Volume VI, issue iii March 2010

The Irish Jig is Up

The kids' slack-jawed response at being reminded that they are a bona-fide one quarter Irish was only the preface to our St Patrick's Day festivities. Holden was so thrilled that he was determined to rub in his genuine Irish descent to all of those unfortunate Nelson and Klingler and Thompson and completely non-Irish-blooded kids at school who don't have holidays with pinching involved in their genes. (WE LOVE YOU, DEVINE FAMILY!!!)


Their part-Irish eyes were doing more than smiling when they breezed in from school and smelled the corned beef and cabbage that had been happily bubbling away like some Celtic tune in the kitchen all day long. They devoured every scrap, leaving their poor Swiss-German mother with no leftovers to look forward to for lunch the next day.

Notice Ethan's greedy mitt in the corner of the roll picture and Eric's protective knife above it.
(We really are a peaceful people. . . unless food is involved.)









Some Day My Caleb Will Come: The Second Grade Fairy Tale Ball


Caleb had been painfully rehearsing the Teton Stomp and the Waltz for days during PE in preparation for the Annual Second Grade Fairy Tale Ball, but forgot to ask me to help him with his costume until the night before the event. I smiled at Eric and said, "If you've got to have a costume in a hurry, you've come to the right house!" It took me about seven seconds of digging through our graveyard of Halloween costumes in the storage room to transform Super Woman's crown, Han Solo's Jedi Robe, and Alladin's Genie's golden belt into a costume fit for a king.


King Caleb's misery at having to dance with cootie-infested girls was not masked in the least as he mouthed the one, two, three of each waltz through the grimace on his royal face. The only time he smiled was when he got to dance with his sweet Princess Marie who was swept off her chubby feet by her older brother, whom she refers to as "Bug." Unfortunately, her clothes also got swept off in the festive mood and I had to hurry and redress her issues before we got kicked out of the kingdom for immodesty.















I Love Paris in the PARTY-TIME!

Truthfully, Eve's 6-year-old birthday party had been years in the making. When I was seventeen and stood in the shadow of the graceful lines of the Eiffel Tower for the first time, the feeling of artful elegance in the presence of those stately spires was destined to make its way into a party some day.


Eve and six of her friends received Paris Party Passports and a Boarding Pass for Princess Airlines' round-trip to Party-Town flying out of the d'Evegnee Airport. The hours of party preparation were enough to give all of us a collective blast of pre-party jet-lag as my poor sous-party-planners helped to make our house into a Parisian paradise, but to their chagrin and my somewhat evil delight, it was all worth it.






We finished off our French-couture inspired skirts (by we, I mean "I" because "I" was extremely naive about how difficile threading elastic through a waist-band was for little fingers), beaded french bracelets, learned French, ate fondu, and ran around and shrieked until the grown-ups came to pick us up (Eric being my "grown up" and, in my case, by "pick up" I mean scoop up off the floor). I say we and I mean OUI! I think I had more fun than any of the petites filles and they had beaucoup de fun! I still haven't wiped the satisfied French smirk off of my face. And I still pretentiously use French vocabulaire in everyday conversations for no reason whatsoever.
They are five and six year olds, but they knew how to pose like French models beyond their years.

Volume VI, issue ii February 2010

What d'Evegnee Girls are Made of :

The Spice

We've been warned about the sugar. We love the sugar! I can totally handle the sugar.

But how about the much-less-mentioned stuff hidden in there between the sweet stuff and the "everything nice?"

For us, the spice is not a mild mixture of parsley and sage (or rosemary and thyme, Mr Garfunkel!) It is more like a lip-numbing, burning blend of cayenne and cumin and ginger.

Our "little" Marie is a Viking in diapers. She thunders around the house in her Nordic-like fur-trimmed Robeez and we stand back and fear and tremble. If I stuff her, sausage-like, into her 12-18 month attire, it stretches across her bulbous belly, looking like it will tear apart as she bellows with Hulk-ish rage (minues the whole turning green thing).

