Charlie said the following to me last week (or the week before, perhaps) as I was snapping him into his favorite orange pajamas, "Snappies" - "Mom, be careful not to snap my penis, because I love my precious penis." Yes, you and all of your kind, Charles.
Jacob, after a playdate with his pal Elise who lives on a potato farm and raises llamas (sidenote: here in alberta the "a" is pronounced short and curt, as in apple. which makes no sense to me when i've heard the book "is your mama a llama" read aloud. kind of throws the whole rhyming point of the book out the window, EH? esp. when mama is being prounounced "momma") "Mom, we should really be brushing Henni's teeth - 'cuz Elise's Mom brushes her baby's teeth."
When Henry woke up this morning his left eye was stuck shut with some disgusting yellow goop. It was the most pathetically adorable thing I've ever seen, my little guy kicking, grinning and futilely trying to open up that eye and give me a proper greeting.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
system overhaul
the laundry situation at my house it getting out of control, as dear husband reminded me this morning. i have to laugh at his ultimatums, though, because what is he really going to do about it unless he does it himself? alas, i know i'm the culprit, as this is my job. what are your suggestions, cleaner-than-me friends? i need a system, a specific, feasible system. tell me what you do and i will emulate you as best i can. i adore wearing dresses, but loathe the fact that i often wear them because i have no clean pants. i'd rather wear them because i choose to, not out of necessity. my neightbor, who is dutch (around here the calvanist dutch women traditionally wear skirts or dresses) even commented on my increased use of skirts. all i could think of was "great, now i look like someone of another faith" and cringed. at least it wasn't a mennonite comparison. i do have some sense of style, even if it's only in its infant stages. in a house where someone is either spitting up, pooping, or wiping their greasy paws onto your clothing, how do i keep it together? how many loads a week do you do? do i really have to do laundry every day? and how do you do it and cook and play and still have time to eat, shower and exercise?
Saturday, March 20, 2010
oliver daily gems
char walks into my bedroom this morning with a disgusted look on his face and announced "someone farted in the kitchen." i hear ya, little buddy; i hate that sewage smell in the room i consume food in, too.
the missionaries are coming over for dinner, which i signed up for and promptly forgot about, so i'm hot-steppin' it to get the pizza dough risen and toppings ready for baking, as well as the flurry of necessary tidying. i offered the eldest olivers 5 bucks each if they can straighten the basement in 20 minutes. jacob, wholly serious, asked "mom, is it okay if we clean longer than 20 minutes?" ummmm, let me get back to you on that one, 'cuz that's a real dilemma for me.
the missionaries are coming over for dinner, which i signed up for and promptly forgot about, so i'm hot-steppin' it to get the pizza dough risen and toppings ready for baking, as well as the flurry of necessary tidying. i offered the eldest olivers 5 bucks each if they can straighten the basement in 20 minutes. jacob, wholly serious, asked "mom, is it okay if we clean longer than 20 minutes?" ummmm, let me get back to you on that one, 'cuz that's a real dilemma for me.
Friday, March 19, 2010
random funnies
my major reason for starting this blog was to catch up for years of not journaling. i'm hoping that if i record a random memory every so often, it will jog my memory to remember others i may have forgotten. i'm attempting, in installments, to periodically dig deep and spark some history. for today, here is a random sampling of some of the hilarious (to us, anyway) things our children have said in the last 6.5 years.
jacob, last spring, age 3ish: "mom, are there REALLY people named ashley? do you know them?"
briar, age 2, as our excitable (and excited) giant lab jumped up onto my middle-aged visiting teacher: "my puppy has a penis...and a back!"
jacob, age 4, after visiting the bakery with his grandparents and coming home empty-handed: "grandma and grandpa, i liked going with you to the bakery a LITTLE BIT, but I'm a also a little mad, because all you bought was a loaf of bread!" (jacob is very much the peace-maker - he is never totally negative about anything). this bit of wit was immediately rewarded with a do-over; they went back to the bakery post-haste and bought the child a donut.
