed. Grandma was meticulous in the way she lived her life. She was truly beautiful inside and out. I only wish that I actually owned a picture of her younger. She was a knockout.

So, grandma never had much of anything her entire life. My mother was grandma’s oldest child. When my mom and her sister started working and making their own money, they had a grand idea. They would treat grandma to a day on the town and buy her a nice coat at a good department store. My mom and her sister were so excited to give grandma this treat.

So, it was a huge dissapointment to my mom and her sister when they went to the department store and were treated very rudly by a flippant saleswoman. The woman seemed so snotty and was so rude to my grandmother that my mom and aunt dragged her out of the store swearing that they would never shop there again.

When they got out to the street, grandma asked Mom and Aunt Shirley if they would take her to the five and dime store. Grandma went into the store and bought a nice scarf with a little box and ribbon. She got out of the store and wrapped it up and told Mom and Aunt Shirley to follow her. To the chagrin of mom and her sister, Grandma marched right back into the department store. Grandma was focused on her one task: to find the sales clerk that had treated her so badly. She walked right up to her and handed her the present. Grandma said, “Sweety, I thought that you must really be having a bad day, and so I got you something. It isn’t much, but I hope it will make you smile.”

The clerk looked absolutely astonished and ashamed. Tears filled her eyes as she opened the scarf. Mom and Aunt Shirley were looking on still feeling like Grandma was way too nice. The clerk cleared her throat and choked out the words, “I am so sorry for the way I acted to you. My husband died last week and I just haven’t been myself.”

Of course Grandma wrapped her arms around her and then proceeded to give her a pep talk.

And whenever I get down, all I have to do is think about my Grandma and the endless amount of pep talks she has also given to me in word and letter. Grandma was the most amazing letter writer. Grandma always made me feel like I could do anything. I hope that I can learn to kill them everyone with kindness, just like her.

Gangbangers

The kids and I are all home from church today because Bella has been sick. It is Sunday, the day I try to rest and think about spiritual things, so I thought that maybe I should blog about something a little more serious. Gangbanging seemed serious enough.

I have been reading this book called “Convicted in the Womb” by Carl Upchurch. I borrowed it from a friend of mine who is getting his Masters to be a Therapist. It is a good book that allows you to get into the head of a child who later finds acceptance by joining a gang.

Because I try to be a good Mormon girl, I really cannot recommend this book. The swear words just keep on coming and some of these words are bad enough that I have never even heard them before in my entire life. And because I am a little bit rebellious I just keep reading, but at least I simultaneously pray that I won’t advert to pulling out the curse words the next time I get angry. I am not reading the book for the curse words, I am reading it because I want to understand the human race better. It is so unfortunate that there are actually children in this world who grow up in an environment like Carl Upchurch’s. It is just so foreign to me.

For example, he had one pee stained mattress on the floor that was his bed. The mattress was located on the underside of a leaky sink. The family’s rat trap would need to be emptied almost every morning. The cockroaches were so bad that he slept with the blanket over his head so that they couldn’t climb all over him at night. His grandma was a prostitute and his mom did nothing but collect welfare checks. Carl never got any affection or affirmations or anything that could be construed as positive. He never was taught to shower or brush his teeth and never had clean clothes. To my dismay this was in Philadelphia the 60’s. He went without food a lot and it was his own responsibility to get up for school and out the door every day, from the time he was in kindergarten.

I have been living in a state of shock for the past 24 hours while I have been reading this book. I know that there are kids out there that live like this: a lot of them went to Abigail’s old school, but I just didn’t realize that it was this bad. It makes me want to go and round them all up and bring them home for some good old fashioned love and concern.

So, it now makes sense to me, while it never has before, why these kids grow up to be gangbangers. Being in a gang is the only way they find belonging. While our children grow up with that at home, the only way for these gangbangers to have a similar experience is to join a gang. So, sometimes you have to get through all the cursing to learn something new. Who of us does not want a solution for gangs? I am here to tell you that the solution is so simple: it is pretty much the solution to every societal woe: the solution is simply love.

