Ten on the tenth, part 2

Last Friday, Mark had a birthday party.  It is brought to you by the letter P and the number 10.  Mark has decided his favorite color is purple so the invitations to his party were purple.

We ate pizza.  Mark opened presents from his friends (they know him very well...Legos, Star Wars stuff, money to buy Legos and/or Star Wars stuff.)  I made a cake.  For the first time in years, it wasn't a Lego cake.  It was still an ugly cake though.  He wanted chocolate with purple frosting.  Not exactly an appetizing combination.  Also, we went to the pool.   We could have popped popcorn and played pictionary if things got slow.

But they didn't.

First, they all armed themselves and started a Nerf gun battle.  Is an almost 16 year old too old for that kind of thing?

Apparently not.

Braeden and Mark were on one team. (Maybe that other little guy crouched on the stairs was on their side too?)  The other team was holding Gavin hostage upstairs and Braeden and Mark had to rescue him.  I tried to take a few pictures but I felt like an embedded reporter in a war zone and mostly had to stay clear to protect myself.

a helmet and shield seemed like the right idea

Braeden and Mark formed a plan and stormed the stairs:

It seems Mark gave his weapon to Braeden...

...and just went into battle with his bare hands.

Then I decided it was time for everyone to come and eat. 

And they ate.

One boy said, "If someone touches my stomach, I will throw up all over everything.  I usually have 3-4 slices and I just ate 7."

I said, "OK.  I...really...hope that doesn't happen."

We headed to the pool which is one of those times when you realize you are a genius.  They caroused around and were loud and wild like the undomesticated creatures boys this age are....

...and my house didn't get destroyed.

The next morning Mark had Lego sets built before breakfast.

he always keeps a knife nearby for opening plastic packages quickly

I am grateful for my newly minted ten year old.  I'm grateful for his good friends.  I'm grateful for Adam and Braeden and Emma and their help in managing a wild group.

I'm grateful for all of the celebrations in life that make it wonderful.

Speaking of celebrations, here are the red-headed birthday kids last night at The Old Spaghetti Factory.

I'm starting to think they're a little spoiled. (It's a birthDAY red-heads, not a birthWEEK.)

(I do love them though.)

Ten on the tenth, part 1

ten years ago

Yesterday when everyone was all fancied up for church, I told them I wanted to recreate this picture.  I meant something along the lines of stand in front of the Christmas tree in an orderly manner.

They had other ideas.

Weird kids.  (I shouldn't have shown them the picture from ten years ago.)

Gone are the cradling-Mark-in-the-crook-of-Braeden's-arm days.

The other day I glanced out the window and saw a group of Mark's friends.  Then I realized the one holding the umbrella was Mark.  I recognized the umbrella (it was mine) before I recognized the tall kid holding it.  In the same way I think my youngest brother (the one with two children) is about 16, I think that my youngest child is still a baby.

He isn't.

(And Ammon isn't 16 either.)

There is no baby left in my baby boy.  He is ten.  In the bitter and sweet emotions that swirl around growing children, the best choice is to choose the sweet.  He's growing up.  I enjoy my kids more and more the older they get so I will blink back any melancholy and tears and embrace these children that insist on leaving their cherubic baby traits behind.

My kids keep getting more interesting, funnier, smarter and more challenging.

What's not to love?

Mark's fellow red headed cousin Talia's birthday is two days before his.  (We try to keep those red heads together.)  We celebrated their birthdays last night at Grandma Geri's:

Mark and Talia with Braeden singing along to "Happy Birthday" in the background.  All captured inexpertly by Pinkie Pie.

Light up the night

I lit the candles.

I set a fancy table.

Last night we celebrated pikkujoulu, which if you're a regular around here, you know that means "little Christmas."  It's our small family Christmas party before Christmas.  It makes sense in my head.

Here are some looks at past pikkujoulu celebrations:  2009, 2010, 2011.

We always have clam chowder.

Two pots full.  You have to have enough + Braeden invited Jadon over and two teenage boys eat more than one teenage boy.  (You're welcome for the tip.  I know all sorts of trivia like that.)

