because I am just mean, but have a terrific sense of humor.

peyton now fits into the size 5 hand-me-downs.

(gasp!!)

really, for the most part the 4s were alright, minus the fact that her sleeves were too short, and her little tummy was peeking out a bit, or that one other fact that she looked like she was waiting for a flood all. the. time.

yeah, it was time to bump her up.  she is a lot like lynnie-lou in this area.  makes me wonder if peyton will be skinny and leggy as she gets older.

so we went through 3 tubs of size 5 stuff.  3 tubs is a lot.  thankfully, one whole tub is still packed away, awaiting warmer weather, and some things that are in exceptional condition are being held back as school clothes.  she will start kindergarten next august after all.

(double gasp!!)

among the longer pants, better-fitting shirts, crazy amount of swimsuits, and this awesome coat I forgot that I scored at old navy for $2.99 (!!!), there were these pajamas.

clearly, peyton loves them, and as she was prancing around the kitchen the other morning in this number, a hilarious idea struck me:

post a picture of her wearing them on facebook, and let the good times roll.

so, I did.

it was hilarious indeed.

the congratulations immediately started rolling in, people who know us well accompanied their congrats with shock.  I couldn’t stop laughing!  every “like” and comment just incited another fit of giggles.

I called merrill to let him know what was up, just in case he started getting congratulations of his own.  I wasn’t sure how long I was going to let it go on.  then I called my best friend who is anti facebook for good reason, and maybe if I were as good as her about not going there, I wouldn’t feel annoyed/enraged/the need to throw up/homicidal so much everyday.  she is as good at not going on facebook as I am at the whole not yelling thing.

side note:  I have a rule about the facebook.  I do not post anything unless it fits one of the following criteria: 1) it has to be terribly important.  b)  it has to be funny.  III)  it has to be exceptionally cute.  I will not bother others with updates on what I am doing/thinking/eating every changing minute.

so since this fit two of those three criteria, it was perfect.

julie and I had a good laugh, and I dare say, she didn’t regret going on the facebook that day.

as we were talking, a man in our neighborhood figured it out.

“Wait....your youngest is now old enough to wear her big sisters PJ's?”

see.  nailed it.  he even said just that a few comments later, after I confirmed his first comment with a “like”.

but what is funnier is that other people didn’t read his comments or other’s comments, and kept on congratulating. 

after all was said and done, those who figured it out AFTER their congratulations were given, didn’t like me so much.  rude, jerk, suck, and mean, are all words that were thrown at me.  it was kind of mean of me.  but it was funny.

for the record, if I were to get knocked-up, again, I would be more than happy, but merrill would have blood-shot eyes, and his hair would no longer exist in his head, but would most likely be pulled-out, in his hands.  he is done.

done!

I did manage to give us a small chance (infinitesimal really), to have another one. 

my own personal pundit was so sure that obama would win re-election, and I hoped that that wouldn’t happen.

(sorry to get political on you, it won’t be for long, promise.)

so I proposed a bet of sorts.  if romney won, we would have another baby.  guess what he said to that?

“okay.”

holy crap, he was confident.

but I hoped.

so the bottom line is, peyton is really enjoying her hand-me-downs.

more of peyton.

documenting the life of a 4 year old is rather interesting, and humorous.

I get to hear some pretty interesting knock-knock jokes, and various versions of “why did the chicken cross the road” riddles.  my days with her are never dull.

I have noticed, that whenever I tickle her in her neck, she has to concentrate, like put all of her thoughts and energy into getting my finger out of her neck.  she gets a really serious look on her face, she opens her mouth wide, and slowly lifts her little face off of her neck, freeing my finger.  it is quite the feat.  it is also so funny!!

what is not so funny, her second horrible, but this time, self-inflicted hair cut.

night before last, the kid got me up at 12:24 am, 1:26ish, a couple of times in the 2 am hour, two more times in the 3 am block, and the last time at 4:54 am.  I was a little tired once my friday REALLY started.

the last time she got me up, she told me that it was raining in her room.

she led my sleepy self there, and then stood in her bedroom doorway, looking up at the ceiling.

“don’t you see it??…”

no, I didn’t. 

the solution to this up and down kind of night, and the “rain falling from the ceiling”, was to snuggle with big sis in her bed. 

sometimes that is all you need I guess.

a big sister to snuggle with, and sleep, solid sleep, that is.

despite her odd nocturnal activities, she is pretty darn cute.

these are going up, into her darling pink-striped room.  I am finishing a couple of projects and then I can show you something in my house that is really cute, not beige, and has some personality!

saturday fun with punkley pitcher.

“one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong, can you tell which thing is not like the others. by the time I finish my song?”

was what I sang after I saw this:

whelp, this is the kind of fun you are in store for when you get to spend an entire saturday with punkley (aka merrill) pitcher

we had the jacked-up water heater replaced by the best plumber EVER! and were feeling so high and happy, we decided to tear into the garage.

well, that’s not really how it happened.  we needed to shut off the power to fix our sprinkler system situation, but needed to wait for him to finish up, so we decided to tear into the garage while we waited.  it has been something that I have been slowly working at for a while..

we got the tool holder deal-ios from lowe’s, we had them at the old house and quite loved them, so thus, it was a necessary repeat here.   sad thing is, we are approaching 3 years here, and we are just getting to this…

wish I would have taken a before picture, but vomit on your keyboard isn’t good.

(you are welcome.)

he was in quite the silly mood (slightly giddy about the new water heater I supposed), so funny things like this happened.

his explanation for how it fit, went a little something like this:

“well, if there were a zombie apocalypse, these would all be considered weapons.  then the baseball bat fits.”

yeah.

anyways…

saturday was a very full day for us. 

- the water heater is no longer jacked-up.

- the garage is all cleaned out and organized.

- we managed to program the “home link” button in our pilot to the garage door opener.  hey, it’s only been two years (okay, almost).

- and after 4 trips out to “chad’s”, we fixed the sprinkling system.

that was quite the relief.

our controller, the timer deal, was apparently friend in a power surge (thankyouverymuchrockymountainpower…) and needed to be replaced.  initially, we thought it would just be the front panel, but not so.  the new panel was too big for our existing box, so we had to change the whole box, and happily so, because the new one is bigger for a reason, and a very good one at that.  there is a protection in it, for, get this, power surges!!!

merrill was playing the role of punkley quite well as we took out each wire from the old box to make the transition, saying such punkish things as:

“when we hook up the new one, it isn’t going to work.”

