Sometimes the tooth fairy forgets

I'm an absolutely lousy tooth fairy. This time it wasn't too bad, because it was Gabby's tooth, and she's aware that her mother is the tooth fairy. I have a history of forgetting to exchange teeth for coins though. I'm fully aware of this, and so is my daughter, so last night I told her to say to me as she and her brothers were going to bed, "Mom, I can't wait to see what the tooth fairy leaves me." wink wink And she did just that, but I still forgot. When she came and told me this morning I had to cover my tracks.

"Did Dario see the cup yet?!?" (I have them leave their tooth in a cup of water instead of under the pillow. On top of forgetting
to do it, I'm way too nervous to try to reach my arm under their pillow
without waking them up.)
"No," she said.
"Then run downstairs and hide the cup behind something and I'll leave the
money after you leave. Then you can pretend you're just finding it after
school."

This is not the first time I've had to do a cover-up. It was worse when Gabby lost her first tooth when she was about 4 years old. She was so excited to have the tooth fairy come. So we did the whole tooth in the cup of water set-up and left it out on the kitchen counter. And of course, I forgot. When Gabby woke up she was so disappointed.

"Mommy, the tooth fairy didn't come!"
"Oh honey. I bet she didn't see the cup. We kind of had it
pushed to the side. Let's leave it out right in the middle of the counter
tonight, and I'm sure she'll see it."
"Okay."

Next morning....

on the verge of tears "Mommy! The tooth fairy didn't come
AGAIN!"
"Oh gosh honey...you know, uhhhhh, there are so many little
kids losing their teeth right now. I bet she just got so busy she couldn't
make it around to everyone all in one night. Let's give her one more chance."
dejected "Okay, Mommy." sniff, sniff
"Hey Gabby, why don't you go into the living room and pick out a movie to
watch?"
"Alright." shuffles into the living room to rifle through videos,
at which point I hurriedly grab change from my purse and drop it quietly into
the glass, exchanging it for the little tooth(I just couldn't chance forgetting another night)
"Hey honey!! I can't believe it! I was just looking in the
fridge for a snack and when I turned around your tooth was gone! She must
have snuck in when I wasn't looking!!"
"Yyyyyyayyyyyyy Mommy!!"

Luckily she was a 4. And gullible. I don't think little Dario would fall for that, so I really need to get my act together.

Goodbye President Hinckley, for now

The president and prophet of my church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, passed away last night. Here is the story from the church's newsroom. http://newsroom.lds.org/ldsnewsroom/eng/

It is a sad day for members of the church, but I'm sure it is a happy day for him. His wife, Marjorie Pay Hinckley, had passed away 4 years ago and he missed her dearly. They are now reunited.

President Gordon B. Hinckley holds a special place in my heart. First of all, he is the only prophet I have ever known as a member of the church. I was baptized in 1996, the year after he was called. The second reason is very personal, and I won't go into details, but he was at the dedication of the Billings, Montana temple, which I was also able to attend. That day, I gained a personal testimony that he was, indeed, a prophet of God.

I love that he was always, always kind. Even when talking about challenges the members were having that needed to be improved, he taught in a loving way, never chastising. He was funny and witty and gentle and kind. Even though I didn't know him personally, I loved him.

And I will miss him.

1-2-3-4-5 babies!

I made a New Year's resolution this year to do at least one act of service each week. I plan to have it be a mix between formal volunteering and just helping neighbors or friends where I see a need. I know I'll grow from it, and I hope to find some good opportunities that I can involve my kids in as well.
Today was the first day I actually did some "official" volunteer work. I got to go and help with the Wilkinson quintuplets. When I first got to their house, it was pretty quiet. Only two babies were awake. So Rachelle, their mother, had one and I had the other. But after awhile they began to wake up one by one. It was neat to spend time with them and to compare how different their personalities all were. They were all SO cute, but oh my! Five babies, even between two people, is an awfully big job! I was only there for 3 hours, and all I really had to do was give them a couple of bottles and keep them entertained, but I was pretty pooped by the end. I can't imagine having 5 babies full-time. I used to look at my own kids when they were babies and tell them, "I love you, but I'm sure glad you're not twins!" And I still am.