briar, in february of 2008, was known to transform into the "prancing girl" (something akin to a majorette, i think) and sing this little ditty: "prance, prance, prancey-prance, PRANCE-ing!" while prancing, of course. we were instruced to pretend to witness a parade ("mom, how 'bout you saw a prancing girl from really far away, and you could hear her coming, and you really wanted to talk to her, so you said...") jacob, though only 2, wanted in on the act. so she in incoporated him in by saying "hi, i'm prancing girl, and this is my prancing boy...blah, blah, blah." while visiting my parents, they suddenly started in with the parade. briar wandered off, prancing, to another part of the house. charlie began to prance behind jacob, and was keeping remarkably good time with the imaginary beat. jacob was suddenly the star of the show, and he proudly announced to my parents "hi, i'm prancing boy, and this is my prancing...(he looked down at little charlie, wrinkled his brow for a minute)...charles."
a few years ago (2, to be exact) briar and jacob started their own performing group, the "cool bats". their "shows" consisted of jumping around the furniture and emulating balancing acts and martial arts. charles, only a little older than 1 at the time, was not allowed to paricipate because his siblings saw him as clumsy and too young. he remembered the "cool" part of the name, and a year later started the "cool tricks" at the dinner table. charlie announces "cool tricks" and suddenly there is silence and absolute concentration as all three in unison pick up a utensil and carefully balance it on their appendages.
and now, for the sweet things:
every morning charlie tiptoes (or tapdances, or cat-crawls, as the mood strikes him) into our room and stage-whispers: "is henni awake? let me see henni - i want to see henni's eyes!" and lately, he refers to henry almost exclusively as "hankie".
that's all that's coming to mind tonight.
jacob, last spring, age 3ish: "mom, are there REALLY people named ashley? do you know them?"
briar, age 2, as our excitable (and excited) giant lab jumped up onto my middle-aged visiting teacher: "my puppy has a penis...and a back!"
jacob, age 4, after visiting the bakery with his grandparents and coming home empty-handed: "grandma and grandpa, i liked going with you to the bakery a LITTLE BIT, but I'm a also a little mad, because all you bought was a loaf of bread!" (jacob is very much the peace-maker - he is never totally negative about anything). this bit of wit was immediately rewarded with a do-over; they went back to the bakery post-haste and bought the child a donut.
briar, in february of 2008, was known to transform into the "prancing girl" (something akin to a majorette, i think) and sing this little ditty: "prance, prance, prancey-prance, PRANCE-ing!" while prancing, of course. we were instruced to pretend to witness a parade ("mom, how 'bout you saw a prancing girl from really far away, and you could hear her coming, and you really wanted to talk to her, so you said...") jacob, though only 2, wanted in on the act. so she in incoporated him in by saying "hi, i'm prancing girl, and this is my prancing boy...blah, blah, blah." while visiting my parents, they suddenly started in with the parade. briar wandered off, prancing, to another part of the house. charlie began to prance behind jacob, and was keeping remarkably good time with the imaginary beat. jacob was suddenly the star of the show, and he proudly announced to my parents "hi, i'm prancing boy, and this is my prancing...(he looked down at little charlie, wrinkled his brow for a minute)...charles."
a few years ago (2, to be exact) briar and jacob started their own performing group, the "cool bats". their "shows" consisted of jumping around the furniture and emulating balancing acts and martial arts. charles, only a little older than 1 at the time, was not allowed to paricipate because his siblings saw him as clumsy and too young. he remembered the "cool" part of the name, and a year later started the "cool tricks" at the dinner table. charlie announces "cool tricks" and suddenly there is silence and absolute concentration as all three in unison pick up a utensil and carefully balance it on their appendages.
and now, for the sweet things:
every morning charlie tiptoes (or tapdances, or cat-crawls, as the mood strikes him) into our room and stage-whispers: "is henni awake? let me see henni - i want to see henni's eyes!" and lately, he refers to henry almost exclusively as "hankie".
that's all that's coming to mind tonight.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Delicious Mashed and a Cowboy Named Mike
this first part has nothing to do with the second, but this recipe was so delicioso i had to share:
mashed potatoes with scallions and parmesan (my variation on a Chatelaine recipe)
8 yukon gold potatoes
1/2 cup half and half or buttermilk (i only had bmilk)
1 tsp dijon
2 Tbsp butter
4 scallions
1 cup freshly grated parmesan
sea salt to taste
when the taters are almost boiled soft, stir together and heat bmilk, butter and dijon. mash taters, add heated liquid - combine. stir in green onions (finely chopped) and parmesan. i'm usually a gravy glutton, but i didn't even miss the lack thereof. i love me some comfort food.