“aren’t you going to be pissed when we get this all done, and it still doesn’t work.”

“what is the problem going to be when this doesn’t work?”

see, punk.

all I could say to my dear punkley was: “there is going to be a pretty epic run-to-and-hug episode played out in our front yard when this works.”

I was functioning totally on positive vibolas.

he doesn’t have very many positive vibolas.

but guess what?

after we got all the wires fixed in their proper positions in the new box, and junk, we turned on the power, and started that sprinkling system up and….

IT WORKED!!

like it should!!

as in the way it is supposed to!!

and I ran to him, because we weren’t by each other, and he thought we were going to chest bump (?) but instead I jumped on him in that epic embrace, except for he wasn’t expecting that, so instead of both of us cheering, I was, and he was groaning.

then we laughed.

I hope I don’t have to drive out to chad’s again for a very, very, long time.

so I mis-spoke. kill me.

sunday.

we are home from church and lunch is on it’s way to the table.

ashley asked me to make her a “cootie catcher”, but she didn’t know what to call it, so she called it a “fortune teller”.

as I was trying to correct her, trying to say the right name, I said:

“you mean a coochie catcher.”

that didn’t sound right to me, and as I rolled my last spoken sentence around in my head, I figured out why.  as reaction would have it, my hand flew to my mouth, and I turned back to the open fridge to hide my face so ashley would hopefully not notice my face.

that was not so.

so I tried to cover-up and kept calling it by the far more appropriate name of “cootie catcher”.

but nothing, NOTHING, gets past this kid. 

she kept asking what a “coochie” was.

oh my.

merrill finally got her to believe that it was just jibber-jabber.

but it brought to remembrance another time that I mis-spoke:

it was eighth grade.  we were having dinner as a family, at the table.  my best friend, teresa, was there as well.

the discussion went on about toys.  I started to wonder what toys my dad had as a kid, which prompted me to ask:

“dad, did you have an ERECTION set, growing up?”

after everyone, including my dad had a good laugh, I realized what I had said.

but he still answered me:

“yes I did.  I played with it all the time.”

(more laughter.)

“I meant to say an ERECTOR set.”

“yes, I had one of those too.”

I just hope that ashley doesn’t start experimenting with her new jibber-jabbber word anywhere…

the girls sure do love their “cootie catchers” though.

blaming it on beckham.

or maybe i should rightly blame it on burger king.

their smoothie commercial starring the lovely david beckham aired just as we were gathering for family prayers.  that got me talking in my most awesome british accent. 

(it is pretty amazing.)

well, that got the girls giggling and begging for some repeat performances, which had me equally, if not more silly, saying in my best brit, "deeea faaatha..."

more giggles.

then merrill started saying the prayer, which was giggled all the way through.

my giggles included.

i guess i had to post about it now, get it out there while it was still funny.

or maybe it was a "you had to be there" kind of moment.

i have a feeling that tomorrow's conversation will be requested in a certain accent...

this cold/allergies/cold/flu/plague/cold i have is not allowing me to sleep, or maybe it is the residual guilt i feel from my mother's chastising phone call?

it is true, the delirium is driving me to compose record-breaking post titles.

so here's the craps on the haps:

last weekish, i started to feel a little sore throat coming on.  it made it rather difficult to sleep.  i decided i was getting a cold and then the next day, it was gone.  the the sneezing/runny nose phase set in, so i decided well, what with the crazy utah weather we have going on, warmth, blooming, wind, it could really just be allergies.  but the same night the sore throat decided to come back, with glory.  i had merrill and his healthy self go and procure me some nyquil (so i could get some zzzs).
that is when hell made an appearance, not that i can recall, cause nyquil messes me up, but the next two days were pretty awful.

i have learned that i cannot take nyquil if i am needed, at a functioning state, before 2 pm.  seriously.  not even if i take it with dinner..  it messes me up kids.

that was when i decided that this was no cold, it was "the plauge".

the girls were home from school on friday, that was one of the days i was not functioning properly, but my best friend forever, called and told me to send my children to her house for lunch and to be around someone who is capable of being a mother-type figure instead of a blob on the couch who is under the influence of nyquil.

(okay, so she didn't say all of that.)

she did feed them and even entertained them for a while.

i decided friday night, that there would be no more nyquil in my future.  "the sauce" was not good for me.

saturday looked much better, still not feeling 100%, but i was functioning by 11 am. (!!!!!)

i was determined to go to church the next day.

merrill was starting his downward slide though.

oops.  i had been so careful!   no kissing, no sharing drinks or food.  washing hands and junk.  (do you know what it is like to have a sick husband?  yeah?  so you can understand that i was super careful.)

sunday morning (very early) he resorted to the couch.  and then hell set in for him (and me, for a second round, because he was sick, get it?)

church was great, until the plague told me it wasn't anymore.  that is what the plague does, you see?  it tells you when you feel good, and then suddenly, it's like "not anymore, punk!!" because the plague really talks like that.  i am sure it is getting back at me for every time i have said "dude" or "punk" whether affectionately or sincerely to another person.

needless to say, me and the two oldest kiddos high-tailed it back home.

and such has been my health these past days, resembling a pendulum.

merrill, on the other hand, is dying, i am sure.
(sarcasm.)

the weird bit, like super weird (don't make fun of my lack of vocabulary skills, they are currently stuck, held captive by copious amounts of snot stored somewhere in my head.  like seriously, there is a lot, and i have no idea where it is located, or where it comes from, there is an obscene amount of it.  sorry for the image.), is that we cannot sleep!  i have not allowed my poor self a nap in days, because my body takes that time i spent napping, multiplies it by 3, and then puts off my bedtime by that amount in hours.  it sucks.  but for some reason, i can't sleep?

dude.

not fair.

neither can merrill, which makes it that much worse.  our house is handicapped with two junked-up parents.

(not that we were exceptional to begin with.)

so here comes the part where my mother calls me and chastises me.

it's good, it involves facebook.

i mentioned the aforementioned "handicap" existing in our household on the old social networking site, and received both sympathies and interesting offers.  apparently, my mom, didn't see it until today.

