Thursday, February 28, 2008

This is only a test...

I know I haven't been posting much lately, but what can I say? Maybe my kids have just been perfect little angels, leaving me no material to add to the blog. That, or I'm so busy with the 4 kids that I can't find time for much of anything. I'm thinking it's the latter. Yesterday was an interesting day, however, and I had an experience that I found to be "blogworthy".
Last week I had an appointment with my cardiologist (for those of you who know me, this is just routine maintenance, not really much to get all worked up about) because she wanted to see how everything looked post baby. No surprise, she wasn't able to see everything she wanted/needed to see on the echo screen since my heart is so dyscombobulated, flipped, twisted, and to put it simply, messed up. I went home last Tuesday wearing yet another 24 hour monitor (which I'm 99% sure the tech put on backwards, in the first place, but don't even get me started on that...) and looking forward (ugh) to a phone call to set up an MRI. Well, yesterday was the day. I had my first (at least that I or my mom could remember...) cardiac MRI. We woke up (We, including Aubrey) bright and early to be ready to leave the house by 6:30 am. (Aubrey came over to watch the kids, and was so nice to not make us wake them up to take them over to her house. Thanks again, by the way:) We got to the hospital about 15 minutes early, and filled out paperwork. Gotta tell ya, when you're filling out a questionairre that asks things like "have you ever been struck with a metal object i.e. a bullet, or shrapnal" it can really freak a person out. I started worrying that there could be some metal object I just couldn't recall somewhere in or on my body, and I would end up really hurt. You know how your mind can play tricks on you. So, I go back to the little room, with the really nice MRI tech guy, all the while checking with him again, that my surgical metal would not create a problem. This is about the time I'm informed that my test was a very specialized test, and would take approximately 2 HOURS! 2 hours! You can probably guess what I'm thinking now... Oh dear, what's going to happen when the large drink I had on my way to the appointment kicks in? Do they allow potty breaks? I'm just glad that I had thought enough in advance to wear my yoga pants. Wasn't really looking forward to the prospect of a "draft", and opted out of my usual jeans (that contain metal...). To make a long story short, or shortER, I got situated, the guy put extra sticky things for the cardiac leads on my chest, just so he could make sure he had them in all the right places for my messed up heart. He put earplugs in my ears because his machine is "a little noisy, kinda sounds like a jackhammer". I go in the tube, and I THOUGHT I would get to just nap for 2 hours. No such luck. Every couple of minutes he would say: "Deep breath in, blow it out, deep breath in, blow it out, okay now STOP BREATHING." I would then hold my breath for what seemed like a minute, but was probably only about 25 seconds each time. While I was "not breathing" the machine would make noises that I can only describe as reminiscent of that of the test from the Emergency Broadcast System. Sometimes the thing I was lying on would move forward or backwards, and then I would hear loud clicking like someone was banging on a computer keyboard. Anyway, when all was said and done I had been in the tube for just shy of 2 hours, and the tech and my cardiologist were apparently satisfied with the pictures they got. I'll get the results of them at or before my appointment in June. I'll keep ya'll posted. Oh, and just a note: Soni was a great baby during the whole thing and didn't give Cameron any grief while they were waiting in the little room outside.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Painting the Kid's Rooms

With part of our tax return this year, we decided to get the kid's rooms painted. Here are some pictures.

Sam found this cool onesie before Soni was born. This is a big reason why I like having kids (but not the only reason, of course).

Dylan and Peyton are going to be sharing a room now with the bunk beds. Dylan picked the top bunk. For those of you wondering, the shade of red is 49ers red from Home Depot. Yeah, baby.

Look, I can touch the ceiling!

Sam had this cool idea of getting a wall paper mural for the boy's room. This is what we got. It looks really cool. Many thanks to Aubrey who came over and helped Sam put it up. You guys did a good job.
(In person it doesn't look choppy at all like in this picture. This is another attempt of mine at a panoramic picture. It would help if I had a tripod and didn't just take pictures and say "I think that was close to the last one.")

Andi's room is still pink, but it now has a new bed.

She really likes the princess castle.