tonight we attended the annual bull riders exhibition with all four children in tow. most of you (all five people that occasionally read my blog :) know that even though i was raised primarily in wyoming, this is SO NOT MY THING. while my classmates swooned over clint black and billy ray in the mid-nineties, i was vacillating between my goth/cure phase and the spirited (and predictably hairy) flower-child. despite my aversion to most things remotely akin to pointy-toed cowboy boots, un-tailored flannel shirts, snug wranglers, and the like, ryan had once again used his connections with the local radio station to score some free tickets. his relationship via the family business with our local stations has been quite fortuitous for us, allowing us to see, gratis, barenaked ladies, blue man group, former olympians figure skating, our lady peace (whoever that is-seriously!), among others. but i digress...
last year he took jacob, then 3, because we were only given 2 tickets. well lucky us - this year it was 4! char and the baby were free due to age, which meant some lap-sitting was part and parcel of the process. of course our seats were in the very center of the aisle, and my children managed to jostle, tread upon, become entangled in, and generally kick every last bodily appendage and accesory on the way to our seats. as comfortable and roomy as our spots were (at least they had individual seats and backs), they were not very, errrrm, conducive to breast-feeding. i'm confident the spectators behind me no longer needed to speculate about my cup-size after i attempted to console a rather tired and snotty baby h and latched him on. the kindly, maternal, grandmother in front us made us feel exceedingly welcome by casting raised eye-brows and an ever-so loving "shhhh!" periodically throughout the performance. nevermind the ear-splitting whistles, drunken whooping, and general cacaphony surrounding us. my children, by acting like shrieking tyrannosaurases and pterodactyls (or some other menacing beasties) were only dutifully trying to follow the announcer's hint that "remember, lethbridge, the louder you cheer and holler, the more these bulls will throw these cowboys around - let's give the boys a chance to show ofs their skills!" his words, folks, not mine. who cares if our kidlets stared in immediately after the previous din had already died down? sheesh.
each bullrider was properly introduced, including experience, age, hometown, etc., and we were instruced to give them "foreigners" a "warm, canadian welcome". the oliver children began chanting "go canada, go canada, canada...canada...CANADA!" wildly as the subsequent american and australian riders were announced. one name caught my attention for some reason i couldn't quite put my finger on. the experienced mike moore, from chicago was up next...and then a close-up of his face, sans the wimpy protective head-gear i saw many of the younger cowboys clad in tonight flooded the monitor near us. "he looks SO familiar," i thought. a millisecond later i knew why.
my freshman year of college was spent at the university of wyoming, a school known for partying, cowbell, an obsessive rivalry with byu (my graduating alma-mater),, yellow and brown body-paint, rowdiness and bullriders or wannabes. if i had a dime for every ranch-wear shod guy or gal i saw promenading around campus back in '94-'95...my roommate and i were the best of friends but polar opposites. i grooved to g-love & special sauce, blind melon, dave mathews band, live, smashing pumpkins, etc. she was in love with george strait, faith hill (bed of roses, baby!), reba, garth brooks, etc. shockingly, we both dressed the part. she had big hair, tight pants, ropers, and sparkly eye-shadow. my hair, long and already naturally curly, approached dredlocks of its own accord most days. i favored long flowing skirts with jingling bells attached, and applied mascara only when going to a "gig". i was quite reticent around guys at this point, being only 17 years old and actually quite shy when it came to anything approaching flirting. my fellow tie-dyed deadheads often tried to get me to play hackey-sack with them in the mall between classes, but they intimidated me by calling me "the girl with the long red hair". so, we hung out with the boys on our floor -freshmen like us - and their friends. they were nearly all cowboys and native wyoming specimen- and all in love with my roomie the skinny cowgirl with julia robertsesque lips. one dude, whom we thought was particularly cool, was mike moore from chicago. he seemed a bit of a paradox to us because he was from the big city, black, and also a bullrider. he also lived off-campus in his own trailer and was almost 25 years old back in '95, which made him both ultra-awesome and slightly intimidating because he was so, you know, OLD.