(insert a janet-sized chastisement here.)
(just teasing mom, i love you.)
(but really, it's not so much teasing as it is sleep-deprivation.)
(or maybe the violent amounts of snot.)

she wished that i would have called her to tell her i was sick, so she could help and so forth.  in all honesty, i don't think i was capable of calling her.  that nyquil messes me up!  besides that, if i did call her, it would have been to whine, and i tell you, she doesn't need to hear my stuffy-nosed voice whine. 

it's not attractive.

so she found out that her most favorite daughter was sick, on facebook, which led us to a rather interesting conversation that ended with the topic of snot, wouldn't you know.

and now, let me tell you of the things that are entirely too annoying when one is not feeling well.

- the menu music, that plays over and over when a child leaves a dvd stuck on the menu screen with an unconscious parent in the room, on the couch, stuck there, unconscious.  listening to it play  over, and over, and over...

- while extracting compressed files, they keep opening, one right after the other, right when i am ready to click extract.  i know another one will open right when i am ready to click "extract".  it is most definitely going to happen, but it buuuugs.

- hearing merrill clear his throat.  bless his heart.
- children who run around, screeching, giggling, and tattling.  sure, it is an everyday occurrence around here, but those copious amounts of snot, really leave little room for the ordinary things to be tolerated inside my crowded head.

and last, and most perhaps least in the categorizing of annoyances would have to be the many political candidates calling, reminding responsible citizens about voting and caucus (giggle) meetings and so forth.  seriously, i can't wait for this election season to be done and gone.  the phone ringing and interrupting my nyquil coma for this, is not cool.

sorry about the snot imagery and all.

my mom will probably call me and chastise me again for that...
(but really mom, love you.)

how many ways can you say 4?

(indulge me here, k?)

today, peyton turned 4.

4 brings lots and lots of excitement to life around these parts.

today, we tried out various combinations with our fingers to get the number 4.

we based a whole day around a new obsession, “aladdin” and all things princess jasmine.

the other day, peyton finally wrote her name!!!

(and in “finally”, I mean she finally showed interest in writing anything more than a “p”.)

as she wrote the “p” there was a little excitement, cause you have to show it every time.  then she got to her “e”.

I teared-up.

after she wrote the rest of those all too cute letters in her name, my eyes were glassy.

she said, “let’s do it again mom..  and this time, don’t cry.  k?”

see, she’s 4 alright.

                       

and because my children want to challenge me in my cake decorating skills, peyton asked for a jasmine cake. 

(her eyes are too big, but what of it?  they are turning into poop even as I type.)

to aid me in my feat, we watched aladdin.

a lot.

the music is etched into my brain.

so, now she is 4.

the universe discovered who I married and is now, most assuredly working against me.

once upon a time, I had a washing machine.  it lost it’s water level adjuster knobby thingie twice (once we retrieved it from the nether-regions of the washer, the next time, not).  it also made a horribly horrendous banging/clanging/serial killer is coming after you loudly sound as it spun and the load became un-balanced.  it also leaked something awful.  that leakage was worsened by the fact that the laundry room at this particular house does not have a drain in the floor.  those are quite convenient when you know the luxury of having one.  this old (as in former, and well, aged) washing machine of mine also had an agitator that resembled a new york city skyscraper. 

(i.e. it stuck up out of the bottom of the washing machine tub.)

now this agitator did not only agitate the laundry, it agitated me as well.

it liked to tie our clothing in knots.  knots so wonderfully tied that I could usually take one whole load of laundry out, in one knotty mound, and deposit it into the dryer.  one shot. 

(it was really quite annoying.  one sleeve being longer than the other?  that is not fashionable.)

now something must be said of how excellent my dryer is.  it could magically untie that massive knotted mound of wet clothes quite magically.  wonderful dryer..

(that is why I kept it around, and the washer..  well, not so much.  what did it magically do for me?)

that old agitating washing machine also liked to munch on drawstrings like they were rope licorice and get them all in a tangled, wet, tightly wound mess.  they would wind themselves underneath and around the skyscraper-like agitator.  that is quite the olympic feat to get that mess undone, especially when you are 5’ 2” and you are dealing with a super-capacity washer.

(i.e. it’s DEEP.) 

during it’s last few weeks with us, it started to smell something awful.  I later found that along with a leakage problem, it also had a drainage problem.  old water would get stuck inside the washer, and well, I discovered that it smelled like fish tank water.  fish tank water that has a fish or two (or ten) swimming and eating and pooping in it for a good month.  that little issue made our laundry smell not so freshly laundered.  it was quite gross and it gave merrill a complex that he had major b.o. for a couple of days.

(that was kind of funny.)

but the thing that that agitating agitator did that was so extremely agitating, and is now coming back to bite my butt is this:

it tore a hole in the back of my waterproof mattress pad.

(okay, not mine, per say, but one that I purchased for the girls’ beds.)

so I was thinking, the last time I laundered this wonderful waterproof mattress protector, it really isn’t a big deal.  if I place this spot where the hole torn in the protective plastic goes, at the foot of the bed, where littlest wee-wee-er can’t really get any wet mess, I will be totally jake.

(jake as meaning “okay” or “alright”.)

that is what I was thinking. 

not only that, I thought I was really covering my bases putting it on ashely’s bed, who hasn’t done anything wet in her bed in years.

situation neutralized, or so I thought.

then one night, the universe, who apparently has a beef with my dear husband as I have explained in the past, discovered who it is that I am legally and lawfully wedded to.

you see, peyton, who has had an issue with this whole nonsense of daylight savings time, has tried to sneak away either right before dinner (like as I am making it) or during, when my choice of meal preparation for the night has somehow offended her, and takes herself a nap.

then, there is part two of the most recent issues with my wee-est child, she has started wetting-the bed (and the couch, and the floor) again.  only during bedtime and these aforementioned ill-timed naps.

so here is where the universe started laughing in my face:

one night, when my choice of cheesy potato soup offended this little girl, she went to take a nap.  after we finished eating (because cold cheesy potato soup is not delicious), we all went hunting for the kid.  she was not in her bed, not by her bed, not in her closet, nor on the couch.  no floor held her.  not even my bed had she chosen. 

she was asleep at the foot of ashley’s bed.

where she peed.

which pee, went straight through that four inch square space that was not protected by awesomely protective waterproof mattress plastic protectant, and soaked right down through that flowery mattress.

awesome, universe.

since when aren’t we friends?

needless to say, we have been giving lots of bubble baths, washing lots of sheets, using lots of fabric softener, and I bought a case of goodnights.  I am sure they would be more helpful (and I happier) if I used them for good-ill-timed-naps as well.

in closing, I would like to add that our family got a new washer as an early christmas gift (thankyouverymuch!) and I love it.  I could watch the laundry be laundered all day long..  it is quite fascinating, really.  and I fixed my dryer which had an issue.  I wasn’t about to keep that agitating washer around much longer.  sure we could have repaired it’s issue(s) all except for that one, very agitating one.

a little game we will call “catching up”.. and a funny story for your troubles.

that’s right, I promised a funny story (now it’s funny) if you can actually stick out this post of catching up on all that I happen to be thankful for.

let’s see…

saturday I was thankful for snow.  I wasn’t quite so thankful that it came and bent my poor tree nearly in half, but I was thankful for the great excuse to stay home, snap some first birthday pix of my cousins babies, then snuggle up with my girls and watch some “anne of green gables”.

what can I say, watching anne spelled with an “e” is a tradition with first snowfalls around here.