Insensitive

My husband came home from Judo this morning with a broken hand. When he did a throw on someone, they landed right on top of his fist, and he said he heard it snap. And, being the compassionate wife that I am, my first response was, "Can you still work?" (Hey, he wasn't crying, and some one's gotta bring home the bacon to pay for my pricey new floors!) He said "yes."
And, because I've got all the confidence in the world that he is a tough -as -nails-manly-man, I've got him downstairs right now installing my wood floors. No sense in putting that off just for a little broken hand, I say.

Ungrateful wretch

Do you ever sit around feeling sorry for yourself, but you can't really think what it is you're feeling sorry about? Things are pretty good here. Good husband, good kids, good house. The only think I can think of is it's the dreary weather. Either that or I'm just an ungrateful wretch.

2nd choice

From a conversation I had with my sister on the phone tonight, regarding some friends of hers who are trying to adopt a child.

...I mean, these people are so great. If I died, I'd want to give my kids to them. I mean, I'd probably give them to you, but I'd want to give them to them.

Thanks Nikki. I love you too.


(She was kidding by the way. Or so she says.)

UPDATE: I'm still alive

Just thought you'd like to know that. The scary stalker/murderer didn't break in last night. And good thing for him, because I kept my stabby knife nearby. I couldn't leave it on the nightstand where my kids might see it, or more importantly, where the murderer could see it while I was sleeping and use it to stab me first. No, I'm much too smart to leave it there. Instead, I stuck it into an upright book under my nightstand, with the blade in the pages and the handle sticking out, right where I could easily grab it should an attack occur. So go ahead an try it scary man. I'm a woman with a plan.

Home Alone

I'm sitting at my desk right now with a long sharp kitchen knife next to my keyboard. You know, just in case I need to stab somebody in self-defense. I'm having another episode of paranoia (I hope) that there is someone watching me and waiting for the opportunity to sneak into my house and do horrible things to me or my children. Did I mention that my husband is out of town? My potential murderer knows that already, because he stakes out my house and watches my every move. He keeps track of when Dario's car is gone for an extended period of time so he can terrorize me then, and only then. He watches me through the windows after my kids go to bed too. I'd close the blinds but then the neighbors won't have an opportunity to be potential witnesses and possible lifesavers when this guy decides to attack me, right? So what's a girl to do when the house is dark and quiet and then she hears a thumping from somewhere (WHERE?) in the house that she knows she's not imagining because her dog heard it too, as evidenced by his ear perk and turned head? I'll tell you. She walks around the entire house with the best stabbing knife she can find, making sure doors and windows are locked and checking closets and undersides of beds. That's what she does. Then, with knife in hand, standing in the furthest corner of the kitchen so she can monitor all the entrypoints, she calls her absent husband half a country away to tell him she's potentially going to be murdered tonight, and midway through describing her ordeal, he starts laughing at some practical joke he played on his co-worker and tells her to hold on a minute, at which points she gets seriously frustrated and says, "I'm going to be murdered any minute. Sure, I'll hold on." and hangs up and then comes upstairs to blog. Because gosh darn it, someone needs to hear what may potentially be my last words. So these are it. My last words, I mean. Potentially. If I'm murdered tonight.









If not..... then I'll see you all here tomorrow.









Okay, the phone thing didn't happen exactly like that. There's no way I'd just hang up and let my husband slide that easily. I gave him a serious guilt trip and then he apologized and comforted me a little. Which did not make up for the callous laughing while I was in (potentially) serious peril, but whatever. He'll have enough guilt when I'm murdered.

Not quite the message she meant to send

Gabriella had an assignment at school to write a brochure about the town we live in that would convince people to move here. Here's an excerpt:

Move to Our Town!

It has great services like:

1. Blongo Hotel

2. Great Police Stations

These places are fabuluse! They also get alot of busness!

Hmm. I don't think her message comes across quite like she intended.

Deadbeat and Hobo

Both of those are words that describe me, apparently.