Well, the reason for this entry, is to write a story about my mother. As you all know, my parents are both pretty crazy. It wasn’t hard for them to produce a child like me. I got a little of each of their nuances which are slightly crazy and a little crazier. I love my parents dearly and after reading a book like this, I am more grateful for the way that they raised seven children in a loving and flourishing environment.

So, my mom took this loving and flourishing environment with her everywhere. She learned to love from her mother; it was in her DNA to show love and concern for everyone she met, especially children. I cannot tell you how many times, I would come home to find my mom sitting at our kitchen table discussing something heavy with one of the friends of mine or my siblings. I never understood why our friends liked to talk to my mom so much. As a teenager, I did everything I could to avoid her. But again, reading has given me new understanding. These friends felt the unconditional love of my mother, some of which may not have felt it at home.

So, here is the funny part of the story (I bet you were getting worried that you wouldn’t be getting a chuckle today, huh?)

While we were growing up, we had a few favorite places to take family outings. One was the beach, one was Thrifty’s to get ice-cream, one was the Oceanside pier to get XL jawbreakers. Others were the movies, Sav-on to get some candy, and the mall to get a Shaved Ice. (Funny that all of these places involve food) And lastly but not least by any means was Show Biz. Show Biz was the original Chuck E Cheese. All of ShowBiz’s have been converted to Chuck E Cheeses, including the one from our neighboring town Oceanside, CA.

My mom and dad would take us to Show Biz a few times a year and it was a huge treat. I am sure that my mom had to convince my dad to spend the money. Buying pizza and tokens for seven kids is not a small feat. I mean most people only spend that kind of money when one of their 2.5 children have a birthday party and invite all their friends.

So, this one Saturday, we had all had our fun at Show Biz. I am sure we had been there for a good couple of hours before we headed out to the station wagon to go back home. What a surprise that we exited into the middle of an ensuing gang fight. Now, you have to know my parents to know how unfortunate to the fight was the arrival of my parents. My dad was and is a big tough former Highway Patrolmen and my mom is an unlicensed and unofficial social worker. (She probably helped more kids in her lifetime than any social worker could imagine). My mom also has been known to have a mouth like mine. One day she almost got my dad into a fight with a Hells Angel at the 25cent hamburger joint (but that is another story)

So, what happened from this point on is not only the funny story but an inspiration to mankind. Mind you, all seven kids are lined up like ducks in a row behind my parents. My brother Erick was approximately the same age as these teenage boys and he was staring on up front with mom and dad. My mom says to the gangbangers, “Boys, what do you think that you are doing? This is no way to solve anything. Don’t you know that people care about you? We don’t want to see you killing each other.” My dad stood next to his wife in words and stature. He didn’t say anything, but his mere presence was enough.

One of the gangbangers had shouted out, “Hey (probably some cuss word), mind your own business.” The details are shody here, but I am certain this is approximately accurate to the actual story. My dad’s glare was enough to shut the gangbanger up. My mom continued on as her initial speech didn’t seem to have enough impact. My mom and dad were not about to walk away and let some kids kill each other. And remember this was in the 80’s before the cell phone was invented, so there was no, “Hurry call 911.” The following words came naturally from my mother’s mouth, “Boys, this is nonsense. My husband and I love children too much to let any one of you get hurt today. Now c’mon inside and my husband will buy you all some pizza.”

It was as if a bomb had been dropped. I can still remember the shock so apparent on the faces of these hardened criminals. A stranger was going to buy them ALL pizza. Both gangs looked back and forth from their homeboys to their blood sworn enemies. The glances were asking each other, “What do we do now?” There was no need for them to discuss because my parents didn’t give them any time.