I was also thankful for the dryer parts that came in the mail, and the repaired dryer.  clothes are so much softer (aka not crispy) dried in a dryer versus on a hanger in my bedroom.

sunday I was just thankful that it was a sunday.  good heavens, I love that day!  I was also thankful for the little break I had from my single parenthood going to choir practice.  a half hour can do wonders for the sanity.

monday.  I am thankful for pink paint.  it is quite cheery.  I am also thankful for a best friend who let me borrow her paint rollers, because mine aren’t placed at my home at the moment, and she also let me borrow her body, her ears, she even dispensed comforting advice!

tuesday I found myself still grateful for the best friend, and a mom, who seemed to say all the same things that darn best friend had to say.

I am also thankful for south ogden fire department and a nice guy from questar gas company who made lovely company tuesday evening.

today, well today I am thankful that I have a perfectly pink, perfectly striped little girl room.  I am also thankful for a thoughtful mother-in-law who took the girlies to tumbling.  I am sure I will be thankful for nyquil in the next hour or so.

so you want a funny story?

(it’s funny now…)

last night, it was not feeling so hot.  tired, run-down, had a little headache that was partially crying induced, partially because a certain third grader was arguing over homework, and partially due to the single-parenting situation I have been in the last week and a half.

(but that last little part is a story all by itself.)

I was supposed to go to a birthday dinner for my sweet sister-in-law but wasn’t really feeling up to it, headache, sore throat, swollen eyes and all, so I opted out.

the evening was turning out to be not so bad.  peyton decided to fall asleep earlier than she should (thank you daylight savings time…) and I was anticipating her waking up thinking she had an awesome nap and would want to party all night long and allow me a little sleep.  as I was getting her ready for bed, trying to do it all slowly and calm like, to keep her asleep, the smoke/carbon monoxide detector starts to be annoying.

I pulled a stool over to see what the deal was.  it was the carbon monoxide half of the deal freaking out.  I pushed the middle tester button thingie (cause that is what it is technically called nowadays) and then all of them started going off.  like as in every one in my house!  well, except for the wall guy one in the basement.  that one didn’t go off.  but the rest were.  as I went to put the stool away and find something sharp to put in my ears, all went quiet.

I put the sharp object down (okay, not really, I didn’t grab one in the first place), and went on getting the small people in my house to bed.  right after we said bedtime prayers, the blasted thing started going off again.

fantastic.

I decided to play it safe and such, seeing as I am kinda solely in charge of these kiddos, and merrill said he would not be replacing any of them if something happened, got coats on them, all zippered up and hoods on, bundled them up in blankets and sent them out to the front porch while I tried to find a non-emergency number for the fire department.

that was pleasant.  alarm going off, and I cannot seem to find the location of that number.  so I call my trusty neighbor, the one who is my best friend and lets me borrow lots of stuff. 

so I call the non-emergency dispatch number.  it refers me to another non-emergency dispatch number.  once I finally got a call in to the right non-emergency dispatch, they started asking all the typical carbon monoxide related questions:

“is anybody feeling ill?”

“well, I have a headache, but I know it’s crying related.”

“is there anybody else with you in the home?”

“yes.  three children.”

“get them outside immediately.”

“they already are.”

“good.  we need to verify your address and then you need to disconnect with me and evacuate the home.”

after I verified the address three times, and evacuated the home, I went outside to sit with the girls.  they were having the time of their lives.

it had to have been 20-something degrees.

they were so happy though.

we waited a few minutes and then watched as the fire engine passed our house.

then a police car.

then the police car came back, shined his spotlight on us and asked, “are you the ones who called about carbon monoxide detectors going off?”

“yupperoonies.”

(okay, so I said yes.)

he radioed for the fire engine to come back.  apparently, despite verifying my address three times, dispatch got it wrong.  while waiting for the fire engine to arrive, we then had a lengthy discussion as to whether I am a south ogden resident or a resident of unincorporated weber county.

it was ridiculous.

dispatch radioed back the correct address and added, “that’s in south ogden.”

ha!

(he was a really nice guy though.)

he asked the girls if any of them were feeling sick, and ashley piped-up, “I am.  I am sick of hearing that thing!”  isn’t she fantastic?

everyone was so cute with the girls, and they were equally cute with them.  the declined to sit in the back of the patrol car and the fire engine.  they were having fun after all.

after checking our house with their equipment, they couldn’t find any carbon monoxide, but the detector wouldn’t stop.  so they called out the gas company.

while waiting for him to show, they let us back in the house and they tried to get the thing to stop.  they eventually did by swapping it with another one in the house.

apparently I jinxed them.  we have two nursing/assisted living facilities right down the street, and they are there all. the. time.  so I matter-of-factly stated how it must be nice having a call to help out some people on the other end of the age spectrum.  they all groaned.  “you jinxed us!!  we haven’t had to go there yet today!  we are usually there 3 to 4 times a day.  now we’ll get a call at 3 am, and when we do, we are going to toilet paper your house.”

see, they were fun.

when he finally got there, he asked if there was anything gas on the main level, I replied with, “a little girl in that first bedroom.”  and, well, it’s true.

there was nothing wrong, all they could figure was the sensors are going bad in our detectors.

did you know that you are supposed to replace them every seven years?  well, now you do, just like I do now.

I was also warned that our water heater is going to “blow”.  isn’t that fantastic?

