Seahawks to the Superbowl

The Seahawks are going to the Superbowl

.   Now, I admit, as recently as 2 weeks ago I asked, "Who are the Seahawks?"  I'm just not into watching sports.  Especially football.  

Recently this year, I found myself at a local high school football game.  I wasn't there for the football, but to watch the band.  (May I insert a big THANK YOU to my family, Mom, Dad, and brothers, who sat through countless, endless games just to support me.  Whew.)  It was actually pretty fun (did WE act like that as teenagers?), and I may have given the band some tips on "how to annoy the cheerleaders".  

The big shocker, however, is that my husband, sat through that game and told me EXACTLY what call would be made before it was announced.  I was in shock.  How did my science/biology wild life husband KNOW this stuff?   I felt like I was on the arm of a stranger.  Apparently, there is an entire football "sign" language.  Roughing the passer, holding, face masking, off sides....

Twenty years of wedded bliss, and I'm married to a guy who speaks football.  Who knew?  
'til next time,
ei

It's That Time of Year Again

Most of you probably assume I'm referring to the holiday season (of which has started earlier and earlier.  I've been getting Christmas Sale e-mails since Summer.  I simply cannot get in the mood while sitting by the lake in 90 degree weather.)  Back to topic.  The time of year I refer to is when the kids must exchange shorts for pants, and wear real shoes.  With socks.  Britt, the youngest, is certainly not our only nudest, but he has a specific sensory aversion to clothing.

Last year the school called me at least 4 times, asking each time, "Are you aware that your child is wearing shorts?" I'm assuming they were concerned because it was cold, and not because he paired his shorts with snow boots. Britt wore last years brand new school jeans for only one week before I took him to target and had him try on 50 pairs of pants to find the least offensive.  He finally settled on 5 pairs of the same blue fuzzy fleece pants.  I know, not entirely stylish, but it sure beat 45 minutes of crying each day.  Pants aren't the only issue.  Socks, shoes and gloves are torture. I manage to offset this by buying his pants and shoes about 2 sizes too big.  Pair this with what appears to be the same fleecy pants every day, and you can see why teachers would wonder.

Britt and Sniff

This year, (see my "organization" post, ha!) I had him try on the jeans BEFORE I bought them.  What I hadn't factored in was that boys would rather do anything than shop, which means they will say anything to be gone from the store. Jeans tried on and deemed tolerable then, are now irksome and unwearable.  I did get a laugh when Britt declared that he could fit Sniff in his pocket.  Apparently, my method of just buying the jeans big will no longer work.



Sigh. Don't get me started on snowboots, gloves and hats.  First, we have to find them, keep them hung up to dry, then force the poor child to wear them.  

ORGANIZATION

I've been wanting to update this blog, and it seems I never feel I should because there is always something urgent to do.  Now,  while I've never been a super organized person, I've always managed to be on time (usually) and ready for the things in life.  I've just realized that I'm not just organizing just me anymore.  I need to be organized times 5 now, covering the Fairly Swell Husband (FSW) and children.    Thus my mission for this year:  Teaching the art of organization, and a new  school year seems the perfect time to incorporate new habits. 

How's it working out for us?

Well, we purchased and sorted school supplies for the littles, but in line with my current mission, and by learning the hard way, I knew to wait for the older boys until AFTER we had their schedules and need lists. One English teacher may want a spiral notebook, while another insists on a composite notebook.   

Supply drop off went like this:  I gave "time to go" warning an hour ahead of time, then 15 min.  We piled into the car right on time, only to discover that Britt had forgotten his backpack.  We go back.  He can't find it.  It seems that on the one hour warning, he'd gotten his backpack down, then distractedly taken it off somewhere.  Sigh, and school hasn't even begun.

And for the big boys?  Next year I will know that the schedules you pick up before school aren't OFFICIAL schedules.  Official schedules are blue and handed out the first day of school.  And they may be completely different.  

Is this an ominous foreshadowing of our Future Organization Efforts? (FOE)

Let us hope not. My current favorite quote, from Yoda ~ "Do or do not.  There is no try."  

Besides, I can't help feel bouyed up by the fact that my blog background doesn't even need to be changed.  I have chosen the best time to restart blogging.  How organized of me. 

Let's just do this organization thing, shall we?

'Til next time.  

P.S.  Maybe I'll be organized enough by next week to get a first day of school photo. 

Happy Thanksgiving

So far we've started our Thanksgiving break off right.  First we (in my opinion) had the cutest "disguised" turkey of all the class, and this is one turkey that can be assured he won't be recognized.  Pucky, the turkey, is, of course, disguised as a hockey player. 