My mom went and wrapped her arm around the leader of one side and my dad walked over to the other. They led the leaders into Show Biz and there was no other choice for the homeboys than to follow. We little Wills children brought up the rear. What a delight it was to see my mom take all the gangsters into the Show Room and find them each a seat, while my dad went and doubled his money output for the day by ordering 12 more pizzas.

It didn’t stop there. My mom said, “Rick, get these boys some tokens. They fight because they don’t have anything better to do.” She made sure she said that loud enough for them all to hear.
Dad bought them each a generous amount of tokens, (which after clarifying with my mom and dad, was only really 4 tokens each -all they could afford-, but hey, that was still another 20 bucks they didn’t really have) hoping that if he and mom could keep them inside long enough having a good time, then maybe the fight would be cancelled all together. We all exited feeling like the heroes who had saved the day.

The discussion in the car on the way home went something like this. Mom to Dad, “Do you think that they will still have a fight, should we call the police?” Dad said, “I can’t believe you Sharon. You are one crazy woman.” Mom to Dad ,”One crazy woman that you love. And, one crazy woman that may have just saved a life.” Mom to kids,”Remember this kids, all people have a part of them that just wants to be loved. They act badly because they haven’t been loved.”

Yep, that’s my mom and dad. As a couple, they could do anything, including stomping out gang activity from the world as I knew it.

And in the words of John Lennon:

All you need is love. All you need is love. All you need is love, love,
love is all you need.

Conversation Pieces

LeGrand has repeatedly warned me that blogging about “the bedroom” is off limits and so I hope the following two funny conversations don’t cross the limits. If you are the kind of person who is afraid that you may not want to read further, please stop here. I don’t want to embarrass you or me. If you are even just 1% like me then I am sure I just peaked your curiosity and I know you will have to keep reading, even if you don’t know if you want to. If that is the case, I don’t mind if I embarrass you a little, just don’t tell me if I’ve offended you. I offend so many people in my life, and I just don’t need one more. Consider yourself warned.

LeGrand and I have been trying to get pregnant for 8 months now with no luck. We’ve never really had to work at it before and so we have gotten a little worried. As we were talking for the two minutes that we actually saw each other last night, LeGrand felt it necessary to share with me the infomercial that he had heard on the radio. I vaguely remember, as I was half asleep, but the commercial mentioned that there is a link to an enlarged prostate and fertilization. So, my memory was jogged about another short conversation that had occurred that I meant to blog about: (for your reading pleasure, here it is)

So, we were at LeGrand’s parents for Christmas and an interesting conversation took place that I thought was worth sharing. LeGrand’s little brother Logan started commenting that he needed to go and relieve his bladder in the bathroom. This small statement blew up into a huge thing. Jordan, the middle brother, starts telling Logan that he shouldn’t hold it for so long. “It’s not healthy.” Logan then says, “Yeah, when I hold it too long it almost starts to hurt.” So, this conversation is going on and on and it is almost making me uncomfortable re-sharing it here. (At the time it didn’t seem to be such a big deal) During the whole conversation, where even Faye and I added a few suggestions, LeGrand, the oldest brother, was sitting across the room at his laptop, totally oblivious. All of the sudden, LeGrand looks up and loudly exclaims, “Oh yeah, well I have an enlarged prostate.” What in the world? If you aren’t already laughing, then you have to imagine the look on the face of my usually quiet and subdued husband. The look was as if to say, “So, top that, you wimpy bladder brothers!” LeGrand swears that he was trying to warn Logan that he may have the beginning of prostrate problems, but I think he was just bragging.