We're all in big trouble

"I believe the children are the future." If that's true, we're all in big, big trouble. Why? I'll tell you why. The current generation of teenage kids are complete idiots. That's not just the old man in me talking, that's the truth. They're idiot kids who wear ski caps in the summer, shorts and t-shirts without coats in the winter, ride on skateboards and have wheels in their shoes that allow them to skate around stores like flying maniac idiots while the rest of us are trying to live in a society.

One of the worst things about these moronic kids is the text messaging. They do it in church, at school, while walking, eating, brushing their teeth, doing homework, and talking on the phone. It's ridiculous. Not only is it annoying, it seems to suck all the logic and literary skills right out of them. There's just something wrong about communicating through something that encourages you to shorten words like "why" and "what". No wonder we have an obesity problem in America, kids are too lazy to push two extra buttons on their stupid cell phones.

You may ask where all this anger and hostility is coming from. Sam and I are currently trying to convince one of these idiot teenagers that our cell number is not his girlfriends cell number. Over the past few days, we've received 15 text messages from this kid. Here's the string of messages, with the idiot's messages in the designated idiot color purple:

Feb 12
Call me at 208651.... jared p

Feb 13
I cant call tonight sorry. my mom wont let me

Call this number 208651....

Dude, you have the wrong number

Feb 18

Feb 19
thanks 4 the v day gift

thanks 4 the v day gift

night (Such poetry. This guy is some Casanova.)

Wrong number

Feb 20


(At this point
I decide to break up with him to save the girl some time.)

I don't think this is working. We should see other people.

wut the

I'm serious

About wut

Before you reply to this, or ever send a text message, maybe you should make sure you have the right number. Just a thought...

(You would have thought the punctuation would have convinced him that he had the wrong number.)

wuts this number


thats the number i have

Well, it's not the right number. Trust me.

k. then wut is

(After that, I tried to break up with him in his own language because I think I lost him with the spelling words out and all)

that's it u and i r over. i dont want to c u anymore (I'm sure I messed that up.)


Ok pal, seriously, stop sending messages to this number. You are really starting to irritate me.

That's the last message that I sent. I'm sure we'll hear something back from him in a day or two because his power of retention don't seem to be refined yet. If these are the kind of people that are going to be running the country when I retire, I think I'm going to move to Canada.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Happy "I Love You" Day

Andi has taken to calling Valentine's Day "I Love You" Day. I guess that works. I think she has learned the concept of the day too. When we were out grocery shopping Saturday, she saw some flowers, and she began to tell me that we needed to get some flowers for mommy for I love you day. I told her that was fine because should I really say no to that when Sam was right there? She wanted to carry the flowers herself. After a while of carrying them, she started talking about how she wanted to put the flowers in her room so she could look at the I Love You Day flowers all the time. Here she is only five years old and she's already demanding flowers on Valentine's Day.  If she knew that she could demand chocolate too, she would be asking for that as well.
Happy Valentine's/I Love You Day to all!

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Writer's Strike Ending

Hey good news, the writer's strike is close to being over. For people who don't watch TV, it's no big deal, but for idiots like me it is. If only they would have gotten this resolved sooner, Lost would have had 16 episodes instead of 8, and 24 could have started in January instead of being postponed indefinitely. Dang you writer people. Hopefully they gained something from the strike. It would be a shame to have gone three months without a paycheck just to earn a few thousand dollars more than they were before.

Now that it's over, I'm hoping someone picks up on my idea for a TV show. The name of the show is" Nothing". Why? Just to cause mass confusion. If you're flipping through the channels you might end up saying "Nothing's on tonight." Is it the show, or is there just not a show on that you want to watch? If someone asks you "What are you watching", you could say "Nothing" and it would be a real answer. Only good things can come from this. What would the premise of the show be? I don't know. It can't be a show about nothing, because that would just be a ripoff of Seinfeld.

You would have thought that with no new TV episodes on, I would have taken the time to read a book or something. Nope, I'm not that smart. I'm still only on page 200 of Harry Potter and the . . . . Exponential Profit Margin(?) I have magazines stacking up in the bathroom that I haven't read. (That's the only time I have to myself when I'm home, not that I'm complaining because I have all the time to myself I want at work.) I guess I could sit down and read any time I want to because the glowing box has an off button on it. Hmmmm.