imagine my surprise, delight, and strange feeling of pride when his name was called tonight and i recognized his mug up on the big screen. i actually exclaimed to the guy sitting next to me, who had already been toed in the elbow by my squirmy, nursing 7 month-old, "hey, i know him, i KNOW him!" he mumbled something like "great" and proceeded to ask me a question about the scoring which i knew nothing about but pretended to be well-versed in. he was obviously trying to actually watch mike ride instead of bask in the glow of sitting next to the girl who knew him. so i stage-whispered it to my husband, on the other end of our small team of children. he didn't believe me and said so with his furry little eyebrows, so i blurted: "look, i have a picture of him in my dorm room at home - i'll show it to you." somehow that does not sound as innocent as it was. and now i'm recalling the sign my molly roomie had above her bed (which also served as a couch for visitors, of course) that she had "borrowed" from a local diner, which happened to be the backdrop for said pictue of me and cowboy mike. it read: three or more please.
mashed potatoes with scallions and parmesan (my variation on a Chatelaine recipe)
8 yukon gold potatoes
1/2 cup half and half or buttermilk (i only had bmilk)
1 tsp dijon
2 Tbsp butter
4 scallions
1 cup freshly grated parmesan
sea salt to taste
when the taters are almost boiled soft, stir together and heat bmilk, butter and dijon. mash taters, add heated liquid - combine. stir in green onions (finely chopped) and parmesan. i'm usually a gravy glutton, but i didn't even miss the lack thereof. i love me some comfort food.
tonight we attended the annual bull riders exhibition with all four children in tow. most of you (all five people that occasionally read my blog :) know that even though i was raised primarily in wyoming, this is SO NOT MY THING. while my classmates swooned over clint black and billy ray in the mid-nineties, i was vacillating between my goth/cure phase and the spirited (and predictably hairy) flower-child. despite my aversion to most things remotely akin to pointy-toed cowboy boots, un-tailored flannel shirts, snug wranglers, and the like, ryan had once again used his connections with the local radio station to score some free tickets. his relationship via the family business with our local stations has been quite fortuitous for us, allowing us to see, gratis, barenaked ladies, blue man group, former olympians figure skating, our lady peace (whoever that is-seriously!), among others. but i digress...
last year he took jacob, then 3, because we were only given 2 tickets. well lucky us - this year it was 4! char and the baby were free due to age, which meant some lap-sitting was part and parcel of the process. of course our seats were in the very center of the aisle, and my children managed to jostle, tread upon, become entangled in, and generally kick every last bodily appendage and accesory on the way to our seats. as comfortable and roomy as our spots were (at least they had individual seats and backs), they were not very, errrrm, conducive to breast-feeding. i'm confident the spectators behind me no longer needed to speculate about my cup-size after i attempted to console a rather tired and snotty baby h and latched him on. the kindly, maternal, grandmother in front us made us feel exceedingly welcome by casting raised eye-brows and an ever-so loving "shhhh!" periodically throughout the performance. nevermind the ear-splitting whistles, drunken whooping, and general cacaphony surrounding us. my children, by acting like shrieking tyrannosaurases and pterodactyls (or some other menacing beasties) were only dutifully trying to follow the announcer's hint that "remember, lethbridge, the louder you cheer and holler, the more these bulls will throw these cowboys around - let's give the boys a chance to show ofs their skills!" his words, folks, not mine. who cares if our kidlets stared in immediately after the previous din had already died down? sheesh.
each bullrider was properly introduced, including experience, age, hometown, etc., and we were instruced to give them "foreigners" a "warm, canadian welcome". the oliver children began chanting "go canada, go canada, canada...canada...CANADA!" wildly as the subsequent american and australian riders were announced. one name caught my attention for some reason i couldn't quite put my finger on. the experienced mike moore, from chicago was up next...and then a close-up of his face, sans the wimpy protective head-gear i saw many of the younger cowboys clad in tonight flooded the monitor near us. "he looks SO familiar," i thought. a millisecond later i knew why.