Adam brought home sour dough bread bowls which were divine but not pictured.  Not a lot is pictured actually.  We just enjoyed.  Geri came over, bearing gifts.  We feasted, then gathered in the living room for our "program".

In the past we've been a little more together when it came to the program.  Last night, not so much.  I wanted to play a stirring rendition of "Carol of the Bells" with my handbells but we couldn't find the piano music and it's not the same without the piano music.  I blamed Braeden and he blamed Emma and I don't know who Emma blamed.  I ended up playing the song by ear on the piano and I handed out bells and made everyone participate.  It lacked a little something (chords) but we made up for it with enthusiasm.  How can you go wrong with handbells?  I played the piano (badly) for some Christmas hymns and Braeden and Emma each played a Christmas song on the piano.  I asked Mark if he wanted to do something.  He said, "I think I'm going to do a dress up," and he scampered out of the room.

I don't think I've ever heard anyone use dress up as a noun like that.

He came back as a shepherd.  I asked him if he wanted to tell us about shepherds in conjunction with Christmas and he said no.  Just the dress up.

I hope the shepherds really did have terry cloth to wear.  It looks comfy.

Adam read from the scriptures with music in the background and it was beautiful but I did not cry so there's something of a triumph for me.

That and the desserts:

SEVEN types of fudge.  Salted toffee was a clear winner but I thought the Oreo held a lot of promise.

It was a lovely night despite all our folly and lack of talent.  It's more about being together than anything.  And it was about the light. 

The lighthearted laughing and playing Christmas songs on handbells.

The lights on the tree, the candles.

Remembering why.

Then spake Jesus unto them again, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.
                                                                                                      John 8:12

Dala horses

I am trying to remember life PM (pre-markers).  It was a cold lonely husk of a life compared to now.  And there were a lot less cookies involved.

Emma and I launched our new project:  Dala horses.

First, because it's the natural order of things, I baked the cookies.  I was on the phone with Marianne at the time.  (I do my best work when I'm on the phone with my sisters.)

I kept saying, "Ahh!  I killed it!"  Because I kept breaking the legs off the horses when I was removing them from the pan (and we all know what happens to horses when they break their legs).  Marianne said, "Stop what you're doing."

I said, "But I have to get them off the pan."

She said, "Stop.  It's obviously not working.  Let them cool on the pans."

So I did.  I don't know what other people do when they're being irrational but I listen to my sister.  After the horses cooled on the pans, I could move them without any danger.

I frosted them red.  Emma said, "Oh, they're all red?"

Then I remembered I was going to make some white and some blue.  Maybe next time.

I've wanted a Dala horse for a long time.  A wooden one.  But every time I see a pretty one that I like, it is really expensive.

These were in my price range.  And edible.  (bonus)

Emma did some and I did some.  I think I like most of Emma's more than mine.  She's a good marker partner.

Organization

It's possible you remember this, when I arranged our books by color.  It has delighted me and been maybe one of the dumbest thing I've ever done.  (Well, probably not.  I do dumb things.)  When we need a book, there's a certain amount of brainstorming as we all try to remember the color of the book.

This is no way to live.

A few days ago, I was looking for a book, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to be exact. I decided Mark had to read it instead of Old Yeller.  No reason except I like that book and used to tell kids in my class at school that Roald Dahl was my uncle.  I could not remember what color that book was.  I remembered what was on the front cover, but I had to remember what was on the spine.  Rats.

I looked downstairs on the neutral bookshelves.  I looked on the stair landing at the rainbow.  I looked at the two rainbows in the school room.  I looked at the white books in the school room.  I looked at the brown and green and black books in our bedroom.  Repeat, repeat, repeat.

I texted Adam:  Whose stupid idea was it to organize the books by color?

He (perhaps wisely) didn't respond.

It makes me feel a little manic when I lose something so I kept looking and looking and I was going crazy and crazier.  

Until I gave up and gave Mark The Bronze Bow to read.  He said, "Do I have to?"

I said, "Unless you want to read Old Yeller."  (That may be my go to threat from here on out.)