As I was doing damage control (aka cleaning) yesterday, Marie enthusiastically emptied the contents of a bag of tortilla chips on the floor. Before I could rush over to my trusty broom, I could hear her shuffly, low-to-the-ground run and spied the dismount of her stunt just as she slid baseball style into the chips on her stomach. She then hoisted herself up and did a rather charming cha-cha through the chips, beaming as she savored each crunch.

I've heard of playing with your food. . . but dancing with it?

After I had swept up the dancefloor and finished the dishes, I let Marie play with the water in the sink as I wiped down the counters, and she contentedly dumped water from one cup into another for a few minutes. When I looked back at her, she had her head under the steam of water, gurgling merrily before she stood up and shuddered as it streamed down her face.

On Eve's birthday, I got a call from her teacher. Nervous that the cake pops I had sent for her birthday treat had contained a hidden surprise, my heart did a little flip as I answered the phone. If Marie is a Viking, Eve is a proper French Princess. She exhibits a tad of royal entitlement, but she also possesses enough savoir faire to have bourgeois manners to match. Naturally I was surprised when her teacher told me about Eve's "meltdown" at school.

During "Carpet Time" Eve wasn't participating in the sound-blending game as much as her teacher thought was appropriate, so she sent her out in the hall to practice her sounds with the teacher's aide. At first Eve refused, but then reluctantly complied. Later, her teacher decided to have a tete-a-tete about her less-than-agreeable behavior and Eve was royally unhappy about being singled out.

Her teacher said to her, "Eve, what's the problem?"

Eve glared back at her and growled, "You're the problem!"

Luckily her teacher said she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, but I was stunned at Eve's bravado. Her teacher is a patient, angelic soul who was able to work out the kinks in Eve's attitude, but I've chosen denial (for now) about the light this little vignette sheds on what our now six-year-old will be like in a few years.

We Got Game

Our basketball bildungsroman came full circle yesterday when we played our original nemesis for the finale of the 5th grade 2010 season. They had mercilessly wiped the court with our city-league jerseys in the first game, but our team had grown since then. . . at least we thought they had.

Our (I said our. I AM part of the team. I'm the one that paid the fee, okay?) over-confident opponents strutted onto the court, saying things like, "We're going to SMOKE you!"

Ever heard of a little ditty called, "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes," fellas?

I once again found myself shrieking much louder and much more often than I ever do, with my heart pounding as if I were watching my son play for the State Finals.

We were up by at least four for most of the game, but found ourselves behind by one with only minutes left. There was a crucial jump-ball which should have been ours, but which the refs gave to the other team. Eric excitedly approached the refs, waving his arms and only slightly raising his voice (wink, wink). I had been so proud of him for maintaining his "Idaho Eric" facade for the whole season. But in that moment "New York Eric" was choosing to make his presence known. I could see the gleam in his eyes.

Taking an extremely, passive-aggressive wifey approach, I cheerfully yelled out, "Calm down, coach!"

He heard me and he did calm down. At least until an elderly spectator told him to, "Just sit down!"

New York Eric spun around and said to the man, "They made the wrong call! Calm down, old man!"

To his credit, that's all Eric dished out, but then he came and knelt by me and whispered, "I was fine until Old Man Winter had to butt in."

Luckily for the refs, our team, and Old Man Winter, our team was able to clinch the victory in the last two minutes. In the victory huddle, Eric's players told him that the other team was undefeated. . .

UNTIL NOW, BABY!!!

I'm such a gracious winner! (But at least I'm a winner, baby!)

I have never been a girl who is easily tickled pink. When I was younger, I never wore pink and I didn't especially like lace or pearls. Even in my betrothed state, I wandered anxiously from bridal shop to bridal shop looking for something lace-free, only to have matronly women in layers of pastel eye shadows cluck at me, "Oh my! Of course you want lace, dear!" Finally, I helped a more open-minded seamstress design a plain, forward-thinking, empire waisted beauty for my wedding that complemented the plain gold band on my finger and my sleek up-do.