I blame it all on merrill.  had he been home, instead of in the caribbean, none of this would have happened.  but he would claim the opposite.  he would tell me that it all happened because the universe knew it was his house.

you see, he has a bit of a persecution complex going on.  when things don’t work out the way he thinks they should, it’s because it is him.

buy a tv and the sleep timer doesn’t work, it’s because HE bought it.

want prime rib at a restaurant and they are out, it’s because HE is the one asking for it.

if our little family had been incorporated at the time color tv was invented, we would most certainly purchased a new color set the day they came out.  we would have brought it home, plugged it in, turned it on, and it would have been in black and white.

that’s my boy.

so that leads us to today.  I am thankful that those darn detectors have remained quiet.  I am also thankful that someone bought a calling card in aruba, and called.  finally.  it has been four days.

I bet you are thankful that my little (okay, not so little) story is done?

life in full swing.

summer is in full swing at my house and i am enjoying every minute of it.

i have been taking pictures of many fun things, and i get hung up, not wanting to “waste” time on editing them to post.  i will have to get over that soon cause they are too cute to not share..

i have to say that my most favorite part of summer is having all my kids home.  just having everyone around is heaven and i have to admit, i try to dissuade them from wanting to go play at their friends houses.  i just love having everyone here!!

besides that, i have to tell you of a funny.

merrill and i like to torture one another. 

i don’t like clowns.  he tries to get me to look at them.  the other night, it was a special clown pick on “american pickers”.  seriously?  i should insert the link to the article that was recently in the paper about coulrophobia.  people, it’s real.  1 in 10 people are afraid of clowns.  you just don’t hear about it because we don’t seek out therapy, we just avoid the circus.  merrill thinks it’s funny.

but there are things that he doesn’t find as funny.

like doctors.  needles.  insurance.

so i decided to get him back.  a couple of days later, as i was getting ready for bed, i told him in great detail about my doctor’s appointment that was coming up.

you know..  MY doctor.

so fun.

anything doctor related makes him squirm, so when i start to divulge details about latex gloves, long q-tip thingies, ky and the sort, he squirms.

it’s fantastic.

but let me tell you..  my insurance company has been calling, sending letters, telling my that my ob/gyn “misses me”.  yeah right.

(i guess that i shouldn’t have let it go for three years.  whoops.)

i am sure that all three obs who have explored my reproductive areas have been doing math, calculating how long it has been since they have seen me or my cervix. 

(read that above statement with a heavy sarcastic tone will ya?)

doubt they miss the “v” that much.

now as i am trying so hard to be ladylike about this, it is also a sore spot emotionally.  i won’t get into it now mostly because i am in my happy place..  and because i have my eye makeup intact..  but i will say i cried.  something about checking a box that says, “my family is complete” is just a little heart-wrenching.  

but i am not sure how much worse chillin’ with a clown would be.

Rocky Mountain Oysters

Lynn has been asking more and more questions about babies, where they come from, and male & female relationships.

It is a time of life that I knew would inevitably come, but one that I hoped wouldn’t show up for a couple years more.

I answer these queries as they come, with little bits of information at a time, following her cues and prompts.  I haven’t broken down each part and how it functions, just some basics.

“Moms have eggs in their ovaries…  dads have sperm in their testicles…  they meet inside the moms body to form a baby.”

Now, I haven’t told her exactly how this all “gets together”..  just term it as “sex”.  She doesn’t need to know the “ins and outs” of it all. 

(No pun intended.)

(That was kinda a doosy.)

Anyway, Lynn knows some basics.  Just enough for right now.  As more questions come, I tackle them.

So a couple of weeks ago, we were watching “The Office”.  Michael was headed-off to Denver, Dwight was kinda ticked about it.  As a parting gift (of sorts) he gives Michael a plate of “Rocky Mountain Oysters”.  Now, if you know Michael, you’ll know that he dug right in.  He was chomping on those things.  I mean, he was really eating them up!  Right in the middle of his chewing, Dwight reveals that they are really bull testicles.  Get it..  Rocky Mountain Oysters….

Lynn turns to Merrill and asks:

“Dad, what are testicles?”

There was a little pause. 

I anxiously awaited his response.

He made his way through a decent explanation, one that was a bit, um, stumbled through?  He even told her about scrotums. 

(I have to admit that at this point, I was trying my hardest to not let my laughter out.) 

After he finished his explanation, Lynn gave a little, “Oh…” then I turned around and said, “Lynn, remember we talked about testicles?”

I re-iterated just a little bit about our past conversation and a little light went on in her eyes.

“Oh!  Yeah!!  I remember now.”

She skipped away totally satisfied.

Merrill just looked at me and said, “You couldn’t have jumped in sooner?”

more ashley.

so ashley’s hand is “better”.  it is a great camouflage of bruise, not so puffy, and not broken.  (yay!!)  she can make a beautiful fist, wiggle each finger independently, and use it like she did before (but hopefully not as the meat in a bowling ball sandwich again).

i am very guarded with her still, worry a little more than i normally would when it gets bumped or knocked (or even hit, because peyton figured out that that is ashley’s weak spot now).

so last night, ashley fell off the kitchen chair in some sort of balance, gymnast maneuver, and started to cry. 

the freak-out mother took over, asking quite frantically what happened, repeatedly, think “machine-gun” speed.

ashley just looked up at me, crocodile tears brimming in her eyes, and a little sob escaped her.

“mmmmm-mom..  (sob)  iii-i-i huuu-(sooooob)urrtttt mmmmm-yyyyyyy (sob)(sniff) i hurt my…  A-S-S.”

yup.

she spelled it.

leave it to my middle child.

i am so thankful she didn’t say it.  peyton was right there!

The happiest puke-face in the world.

I got my due punishment for taking Ashley to lunch at McDonald’s (or as I have so appropriately re-named them “Yak-Donald’s”) yesterday.  You see, there were basically no groceries in our little house.  I fully intended on procuring some while Ashley was at kindergarten (because only one child makes that errand MUCH more enjoyable), but instead, got caught up at Costco, two fabric stores and one thrift store.  Oh, and a book store.  No groceries were purchased (other treasures were), unless you can count the three bricks of Tillamook colby jack I bought at Costco a meal.

So we picked up Ashley at school, and went to that “one place” for lunch.

(It helps to go shopping with a full stomach.  I know, I have had experience shopping with an empty one.  I almost bought a cake at Sam’s club because I skipped lunch one time.)

We had a great lunch, and even greater lunch conversation.

“Mom, I have to tell you something, and I don’t know how I am going to tell you this…”

“Just tell me.”

“But it is something serious and I am not sure how you are going to take it.”

“How about telling me, and seeing how I take it.”

“Okay….”

(Deep breath followed by a sigh.”

“You know that kid from PBS kids, Calliou?”

“Um, yeah.”