And another funny conversation that is totally not related yet is in a round about way. (has to do with male body parts – again stop reading now if you are easily offended) This is a conversation that happened between my brothers and sisters and I about a year and half ago. I have wanted to share it for a long time ago but have never felt appropriate. (I am going to now lose the two new readers that I gained this week, but hey, this blog is for me anyway and I like writing about funny things)

We were at my sister Sarah’s house. She lives in Lincoln, CA, and her house became the gathering place when my Grandma Dorothy died. The funeral was in close by Sacramento. All seven of us siblings were together for the first time in 6 years. So, where did the conversation head? – The natural place of course, what name were we each teaching our own children for the male body part. I have all daughters and so of course I wasn’t as involved here. My brothers, who all have sons were really getting animated. The following names were mentioned: Pe Pe, We We, Tinkles, Wa Wa, and on and on. Who knew there were so many choices? I had put my two cents in towards the beginning of the conversation, “We just teach the girls the correct scientific terminology like the parenting books tell us to….penis is the only word we use.” You should have heard the roars of disapproval from the peanut gallery. This is what really got the conversation going.

Seriously, I didn’t know when it would ever end. We were talking about his for about ten minutes, and the brothers started making up new names that would be good to use. I couldn’t stand it another minute. How could I possibly stop the conversation? Like a pro, if you ask me, “At our house we just call it King Kong.” (LeGrand is going to kill me because it really isn’t true) Yes, I really hope that you are laughing. But, if you are offended or not, I have to say that it’s o.k. because at the time, my plan worked like a charm. Everyone laughed so hard that we finally had a lull long enough in the conversation to change the subject.

My Christmas Ornaments

I have 3 sisters. For the past 7 years we have all been exchanging Christmas ornaments every year. It has been a great way to combine traditions, family and the wifely duty of decorating. It has also been a great way for my sisters to help me with my total hatred for Christmas tree decorating.

This entry will not be funny because I am tired and must retire shortly. I just wanted to post up these pictures and show the variety of ornaments that are on my tree. Forget these people that make them all match. That is serisouly not fun. I will add a little info about each ornament later….too tired. For now, just think of this as my way of making my Christmas decorating pain worth the trouble. You now have all kinds of ideas for different kinds of ornaments you can make.

Skipping Christmas

Call me Scrooge, but I hate putting up the Christmas tree. Yes, of course, I am always happy when it is done and we are greeted by twinking lights in our living room for a whole month! (two, if I never get around to taking it down in January) But, c’mon what sadistic Martha Stewart came up with the tradition of putting away every knick knack in your house just to unload 6 huge boxes of junk. Is this really a necessary part of enjoying the holidays?

One of these days I will get the courage up to skip Christmas as I read about in John Grisham’s book.

Here is a picture of LG enjoying his Thanksgiving holiday. I am not trying to make him feel bad; I really am glad that he was enjoying some down time.

But, shouldn’t we all be able to enjoy our holidays, regardless of our gender?

We need an ACLU Christmas. We need to keep all of our National Holidays, yet, the week after we celebrate, we should have the ACLU version where the men do all the work that the women usually handle and the women act like the men (ie. sitting on the couch reading a book, playing football with our friends, watching sports on TV)

Think about it. Who does the work? We’ll start with Easter for the pure delight of making a point. Who buys the candy, who shops for those cute Easter outfits? Who makes sure that they get up at the crack of dawn to stage the fact that the Easter Bunny has visited (Abigail does read my blog now and so I have to be careful what I say here – I know she doesn’t believe in the Easter Bunny any more)

Next holiday – July 4th – Who buys and prepares the food and plans the outing? Really, all the men have to do is set off the fireworks..and is that really work?

Halloween – Who buys the candy, who tries to keep everyone from consuming the candy when you bought it the week earlier? Who makes the costumes? Who runs around like a mad woman on 10/31 making sure that all the preparations are accomplished for trick or treating, including the dinner, and making sure that you can somewhat tell what the kids are dressed up as, even under their coats?

Thanksgiving – who combs all the adds looking for the cheapest turkey? Who bakes the pies and the rolls and the, do you really want me to finish the food list? Who has to clean the house like a turkey with her head cut off to accomidate all the company? And, who is that actually sets that darn table? If all of that isn’t enough. Now, in American culture, we are expected to get up at the crack of dawn the day after Thanksgiving to make sure we get the best deals for the next holiday coming up.

and Christmas … I don’t think I have to explain the thought process.