This Valentine's Day Season (yes. . . I said season), though, I have been craving the sickly sweet hues of pastel pink in every variety from blush to rose to salmon without a second thought. Eve and I have been both assembling and creating love-themed ensembles that have been shamelessly covered in hearts, rick-rack, and raging sentimentality for weeks. The above photo literally doesn't even give a glimpse at the half of our festive fun--she's looked like a living, breathing, smiling, adorably cute greeting card every day for weeks. I even got in on the nauseatingly sugar-coated pastel action today and wore a pink sweater to church today like a proper, normal girl. Hey. I do have a feminine side.

Poor Eve was suffering in Church today. By the end of Sacrament Meeting, she made a pained face at Eric and sighed. He asked her what was wrong and she said, "I'm bored."

Eric told her that the speakers were doing their best to share their feelings about Jesus and that she should try and listen to them. Then he leaned in close and whispered to her, "Besides, when we get home I have a special Valentine's Day present for you!"

Eve remained unfazed.

She just looked at her doting Dad and said, "Still bored."

Stalk Photo

Since last night, I have found roses in unlikely places. There was one taped to my bathroom mirror. And one perched precariously on a door. Another was found lying across my pillow. Tonight, I found a whole vase full. But I jumped at the sight of them because they were accompanied by a creepy-looking blade and if I didn't know any better I'd think that I was being stalked.

He was so sweet to notice that I needed a new kitchen knife. But did he have to recreate a scene from some horror movie to give the gift?

One of the blessings of having a husband with a dark sense of humor is hearing the stories that follow his errands of love. When he approached the cashier with his stash of soft petals in one hand and his heavy knife in the other, he wanted to gnash his teeth and growl at her madly while frothing just slightly at the mouth, "Ya think she'll like it?"

His and Hers

Eric bought me a Snuggie for Christmas as a joke, but it has kept me toasty on many a frigid, Rexburg night. As of today, Eric and I are a matched set.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad Lib World

Lately after we deposit the "littles" (aka Peter and Marie) in bed, Eric and I have been doing Mad Libs from a book with the older kids. It feels like we've been tranported back to some kinder, gentler era when kids could be entertained by the wacky hi-jinx of the parts of speech. The kids cackle and grab their sides and beg us to do just one more each night. Today we created our own special d'Evegnee Valentine's Day Special Mad Lib :

It is Valentine’s Day and all of the d’Evegnees are super­ ­ adjective The thing they love about Valentine’s Day is giving each other plural noun and plural noun They give each other gifts and say , “ I verb you!”

Mom always looks deep into Dad’s ­­­ noun and says, “I will always remember the day we were first ­ adjective .” It is so romantic! Holden says when he gets married, his Valentine will have long, dark plural noun ­ and will love­­­ noun . Ethan, however, prefers girls who ­ verb and hopes for a girl who looks like­ noun . Caleb’s ideal Valentine will be a talented noun who enjoys­ verb . When Eve gets older, she would love to find a guy who appreciates her ­ noun and will take her to the noun . Peter really wants to marry someone who knows how to­ verb and has ­ plural noun that look like­ noun . Marie’s future sweetheart will have a ­ noun of­ noun and will have a gift for ing verb .

For now, though, we are so ­ adjective to have so many sweethearts in our family, and love how we can verb together on this special day. We wish you all a ­ adjective Valentine’s Day, full noun of and noun !

Here's how it turned out:

It is Valentine’s Day and all of the d’Evegnees are super­ nauseous. The thing they love about Valentine’s Day is giving each other cupids and kelp. They give each other gifts and say , “ I screech you!”