(I am thinking about that annoying kid.  The show I dislike SO much because he is ALWAYS whining about something…  why did I ever buy that DVD?!?)

“Well mom, he’s bald.”

I’m laughing.

“Seriously mom.  He has NO HAIR.”

“Well (more laughing) that is usually how one looks when they are bald.”

Holy crack me up.

Then, while shopping, she brought up an un-finished conversation that started during sacrament meeting. 

“Mom, does your middle finger really mean a bad word?”

(See why it was left unfinished during sacrament meeting?  I seriously prayed that she would forget entirely about it.  That seemed like an appropriate thing to do during sacrament meeting, pray, I mean.)

“Yes.”

“What bad word is it?”

“I will not say it.”

“Why not?!  Tell me!!”

“No.  It is the worst word ever.  The finger is an obscene gesture, it is basically telling someone: ‘Forget You”, and that just isn’t nice, we don’t want to forget people.”

“So we shouldn’t show people our middle finger?”

“No.”

Later on, she got a paper cut.  The only reason why I knew was because she was trying to swing (in the nanosecond of actual spring weather we had yesterday..) with a Kleenex wrapped around her middle finger.

I asked if she wanted me to put a band aid on it.

“Yes.  I am tired of holding my bad word finger.”

See, funny.

But now I get to the follow-up to our little trip to “Yak-Donald’s”…

I get her up to get ready this morning.  She doesn’t feel good and proceeds to throw up.  (I am blaming “Yak-Donald’s only because the food is gross and the place is a breeding grounds for all sorts of communicable diseases.) 

But get this:

She is the happiest, cutest, sweetest puker in the whole world.

(Of this I am completely sure.)

“I love you mommy.”  she said after I wiped her face.

“Thank you mommy, I love you.”  she said in between heaves while I held her hair out of her face while it was in the toilet.

“I love you mommy.”  she said again while I pulled it into a ponytail while she threw-up in the barf bowl.

And after every session of heaving, there would be a little, weak smile on her sweet face.  I wouldn’t be smiling if I were barfing the day away.  I could learn something from this kid.

Later on, after a bubble bath in my tub, she thanked me again.

“I love you mom.  I am sorry for giving you attitude and not being nice or making good choices, and you love me anyway.”

That is my job.  To love her and take care of her no matter what, and sometimes she gets it.

She really is the sweetest, happiest, cutest puke-face ever.  I am glad she is done puking though.

Parental Supervision

It is spring break around here.

(Don’t let the un-springlike weather fool you.  We just reside in Utah, that’s all.)

So what does a momma who rarely gets the chance to sleep in do on spring break?

Sleep in!

There is a slight hazard in that though.

The smallish children.

The things they can do while mother hen is sleeping in…

Take for example our first day of spring break:

The older two were having a sleep over with grandma, Peyton was my only charge.  She wakes up at the butt crack of dawn regardless of what day it is, vacations are not part of her little mindset as of yet.

(I say as of yet, because one day, they will be, and they will be priceless to her!)

So Peyton rose with the sun, needing her Trix and chocolate milk.  I got up, groggily, got the cereal and milk for her, turned on PBS kids (Curious George to be exact), and dragged myself back to bed, hoping for a few more minutes of sleeeeep.

I woke up a little after 8.  It was all too quiet.  I thought to myself: “Self.  When things are this quiet, something is a muck.  You should get your lazy self out of bed and go see about that little one.”

But as soon as my inner monologue ended, that sweet, most darling three year old came into my room, skipping into my room, and climbed into bed with me.  I kept my eyes closed, hoping that that little sprite would want to snuggle with me for a minute.  As she cozied-up to me underneath my down comforter, she said, “Mommy..  I got an owie on my face.”

(But when she says “face” it sounds more like “bace”.  Those three year-olds and that “f” sound..)

As I opened my eyes is slight alarm (knew I should have checked on her!!) and turned to see her face, this is what I saw:

 

Scary and funny all at once..  I know.

But there were no real “owies” underneath. 

Upon further investigation, I found this:

But the smart kid threw away all of the garbage! 

Guess I won’t be buying the character band aids for a while.

We’ll stick to plain old boring skin color.

Dear momma,

I learned a lesson yesterday while watching “The Brady Bunch” with my bunch.

You should have given me a little sister.

(It would have been helpful if you had named her Cindy, but that probably would have caused more than a few moments of confusion, as Cindy and Mindy sound a little too alike.)

You see, Marsha (Marsha!  Marshaaaa!!) had a diary in this particular episode, she wrote incessantly about Desi Arnaz Jr. in it. 

(She was crushing on him just a little.)

Then, while collecting items for Goodwill, innocent little sis Cindy, gave away Marsha’s diary, thinking it was just some random old book.

You’ll never guess what happened next mom…  well, after Marsha freaked out, and gave little Cindy the silent treatment.  (Of course, because what else does one do when their little sister has wronged them in such a way?)

The family took every chance they could to find that old diary.  But guess who had it mom?

Desi Arnaz Jr.!!!

(!!!)

He returned it to Marsha, and gave her a little peck on the cheek, after saying some flattering things.

(Well, she did about him first.  He was the best thing since Captain Kangaroo in her life.)

She didn’t wash her cheek for a week (or more, I am not sure).

So mom, you see what my life could have been like?  Who did I write about in my diary?  DO you remember?  I know the New Kids were in there, but mostly, Patrick Swayze.  (Doodled hearts should be surrounding that.)  Only during the Johnny Castle phase, of course. 

Do you see how a little sister would have changed my life?!

SHE would have donated my diary to Goodwill, and Patrick Swayze would have found it..

I am sure of this mom.

I would have not washed my cheek for a week (or more I am not sure), had he pecked me there.

But oh well.  I guess life really didn’t turn out that badly.

I think I forgive you for the no little sister thing.

Love Minder

Hobbies and interests of a three year-old girl.

This is Peyton:

She is three.

Her hobbies and interests include (but are not limited to):

- playing dolls

- chewing gum

- anything Toy Story

- dress-ups

- taking naps at the worst possible times of the day

- saying funny things

- sucking on her fingers

- playing deputy to my sheriff

- hogging the bed

- kicking off the covers

- bubble baths

- screaming

- boobs

and her newest hobby, stamping.

(She did a fantastic job, didn’t she?)

I like how she got one right on each little nipple, and another one ringed around her belly button…

I am still confused as to how she got them behind each elbow, and in the middle of her back.