I went to our annual homeowners association meeting last night. During the meeting they had all the committee chair people get up and give the synopsis of what they had been doing that year and what they planned to do next year. All the chair people took time to thank their committee members. Then the landscaping committee chairman got up and did his schpiel and then went through and named his committee members. The last thing he said was, "and Alvarez somebody, haven't seen her around much." Wha? Huh? I attempted to volunteer for the landscaping committee two years ago when at the annual meeting they said they really needed help. I emailed the board and said I'd like to volunteer and I never heard a word back from them. So apparently my name has been on the committee roles for 2 years and they think I just volunteered and never bothered showing up. Geesh!! I'm a deadbeat and I didn't even know it.

Then, to top it off, when I got home and tried to give my husband a kiss, he pulled back and told me my breath smelled like "hobo." Nice. He actually asked me if I had been drinking. And for any of you who may be lurking (I'm probably flattering myself here) that don't know already, I'm a MORMON, which means I do not so much as take a sip of alcohol. Ever. But maybe I should start. Then instead of sitting silently at those homeowner meetings turning beet red while they mention me as "the girl who never comes around", maybe I could summon up some liquid courage and stand up and drunkenly demand to know WHO IT WAS who put my name on the landscaping committee and never bothered telling me. Then I could call them out in front of the whole neighborhood and demand their resignation from the board. Yes. I'm sure that would repair my deadbeat hobo reputation.

Buyer's butterflies

I've got butterflies in my stomach right now because I'm a frugal girl who just bought something very expensive. We are going to put wood floors in our house. Saturday afternoon I finally found a style and color that I liked that was on clearance at a great price. The guy told me they had had that style for quite a while without a ton of interest. I decided to take home a sample just to make sure that it matched my tile like I thought it did. I got home and checked and it looked good, but by then I didn't feel like racing back to the store before they closed. They're only open 3 hours on Sunday, so I figured my chances were fine that when I went in on Monday they'd still have it. Well, I was wrong. And I was so darn tired of driving all over town only to find floors I didn't want at prices I didn't want to pay, that I caved and bought the floor that I really liked, but at a price I did not like to pay. The floor that I saw in the beginning and would have bought "if price were not an issue." I put that in quotes because I've said that phrase many times over this past week as I've stared longingly at that sample that I knew we should NOT buy. Price is an issue with me. It always is, and it always will be, even if someday I get stinkin' rich. It's just a part of my personality. The only time I can break from that is if I absolutely LOVE something and I can justify that I will use it for a very long time. Which is what I tried to tell myself in this instance, and I hope it turns out to be true. Well, the part about using it for a very long time will definitely be true. It's the part about loving it that I'm worried about. I am not good at picturing a finished product in my mind, and although the sample is absolutely beautiful, I'm very nervous at the thought of glueing that much money- I mean, wood- to my floor and finding that it doesn't look nearly as good with my stuff as it did in the showroom. It makes me more nervous than any other purchase I've ever made I think, because even if you buy an expensive sofa, you can always return it if it doesn't fit your vision. I'm a compulsive receipt saver for just that reason. But this stuff will be cut up, nailed, and glued before I can decide. I can hardly bear it. If it does not end up being "just what I always wanted" I'll be heartbroken. Oh pleeeeeeeeeeaaase be pretty!

Sugar and spice and everything nice

Supposedly that's what little girls are made of, and little boys are made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails. Well, the person who wrote that poem had never met my son. Dario Jr. went to a Christmas party last month and made cookies. He proudly showed me his work, and then pulled out the cookie he made especially for me. And may I just say, I am the only one who got a heart. Sugar and spice and everything nice. That is what my little boy is made of.

Long vacation made me lazy

I want to keep up with blogging, but after our looooooooooong vacation, I'm feeling too lazy to sit at my desk and write anything in a purposful manner. I do however, have a a couple pictures for your viewing pleasure that I managed to dig up at my parents house in Montana. No Cool Story asked for it a while ago, so here's evidence of my lazy-eyed-duct-taped-eye-patch days. Man I was cool.

There I was thinking I looked so pretty in my little pink dress and fancy lace parasol, feeling like a model while the photographer took shot after shot, when all he was really doing was trying to get the best angle to make me look as un-cockeyed as possible so my parents would purchase lots of pictures. (This picture does not show me in all my lazy-eyed glory, but it's the only one I could find....)

Messy hair, toothless, and lazy-eyed with a glamorous guaze and duct-taped eye patch. I was every little boys dream girl.