Saturday, February 09, 2008

Chocolate Skittles

FYI, if you see this package and think "Hey, chocolate Skittles might be good, I'll give them a try", DON'T DO IT!!! They are nasty. If you want the rest of our package, it'll be sitting in a small bowl on the kitchen counter from now until the end of time. Bleh on you, Chocolate Skittles.

Here's their flavor, and what the flavor actually tastes like:

S'mores: Burnt marshmallow dropped in dirt
Vanilla: 8 month old Vanilla scented car air freshener (and why is vanilla in the chocolate mix???)
Chocolate Caramel: Chocolate-like substance with the aftertaste of nastiness
Chocolate Pudding: Chocolate ExLax without the ExLax results
Brownie Batter: Brownie batter that was left on the counter for a month


We had some portraits taken a while ago. We weren't too thrilled with the experience, but we ended up with some good pictures just because our kids are cute.

Texas is turning me into a pansy

The other day at work I had to walk to another building for a meeting. I stepped outside and felt the crispness of the air and thought "Man, it's cold. I need my jacket." So I went back in and put on my jacket then started walking. The temperature that day was 56 degrees. I grew up in Wyoming for Pete's sake, I should be able to handle 56 degree weather. One time I had to change the alternator belt on my car in sub zero temperature and I was fine. During high school I used to have a competition every winter with the kid across the street to see who could go the longest in winter without wearing a coat. (It turns out he was just poor and didn't have a coat. Cheater.) My mom called me yesterday because they were getting like 40 feet of snow and she almost didn't make it home because they were closing off the canyon between Jackson and Star Valley. I complained the other day because the low here dipped down to 33. Man I am such a wuss.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Things That Make Me Feel Old

Here's a list of things that are making me feel old lately.
Going to the grocery store and getting annoyed by the kids with the wheelie shoes. "Where are their parents, and why do they let their kids by wheelie shoes and fly around the store like maniacs?" I ask. That sounds like something an old man would say.
Teaching Sunday School and talking about when President Hinckley was called as the prophet. Do any of the kids remember that? "No, I was like 5." I was a sophomore in high school. Grrrrr.
I'll glance at my picture id at work from time to time and realize that my forehead looks quite large compared to other people's. Why? Because other people have hair.
Kobe Bryant is the same age as me, and people are starting to say that he has a lot of miles on him.
I get sleeping related injuries. Peyton slept on top of me the other night and I ended up with a pinched nerve in my back. If I don't roll over enough times during the night one of my shoulders will end up sore. When I get out of bed in the morning, every joint in my arms and legs pops. It's just sad that I can get hurt while sleeping.
I have four kids, a mortgage, and a minivan. How the heck did that happen?
Until recently, I thought Bluetooth was a Harry Potter character.

Wolf in Sheep's clothing

I have had a very rough couple of days. Yesterday reached the point where I required an evening out with Aubrey, and some much needed shopping therapy. Today was significantly better, although I had Cameron wondering when he tried to call the house this morning, and there was no answer. Figuring I was in the bathroom, he called back 15-20 minutes later. Still no answer, he started to wonder if we were going to be on the news. I called him back, assuring him everything was fine, and my day went on without much incident. Now, "not much incident" in this house still consists of a child dumping dishsoap out onto the floor, while another one attempts to help himself to a healthy snack of apple slices (no, they were not already sliced, making that all the more terrifying for the mother). Thank goodness for the supersonic hearing a mother inherits upon giving birth, squashing these adventures in the early stages.
The subject of this entry comes from what happened at the dinner table after Cameron arrived home. We'd been sitting there making pleasant conversation for a few minutes, when I moved my foot for one reason or another. It was then that I realized there was a quarter of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the floor, leftover from lunch. I asked the kids why it was there.
No answer.
Cameron asked who had had PB&J for lunch.
No answer.
I answered that all of them had.
This is where Cameron becomes the "mean dad" and starts "lecturing" the kids in his all too sarcastic tone about how they were all going to get a beating.
Andi interrupted in exasperation "No Daddy, you cannot beat us, because mommy does not want you to hurt her beautiful, wonderful, children. Right mommy? You won't let daddy beat your wonderful children will you?"
I just stared at my food.
Andi: We're wonderful right?
Me: "That's debateable..."
Cameron was in hysterics. I don't think we're gonna have to worry about that girl too much when it comes to self esteem. She sure thinks alot of herself...