Now, a little explanation is required, before you deem me a “negligent mother”.  Little girl seems to take total advantage as soon as the hair-dryer is turned on.

It is like a siren, calling to her, telling her to go and do something she would usually be told “no” to.

She did this same thing on Sunday, only on Sunday, she coated each of her legs.  I had spent a good bit of time washing her body, then noticed the legs.  We were going to be late for church, so needless to say, she wore tights that day.

A bath was administered later, but on Monday, while putting socks on the girl’s feet, I discovered a stamp on the bottom of her foot, that was missed.  Somehow..

Pink ink.

It is something I am tired of seeing.

I told Ashley (who is the owner of the stamp) that if I saw it down again, saw more pink ink, it was going to go missing.

(That means I am going to throw it in the garbage can, and then throw a bunch of other crap on top of it so she can’t see it or get to it, or even WANT to get to it.)

So here we are today, with more pink ink on a three year-old body. 

Guess where the stamp is?

Now I had just assumed that Ash had left it where Peyton could get it, and talked to her about it when I went to pick her up from school.

“She got it down?”

“Did you really put it up?”

“Yeah..  really high.”

Sure enough, when we got home, upon further investigation (no more assumptions), the doll changing table was found in their closet, acting as the needed step-stool to access the world of big sister stuff.

Ashley wasn’t too broken-hearted when I told her I threw it away..

“It was almost out of ink anyway.”

I wonder how that could be?

Peyton is happy though.  It got her a late morning bubble bath, you know, one of her interests.

Rest in peace, my beloved, big forest green spatula. April 2000 – February 2011

I am a little sad, I mean, I don’t have a picture of it?!  I probably do..  pictures where chocolate chip cookies are involved.  It was a good spatula.  He served faithfully.

But before I get any further, I have to state that it is all genetics.  Either those, or my example in parenting.  One of those are surely to blame.

My mom broke a few cooking utensils (wooden spoons mostly) on my older brother’s behind.

I learned so many valuable lessons from watching his behavior and the outcomes of it.  I was a good kid.  Such a good kid…

Get to this point in time, and sweet little Lynnie-lou-hoo has developed quite the attitude.  I will blame it on her female hormones, I don’t wish to believe her to be capable of being such a punk purposefully.  We’ve had a few run-ins since she has turned eight, and they are not fun my friends.  Not one smidgen of fun.

Last Saturday, she was on a tear about something so dumb.  So dumb I can’t even remember it.  She kept pushing it, arguing the point, and I kept telling her to leave it alone, it didn’t matter.  (See how much it didn’t matter?  I can’t, for the life of me, remember what the issue was!!)

I was making macaroni and cheese for the little ones, she wanted grilled cheese, and then she threw in the notion of a pickle, and well, that got my mouth drooling, so I decided, then and there, to make one for me too.. 

(Just for the record, I did not regret that choice.)

Anyway, she kept pushing it.  Pushing me!  I had had enough!  ENOUGH.  So to get her attention, I slammed my forest green, almost 11 year-old spatula on the counter top making an impressive “WHACKKKK!” sound effect as it made contact.

Well, it did get her attention.  It ended the conflict pretty quickly, and I went on attempting to flip my delicious grilled cheese sandwiches.  One turned effortlessly, the second one, not so much.  It was like something was making it stick to the bottom of the pan.  As soon as I finally got it turned, the top slice of bread (which had most recently been the bottom slice of bread), was all smooshed and crumpled-up like, the middle cheese layer partially exposed.

What did this to my lovely grilled cheese sandwich?

Oh well, on with it.

That spatula was also totally pro at cutting my delectable grilled cheese sandwiches into adorable little triangles.  (See all the lovely qualities it possessed?)  As I set out utilizing it to do what it did only second best, I noticed something was terribly wrong.

I looked at my forest green spatula, the one that is slightly oversized, perfect for grilled cheese sandwich-making, pancake flipping, and the like, and it was cracked!!!  It was cracked in five separate places.

Fatal fractures.

I was overcome with grief.

How could I go on without it?

Sure, I had other spatulas.  Smaller spatulas.  They had been around as long as the green guy, but they were not fit to replace him.  Not even close.  All their years of co-existing in drawers an utensil caddies did not benefit them in the ways I desired.

They are puny.

I have tried not to make grilled cheese this week, I just can’t do it without him!

He found his burial in the garbage can.

I told Lynn of the fatality that her behavior had caused (I had NOTHING to do with that…), and adequately guilt-tripped her.

(All this is joking, of course.)

But today was a happy, bittersweet day.

I went to Target.

(See, I sat the word and you get all warm and fuzzy, admit it.)

Among all the other things I forgot to purchase, let alone look at, I remembered to go take a gander at the supply of big guy spatulas.

I found a replacement.

He is all silicone-y.

He also has a happy new home in my kitchen utensil drawer.

Just wondering if the silicone element will make him less breakable in case I need to WHACK!! him on the counter too.

What do you think?

Our little “Town Crier”.

There has been a lot of holding going on around here.  What with Peyton not feeling too well and all. 

She gets held a lot, and I still have to do my      job(s).  She, and the box of Kleenex, seem to be new appendages to me.  I have thought about just letting her tough it out, sit on the couch and snuggle up with a blanket and a good movie, so I can get along, unencumbered.  But really, how long will she be this small and actually want me to comfort her?  I need to eat it up, right?  What else is really more important?  So I hold her. 

I hold her while I bake, clean, type, scrapbook, sew, read to her (or to myself), watch a movie, watch Curious George 64 times (and the same episode at that!), do the dishes, help the girls with their homework… etc.  I do things as they need to be done, like when the situation with the number of clean spoons in the house is getting quite desperate.  That happens a lot, with the amount of cereal, chocolate milk, and oh, don’t let me forget the mean streak we are on with tomato soup.  But most of the time we ae sitting and snuggling.

Peyton has gotten quite comfortable perched on my hip.  She has also become very familiar with my upper body.

Multiple times a day, I receive an update on the number of boobs I have.

“Mommy, you have one (point at righty) and two (point at lefty) boobs.”

“I am glad to know they are still there.  Thank you.”

“They are big boobs mommy.”

“Well that is more Victoria’s Secret than me.”

“I like them.”  She adds a little pat.

“Thank you Peyton.”

One time, after she again took inventory of my front lumps, I blew her mind.

She finished informing me about the current state of my chest and I told her, “You have two boobs, too.”

She looked down at her flat little chest in amazement.  Then back up to me.