Speaking of hockey, Caden had his first game tonight, in which his team won, 6-0.   The other team was the new all girls league, and this was the first year for many if not all the girls, so they did a good job.  At this age there is none of the disgusting and abhorrent fighting that happens in hockey, but we had to laugh because on their first game Caden was the first and only to get put into the penalty box.   A girl crashed into him, and they both went flying, which of coarse is all the boys fault, right? 

Caden, in the penalty box, embarrassed by his family waving!



Caden, number 50.

Tomorrow we are heading off over the passes to enjoy a (mostly) Gluten free Thanksgiving with our friends from Black Diamond.  Hope you all enjoy tomorrow!!

'til next post, ei



Laundry Room Shelves: and everything else you wanted to know but were afraid to ask.

This is for you, Di.  Really, quite boring, and better left BEHIND the curtain.

I figured you'd also want to see the "sorting" closet, which works much like the sorting hat in Harry Potter.  You can see "unmentionables" go to the far left.  This helps preserve the delicate sensibilities of the adolescent boys in my house.



The right side of the laundry closet.  The labels ensure that even the youngest Dickey can sort laundry. The lovely sliding doors hide all this. 



Back door, laundry nook on the right, sorting closet on the left, and coat snow suit pegs on the right.

At our other house I had a laundry room, which sounds wonderful, and oh so practical.  However, I found that I'd throw all the laundry in the room, shut the door... and forget it.  I was at first disappointed in this set up, but have quickly realized that laundry never sits on the floor here because we'd have to walk over/around it, and since it is always sorted it is easy to grab a load and do it. 

'til next post, ei



How long have you lived here?

 I know, I know, I haven't blogged in ages, and I'm pretty sure you aren't interested in my Laundry room.  Especially since my last blog featured laundry.  Especially if you are a Grandma. 

How long have you lived here?  We get this question a lot.  It has gotten quite old, first the question, then the raised eyebrows and looks of surprise.  It isn't that I'm just not a home decorator.  It is a deeper problem.  I've labeled us "extreme minimalists". It isn't that we don't have stuff.  We do.  It's just that unless it has a function, we don't buy it.  Even functional things are at risk for being delegated to the good will box, or thrown out.  My husband, being more severely affected, thinks that if you haven't touched it in 6 months out it goes.  

We have window covering only on the windows needing privacy, three mirrors that were a gift after we built our last home, and a poster and a plant, also gifts. So I can't blame people for wondering just when we moved. 

For starters I'll make some curtains, and here are the first, to cover the laundry room shelf.  I assure you, that behind these curtains are neatly shelved items: laundry soap, emergency flashlights, worm medicine for the cats, and cleaning cloths.  You know, functional things. 

'til next post, ei

Domestic Godess fabric up close.

Love Your Laundry

Recently while waiting for a dr. atp, my eye was caught by this title. "Love Your Laundry". Now, I must confess that had there been a people magazine available I wouldn't have even seen this article because I wouldn't have been digging through piles of "Forbes" and "Golf Digest". For that matter, what on earth were those magazines doing in a women's clinic waiting room?

If you know me, you know that laundry and I don't see eye to eye. In fact we are not even on speaking terms. Perfectly removable stains refuse to come out for me. I once sent my son off to Tennessee with a friend, and his light blue polo shirt came back stain free. Now, I knew that stain was there, small and light enough to not ruin the shirt, but still irksome. I had used every force in the book to get it out, until exasperated I gave up. This stain had been through the dryer several times. I would have bet my life that this stain would never come out. Ever. Yet, my friend manages to do it on vacation. She claims to have used conventional methods, spray etc., but I am convinced some kind of voodoo was involved.

This week laundry has been especially vexing. I washed our light colored Sunday best (some of it worn only once), along with a dark teal crayon that promptly melted in the dryer... all over the clothes. My husband also has a chronic complaint of a "wet dog" smell coming from his just washed shirts if they get wet. The white shirt I am wearing to the doctor's (for the first time since I somehow forgot that I vowed to never buy another white shirt) already has two tiny spots on it. In FIVE MINUTES.

My daughter has inherited my propensity to get blobs of stuff on my clothes. Doing laundry last week, I showed her two offending shirts. "Rheanna, you MUST be more careful!" I lectured. "You know that Mommy doesn't have Voodoo powers like Alicia." The next shirt I pull up is...mine, and in every bit as disgraceful shape as hers. Sigh.

So you see how my hopes shot up when I read that title! Perhaps I could love my laundry! Learn the secrets! Become a "laundry whisperer".

I would love to share those secrets, but sadly, even though I canvassed that magazine TWICE, I never found the article. I guess my laundry and I will continue to be enemies.

'til next post,
ei