my freshman year of college was spent at the university of wyoming, a school known for partying, cowbell, an obsessive rivalry with byu (my graduating alma-mater),, yellow and brown body-paint, rowdiness and bullriders or wannabes. if i had a dime for every ranch-wear shod guy or gal i saw promenading around campus back in '94-'95...my roommate and i were the best of friends but polar opposites. i grooved to g-love & special sauce, blind melon, dave mathews band, live, smashing pumpkins, etc. she was in love with george strait, faith hill (bed of roses, baby!), reba, garth brooks, etc. shockingly, we both dressed the part. she had big hair, tight pants, ropers, and sparkly eye-shadow. my hair, long and already naturally curly, approached dredlocks of its own accord most days. i favored long flowing skirts with jingling bells attached, and applied mascara only when going to a "gig". i was quite reticent around guys at this point, being only 17 years old and actually quite shy when it came to anything approaching flirting. my fellow tie-dyed deadheads often tried to get me to play hackey-sack with them in the mall between classes, but they intimidated me by calling me "the girl with the long red hair". so, we hung out with the boys on our floor -freshmen like us - and their friends. they were nearly all cowboys and native wyoming specimen- and all in love with my roomie the skinny cowgirl with julia robertsesque lips. one dude, whom we thought was particularly cool, was mike moore from chicago. he seemed a bit of a paradox to us because he was from the big city, black, and also a bullrider. he also lived off-campus in his own trailer and was almost 25 years old back in '95, which made him both ultra-awesome and slightly intimidating because he was so, you know, OLD.
imagine my surprise, delight, and strange feeling of pride when his name was called tonight and i recognized his mug up on the big screen. i actually exclaimed to the guy sitting next to me, who had already been toed in the elbow by my squirmy, nursing 7 month-old, "hey, i know him, i KNOW him!" he mumbled something like "great" and proceeded to ask me a question about the scoring which i knew nothing about but pretended to be well-versed in. he was obviously trying to actually watch mike ride instead of bask in the glow of sitting next to the girl who knew him. so i stage-whispered it to my husband, on the other end of our small team of children. he didn't believe me and said so with his furry little eyebrows, so i blurted: "look, i have a picture of him in my dorm room at home - i'll show it to you." somehow that does not sound as innocent as it was. and now i'm recalling the sign my molly roomie had above her bed (which also served as a couch for visitors, of course) that she had "borrowed" from a local diner, which happened to be the backdrop for said pictue of me and cowboy mike. it read: three or more please.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
lil' hen
what is it about my babies that makes me melt? henry is so delicious right now...his chubbalicious cheeks, his attempts at waving, his bright hazelish eyes, how easily he smiles, how he says "mamama" and reaches for me if i leave the room. i especially love his little yells that sound a bit like happy screams. one of my favorite things to watch is briar attempting to lug him around the house...it's a struggle for her to wrap her slender arms around his bulk and walk at the same time. it's almost getting dangerous...i'm making a mental note to chat with her about that. i am enthralled with his love for his siblings - his eyes light up, exuding all kinds of happiness and joy, every time one of them walks into his space. henni reminds me how much i love the other 3, especially when they are plucking away at my last nerve and i would gladly drop them off somewhere far from me for a bit.
going a completely different direction...
i was looking for a recipe involving pomegranate sauce and chicken, attempting to duplicate something i ate last week that was most delicious and i stumbled upon a blog with a yogurt blueberry cake i couldn't resist making. the author was describing how she came up with the recipe and the ensuing consumption of said concoction with her buddy over coffee. and i quote: "She's Irish, married to a Brazilian, they live in Minneapolis and she has the most charming English accent I have ever heard." AHAHAHAHA! i hope she was trying to be funny...
going a completely different direction...
i was looking for a recipe involving pomegranate sauce and chicken, attempting to duplicate something i ate last week that was most delicious and i stumbled upon a blog with a yogurt blueberry cake i couldn't resist making. the author was describing how she came up with the recipe and the ensuing consumption of said concoction with her buddy over coffee. and i quote: "She's Irish, married to a Brazilian, they live in Minneapolis and she has the most charming English accent I have ever heard." AHAHAHAHA! i hope she was trying to be funny...