“They are there, they are just small.  They are little Peyton boobs.”

She patted her chest.  “Yup, I have little Peyton boobs!”

So our time together, holding and what not, has given me a little “town crier” of sorts.

“Mom has two boobs and all is weeeellll!”

That is not all that she has given me, she usually leaves a snot streak on my shoulder, just to make sure that I will not forget our time spent together.

The door to “Neverland”.

My children are obsessed with Peter Pan these days.

Obsessed.

Not the cartoon version produced by that “crafty” (wicked/evil crafty, not cutesy ribbon and hot glue gun “crafty”)  “get your child addicted to our flicks so as to make them desire to watch them repeatedly on a daily basis”machine, otherwise known as Disney. 

Nope, my kids are hooked on the live action version produced by someone (or some bodies) equally as crafty, being that my children would probably not argue if I suggested they watch it repeatedly, all the live-long day.

And I wouldn’t because they would whole-heartedly accept.

So, some background for this story of mine..

Many homes here have crawl spaces.  My old house did, and I miss the heck out of my crawl space!  It was the perfect area for storing all of those seasonal decorations that I did not desire to see on a daily basis and did not want to take up valuable room with.  (It is also the perfect place for all the spiders on earth to live, especially during the winter months, and create dozens of webs just for sport.)  It was pimped-out too.  The moron who lived there before we did, framed in a good section of the floor, padded and carpeted it, put in a light switch, insulated the heat ducts and pipes that ran through there..  he did many other things moronically though.  Kind of canceled-out his “pimping-out” of the crawl space.

(Sorry about the vivid images of spider families that were planted in your head mom.)

This house, sadly, does not have a crawl space.  I do dream that one day, the guts of my garage floor will self-excavate themselves, and then allow me to have a bigger, much taller version of a crawlspace.  (I can dream about it.)

My parents’ home (the home where I grew up) has a crawl space.  When I was little, it contained the Christmas decorations, food storage items (like wheat, salt, and old two-liter pop bottles that had been washed and refilled with water), and other things my parents basically didn’t want to see. 

The summer after I graduated, mice decided to take-up residence there.  Many thanks go to the neighbors who moved in next door, kept their dogs, and their dog food outside, and helped in bringing these mice to our neck of the neighborhood.  (It has been suggested the dog food attracts mice.)

We removed all items of value from the space and left what was left of the wheat that the mice had gotten to, and the water, which we later learned, needed to be treated with bleach to make it usable in the future.  It was basically emptied and left to the mice and the spiders.

So now, the contents of my parents crawl space include the above items, mouse traps that probably have little mouse skeletons stuck in them, Decon, and lots and lots of spider webs.  And probably HUGE spiders.  (And moths that are breeding at record-setting levels.)

(Will that keep you up tonight mom?)

(I know, I had to throw moths into that mix, didn’t I?)

(Sorry.)

Oh, and some old glass milk jugs that I should go snatch…

When we were teenagers, we would wait patiently, for our turn to have the “storage room” as our bedroom.  That is where access to the crawl space is.

It (the idea of the crawl space) never really creeped me out.  The only thing I didn’t like about it was when you needed to go in it.  You had to step out a little ways into the darkness to pull on the little chain that would turn the light on.  It was a little unnerving.  I could imagine the giant spiders with their multiple eyes checking me out, waiting to pounce on me.

(Is this bothering you mom?)

On to the story!

Present day, the grandchildren find that mysterious door so exciting.  There have been stories circulating about that door, and who resides behind it, for years.

(Some of them are true..)

(I kid, I kid.)

(Kind of.)

So it’s no surprise when they want to go play down in the storage room.  With the lights out.  Yielding flashlights.

Adventurous kids we have in this family.  Eh?

The other day, while we were there for our “Grammie day”, there were just a couple of us and our kids still there, clean-up was in full swing, when mom alerted me that “my girls” took the door to the crawl space off and I “needed to put it back on”.

Pfftt.

I responded very wise__ like: “How do you know it was my girls and not these Mayes boys?  Huh?”

(Really, I love and respect my mom.  We just tease a little..  I only talked back to her one time.  ONE TIME.)

To which she came back with: “Because they told me they thought it was the door to “Neverland”.”

Yup.  That confirmed it.  It was “my girls”.

Do you think they are obsessed much?

I went downstairs to put the door back on, and I will tell you the truth…  the first thing I noticed was all of the spider webs and little spider cocoons attached to the backside of that door, hanging from the frame of the door...

(Shudder.)

And spiders don’t really bother me.

(But they bother my mom.)

:D

Then I noticed the old glass milk jugs, and at the time, my life really wasn’t more important than reaching in and snagging those.

I am now thinking that it wasn’t “that bad”.

Or maybe I am just saying that for my mom.

(I love you mom!)

Ashley: my future cowgirl.

This is Ashley:

She wants to be a cowgirl when she grows up.

How do I know?

Well, first of all, I am her mother.

And B, she told me.

A little background on Ash, she was born via emergency cesarean section. 

Some people aren’t so hot on them, I loved it.

(Besides all the worry and the unknown aspects of it.)

It wasn’t so bad not having to deal with sitting on sore spots during that post-partum recovery period.  The entire recovery wasn’t too shabby.

She, is freaked out by the whole notion.

She also thinks it (i.e. the c-section) will be genetic, for some reason.  She is slightly fearful of bearing her own offspring for this reason.

So, to add to that train of thinking, we also told our girls that kissing leads to babies.  (Well it does..)  So kissing is out of the question for Ashley.

She also understands that there is to be NO kissing, until she is married.

Now, to get to the cowgirl part of this..  kind of..  she has a best friend named Jessie.  She only talks when you pull a string that comes from her back, but according to Ash, she is the best friend ever.  I think she likes her a bit.  I believe that is where part of the recent love for cowgirls has come from.

Now we get to the other night.

We were watching “The Princess Diaries” as a family, and at the end, just as the girl is about to get her guy, and the kissing begins, Ash lets us all know how disgusted she is.

“EWWWWW!!  Kissing is GROSS…”

“Good.  You need to think that way for a couple more decades.  Remember, you don’t get to kiss ANYONE until you are married.”

“I’m not going to get married.  When I grow up, I am going to be a cowgirl.  Cowgirls don’t get married, they don’t kiss, and they don’t have babies.  If I have a baby, it might have to get cut out of my stomach.  So I am going to be a cowgirl.”

Sounds reasonable.  Doesn’t it?