Mom always looks deep into Dad’s teeth and says, “I will always remember the day we were first constipated.” It is so romantic! Holden says when he gets married, his Valentine will have long, dark large intestines and will love socks. Ethan, however, prefers girls who walk and hopes for a girl who looks like­ hair . Caleb’s ideal Valentine will be a talented port-a-potty who enjoys agitating. When Eve gets older, she would love to find a guy who appreciates her helicopter and will take her to the basketball . Peter really wants to marry someone who knows how to do hair and has ­ nose hairs that look like­ anvils . Marie’s future sweetheart will have a ­ toe of­ duck and will have a gift for spanking .

For now, though, we are so ­ jolly to have so many sweethearts in our family, and love how we can skip together on this special day. We wish you all a ­smelly Valentine’s Day, full TV of and rainbows !

Valentine's Day Recipes

Thai Lettuce Wraps

5-6 chicken breasts

Soy and ginger marinade (recipe follows)

Iceburg lettuce, cored and cut into quarters

Cucumbers, peeled and sliced into quarters

Carrots, shredded

Water chestnuts, cut into chunks

Peanut sauce (recipe follows)

Ken's Steakhouse Lite Soy and Ginger dressing

Tenderize chicken breasts by poking with a fork on each side (this is especially satisfying if you're irked by something). Marinate chicken for 6-8 hours:

Soy and Ginger Marinade:

2 t ginger

3 T minced onion

2 T minced garlic

5 T lemon juice

1/4 cup soy sauce

1 cup Italian dressing

Grill chicken for 8-10 minutes on each side or until juices run clear. Let sit for ten minutes before cutting into chunks.

Peanut Sauce:

3 T peanut butter (can use all natural, sugar free)

1/4 cup warm water

3T soy sauce

1/2 t cayenne

1 T brown sugar (optional)

Heat in microwave for one minute and stir. If it seems too runny, it will thicken up, so wait a minute or two before adding more water. You can also add 2 T rice wine vinegar and 4 T coconut milk, but this is the basic recipe I usually use. I add more or less peanut butter and water depending on how thick I want it.

Cut chicken into chunks and put chicken and veggies on a platter. To assemble wraps, put chicken, veggies, peanut sauce, and dressing onto a lettuce "cup." Fold lettuce cup in half and devour! We also serve with some version of Asian rice to help the kids fill up faster.

Cookie Dough

3/4 cup brown sugar

3/4 cup white sugar

2 cubes butter, softened

2 eggs

2 t vanilla

1 t baking soda

1 t salt

2 1/2 cups flour

1 pkg chocolate chips (we like semi sweet)

Cream butter and sugars and then add vanilla and eggs. Add flour, salt, and baking soda. Mix in chocolate chips.

Press 1/4 cup dough into ramekins or muffin tins (we like to make them in muffin tins if we're taking them to someone). Bake for 13-15 minutes or until top is lightly browned.

Let cookie cups cool. Top with vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, and whipped cream and try not to go into sugar shock!

Volume VI, issue i January 2010

MMMMMMMMarie!

Eating Family Style at Restaurant d'Evegnee means Marie's joyful romp from plate to plate to scavenge the leftovers of her whole family with style. Whether it's her second helping or her seventeenth, she positively exudes yummy sounds after savoring each bite. The rise and fall of her feminine "MmmmMMM!" consistently and tirelessly sounds as if she's taking the first and best bite of her life.

In this video, she had already finished her own food and picked at mine and had just helped herself to Eve's plate just to round out her caloric binge. She had polished off the salsa and was trying bites of Enchilada with such cheer that we had to record her sounds of satisfaction. Notice her dinner attire isn't exactly fancy or even office casual. We've decided that leaving her in "happily naked couture" allows us to easily hose her off at the end of her meal.