I think I would really be willing to give up the two Woman holidays of the year (Valentine’s and Mother’s Day) to eliminate all the other holiday work throughout the year.

I know, I know, I am a whiner. It’s all about the memories we are making. I can’t help it that I prefer to make memories without working myself like a horse.

Not that you care, but I really wanted to add a picture of me in here of decorating the tree last night. Guess why I didn’t? I spared you the trauma of staring at my big fat bum. Every picture that was taken I was leaning over and picking something up, moving furniture, or plugging something in. Yep, you got it….working.

And were you wondering what LG was doing through all of the Christmas festivities – you got it – not working – unless you consider taking my picture work – which come to think of it – maybe he was working – staring at my bum really can’t be considered enjoyable. HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!

Oh, and I just added the bonus picture of Kitty Bear. I think she may feel like I do about this whole tree nonsense. Check her out; she’s staring it down.

Read the Box

Here are some pictures of the Fruity Pebbles that the kids left behind on the carpet after Saturday morning cartoons. For those of you that are unschooled in the fine art of cereal, Fruity Pebbles are some of the smallest pieces of cereal that one can buy. For that reason, I guess I can’t be too angry that the girls spilled a few. Besides, all it takes is a vacuum to clean this one up. That is nothing compared to a lot of the other things that I clean up around here (like 1 cup of hot cocoa that toppled all over my pile of clean dishes this morning – I have a hard time with my coordination early in the morning)

So, do you read the box of cereal while eating in the morning? I used to, but rarely take the time anymore. This probably has to do with the fact that I rarely eat cereal, much less the stuff that actually has interesting packaging. What a sad part of growing older: we have to pay more attention to the Nutrition Guide than the free crossword puzzle, not to mention the good toy you sometimes find inside the box. Have you noticed that they have a lot fewer toys in cereal boxes than they used to?

I made a new blogging friend, thanks to LG’s cousin Missy. Her last post talked about only having shredded wheat cereal while she was growing up. It made me laugh. I could totally relate. I grew up, like my new friend, poor. We would occasionally get the good cereal, but mostly we just had the yucky stuff too. You know: Cheerios, shredded wheat, and the part that I thought was so funny: puffed wheat. Who eats that stuff? You can’t even buy it in the box. You have to purchase puffed wheat in all its glory – packaged in one of those budget saving bags.

I commented on my friends blog that I really thought it was awesome when my mom occasionally upgraded to the Sugar Coated Puffed Wheat. I guess that my past cereal experience explains my need to keep good and tasty cereals in my cupboard. Seriously, I have at least 10 kinds of cereal at all times. I really need cereal therapy. I remember being horrified when some family told me that every Christmas the mother let her kids pick out their favorite sugar cereal. C’mon, do you really think a child can make their favorite cereal last for a whole year. At my house growing up my brothers would have eaten it all before I ever got back for my second bowl. I guess we have Christmas here every Saturday. Saturdays were made for sugar cereal, don’t you think?

I love to feed my kids cereal. One of the only things I enjoy about LG being out of town is that I don’t have to cook. If he is gone for a week at a time, you bet your bottom dollar that we will be eating cereal at least 5 times, 2 of those being as a replacement for dinner.

So what am I trying to do with this entry? I am not totally sure. I am mostly just rambling and I am sure that this won’t make you laugh. But maybe if you slow down some Saturday and take some time to have some sugar cereal and read the box, that might make you laugh. Especially if you do it in your underwear like my brother David always did when we were growing up. That’s no joke. Every Saturday, I would wake up to David sitting two feet from the TV, wearing underwear only, wrapped in a blanket, with a gallon of milk, a box of cereal and the biggest bowl and spoon he could find. I guess he read the box during the commercials.