When Emma got home, I told her about the trials and travails of being foolish enough to arrange your books by color and she said, "What book were you looking for?"

I told her.

"Oh.  It's in my room."

She produced the book (which incidentally is mostly white on the spine) but the damage was done.  From now on it's the Dewey Decimal system around here.

Except.

Just for now.

A little Christmas cheer from my bookshelf to you.

Do I have other things I could be doing with my time?  Probably.  (But it's a cute little tree isn't it?)

Speaking of organization, the fabulous Charlotte Louise Dahl was born yesterday.  The newest in a long line of wonderful nieces, she evened the score in my very symmetrical family.  My parents have three daughters and three sons and 10 granddaughters and 10 grandsons.

Congratulations Tabor and Katie and sweet big sisters, Olivia and Ruby. 

When your husband irritates you...

I usually write the Christmas letter we send out to our family and friends.  Adam may give some input but I have the ultimate editorial control because I am the one who does it.

This year, our aging printer gave its last gasp and I ordered another one from Amazon.  It came in short order, you know Amazon.   (unpaid celebrity endorsement--if we're imagining I'm a celebrity)

It's still in its box.  Mark and I were all set to hook it up one day but the instruction manual is right on top of the box looking all intimidating and menacing and it makes me squeamish so I am leaving it in the box until Adam can attend to it.

(Mark said I'm a coward.  He's right.)

Adam is deeply entrenched in Boy Scout rechartering (you're jealous, right?) so he hasn't pulled the printer out of the box either.

The point of all of this is, Adam printed the letter at work.

Right after he hijacked it.

I had carefully not written anything about me in it because I didn't want to.  I write about myself to my little heart's content here on my silly blog and no one has to read it but when I send something into someone's home, I feel differently about it.

Adam added some things about me.  I protested and told him not to.  He is as disobedient as he is un-intimidated by printer instructions though.  He changed it a little but he said that it was staying.  I am at his mercy because of the whole printer instruction thing and because it is against my nature not to have sent the Christmas cards by now!

I was feeling frustrated with the dear man, fuming and washing the lunch dishes.  I was doubly irritated with him because when we were decorating the Christmas tree he took oodles of pictures of me.  We are all well aware of how unphotogenic I am.  "Stop taking pictures of me!" I would say.

"No," he would say.  (See?  Disobedient.)

Then he said he wanted me to put them on my blog.  I told him I didn't want to put them on my blog.  And I wasn't going to, because disobedience runs in our family.

Then, while I was still cleaning up the kitchen, I reconsidered.  I thought it wasn't such a terrible thing to have a husband that wanted you represented in the family Christmas letter and it was perhaps even sweet that he doggedly took pictures of an uncooperative and unphotogenic subject like me.  I went from feeling frustrated to feeling loved.

And that's not a bad place to find yourself.

Just for you, Adam.  Here's one of the pictures you took:

As you can see, decorating a Christmas tree takes great concentration.  Just look at the razor focus.  That's the festive pin I wore to church that day.  Mark said, "Mom, I like that pin but why are you wearing an egg?"

Who knows?

When it comes down to it

Besides having rhyming names, Braeden and his friend Jadon have something in common.  They love to argue with each other.  I've heard them amiably argue about just about everything.  One thing they've argued enough about that I think they agree to disagree, is communism vs. capitalism.  Braeden comes down on the side of capitalism.  He acknowledges that communism sounds nice but doesn't work.  Jadon won't budge.

Saturday they were playing Monopoly at our house along with Leif and Emma.  Jadon had all the railroads, utilities and Park Place and Boardwalk.  And a huge stack of money.  As time went on, Emma had a few dollars and one mortgaged property.   Every time she landed somewhere and couldn't afford to pay, Braeden would look at her, smile and pay for her.*

Jadon wouldn't take anything less than the exact dollar amount he was owed from everyone.

Principles are hard to maintain.


*before you think Braeden's too altruistic, Leif said, "Braeden, will you be my brother too?  Just for this game?"  Braeden said, "Nope."