Saturday, February 6, 2010
i'm a loser baby...
actually, i'm just kind of lazy. or is it tired? i have a brand-new sewing machine sitting in my basement that i haven't even opened yet to try out. a gift i pleaded and then threatened for. i confess i'm kind of afraid of the whole bobbin thingy-every other time i've sewed, it was done for me because i was using someone else's machine. i love sitting down and getting started - the preparation part, not so much. so the goal was to make some cute homemade gifts for a shower i attended last night. i've had the fabric and ribbon for weeks, and the batting for a few days. good thing i had a back-up gift. i just need to get started and then it will be fun - i have some really gorgeous fabric for curtains, denim to be made into overalls for my boys, etc. i feel a bit afraid of my own machine. do i call someone and have them come over and guide me through the setting up process and risk feeling like a dork?
the real loser-like thing i've done? i watched a really awful movie...and no, i won't tell which one it was, i'm that ashamed. the thought of my kids ever knowing i exposed my spirit to something so diabolical makes me shudder. suffice to say it was so traumatizing i'm scarred by it every time some of the scenes replay in my mind. what i am most mortified and disappointed about is that i didn't immediately switch it off - maybe an indication of the spiritual reaching i need to do. see, i kind of knew before we started watching it how this would all play out. i gave it a chance because i'd seen something the same actor had done before that was hilarious, if a little sketchy. i wish my brain could vomit and be done with it. alas, what we choose to take in stays with us - to teach us not to go there again. oh, i really thought i was past watching evil pretending to be hip. hooray for the sacrament on sunday. i hope my children stay clean of trash passed of as cinema.
i'm listening to them play in the tub, pretending to be "mermans". chuckles is the merman with orange hair, of course. jacob's ocean locks are blue. this morning, as char greeted henry (who was still sleeping) he called softly: "shhhh, taco-hanky". he loves to hear the story about how when he was a newborn and jacob couldn't pronounce chuckle - instead saying taco - every time he entered my bedroom and saw the bassinet he whispered "shhh, taco." it's one of the few memories i have of his early life, so i tell it often. my heart hurt the other night for the memories i can't recall of his infanthood. we were laying together on briar's bed, and i was recounting stories of briar as a baby. charlie said "tell me story of when i was baby, mom." there was an awkward, lengthy pause as i racked my brain. honestly, his first 9 months, dare i say year, are a blur. i had to pull out a christmas memory of him almost getting whacked with a stick during the christmas eve pinata festivities - but he was 15 months old and not really a "baby". i've never been much of a journal-keeper, but i've finally figured out that online babble-type is my niche for recording our family history. would that i'd started 6 years ago.
the real loser-like thing i've done? i watched a really awful movie...and no, i won't tell which one it was, i'm that ashamed. the thought of my kids ever knowing i exposed my spirit to something so diabolical makes me shudder. suffice to say it was so traumatizing i'm scarred by it every time some of the scenes replay in my mind. what i am most mortified and disappointed about is that i didn't immediately switch it off - maybe an indication of the spiritual reaching i need to do. see, i kind of knew before we started watching it how this would all play out. i gave it a chance because i'd seen something the same actor had done before that was hilarious, if a little sketchy. i wish my brain could vomit and be done with it. alas, what we choose to take in stays with us - to teach us not to go there again. oh, i really thought i was past watching evil pretending to be hip. hooray for the sacrament on sunday. i hope my children stay clean of trash passed of as cinema.
i'm listening to them play in the tub, pretending to be "mermans". chuckles is the merman with orange hair, of course. jacob's ocean locks are blue. this morning, as char greeted henry (who was still sleeping) he called softly: "shhhh, taco-hanky". he loves to hear the story about how when he was a newborn and jacob couldn't pronounce chuckle - instead saying taco - every time he entered my bedroom and saw the bassinet he whispered "shhh, taco." it's one of the few memories i have of his early life, so i tell it often. my heart hurt the other night for the memories i can't recall of his infanthood. we were laying together on briar's bed, and i was recounting stories of briar as a baby. charlie said "tell me story of when i was baby, mom." there was an awkward, lengthy pause as i racked my brain. honestly, his first 9 months, dare i say year, are a blur. i had to pull out a christmas memory of him almost getting whacked with a stick during the christmas eve pinata festivities - but he was 15 months old and not really a "baby". i've never been much of a journal-keeper, but i've finally figured out that online babble-type is my niche for recording our family history. would that i'd started 6 years ago.
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