I Hoop They Call Me on a Mission : Battle of the Brothers

The first real game of the 2010 Basketball Season wasn't in some mammoth arena in a big city. It was in Rexburg, Idaho. The players were tiny but tough. What they lacked in skill they made up for in pure charisma. The game took place in the Madison Junior High Gym on January 9th where two mini-titans met. Ethan and Caleb's city league teams collided in a war of wills, wit, and whoever could dribble the ball more than two consecutive bounces without hitting their own foot.

When we discovered their teams were playing each other, my maternal instincts kicked in and I was just like Mother Voltaggio during the finale of Top Chef 2009 (major guilty pleasure alert). The clock (stopwatch around someone's neck) tick-tocked the first seconds of the match and I saw Ethan hover over Caleb with a menacing snarl, leaning in to taunt him. I later asked Ethan what he had said to Caleb, and he re-enacted the moment for me as he dramatically growled, "You're goin' d-o-o-own!" Yeah. That's pretty much what I had thought. His first trash-talk. I'm, sniff, so proud.

Ethan was so intent on stopping Caleb from not only scoring, but dribbling or passing or walking or participating in any form, that he played defense even when he was on offense. He waved his arms monkey-like in front of Caleb's face as his own team took the ball down the court and continued to guard Caleb as his team-mates tried to pass him the ball, regardless of our screams to him that his team had the ball. Because they rotate players throughout the game, this moment only lasted mere minutes, but Caleb still says to me, "Mom, remember when my team battled Ethan's team?" Battled? I told you it was intense!

I Hoop They Call Me on a Mission (Part Two): Flying in Coach

I enthusiastically signed Eric up to coach Holden's team and was met with a lot more resistance than I had expected ( as in eye-rolling, face grabbing, polysyllabic grunting resistance). After interacting with his tweeny troops in practice and a couple of games Eric felt more comfortable, especially with Holden by his side, smiling proudly up at him and calling him "Coach." ("Sure thing, Coach!" "Whatever you say, Coach!" "Good job, Coach!")

Last Saturday, our line-up of three basketball games, a Primary Activity, and a Birthday Party meant I didn't get to attend Holden's game. I played Super-Taxi-Mom in-between activities and met Eric and Holden after their game so we could whisk Eric away to substitute coach Caleb's game that started about thirty seconds after Holden's ended half-way across town. (Yes. I know we live in a small town! But it was still stressful, okay?)

When we screeched into the parking lot, Eric and Holden were still inside the gym, so I ran in to see if the game was over. I could hear the rustling of coats and excited whispers so I knew the game had just ended. I peeked in and saw the scoreboard blazing with finality: 25 to 26. I tried to read Eric's body language to guess if our team had won or lost. Oblivious to me or the rest of the crowd, he hop-skipped backward in a circle, smiling as he called his team over to him and patting their backs as they made a huddled circle around him. He knelt on one knee and pep-talked some final words of praise, his face alight with a moment of teaching. The love-caused lump in my throat swelled and I silly-grinned my way back to the car to wait. About a minute later, Holden and Eric jumped into the car and Eric said, "That. . . was fun." As we zoomed over to Caleb's game, Eric told me that they had lost. "Lost?" I said in shock, "But you were absolutely giddy at the end of the game. I don't understand."

Eric explained to me that at the end of the first half, they had been down by a dismal fifteen points. That teeth-clenching, stomach dropping margin was bringing out their worst. Their best players enjoy shooting. . . a lot. And it doesn't matter where they are on the court. They could be fifty feet away from the basket with nobody standing between them and a lay-up and they'll still launch that poor destined-for-air ball like a discus rather than simply choosing an easy shot.

During half-time, he had reminded them of the fundamentals he had drilled into their heads in practice--take the best shot and pass the ball if you don't have a good shot.

The first part of that second half, they passed the ball and took careful shots and played like a team. They had a 12-o run that left Eric literally on his knees on the court (until he looked around, brushed off his knees and calmly stood up as if nothing had happened).

In Eric's huddled post-game pep-talk, he reminded his team that, "You ARE that 12-0 run. That's who you really are and that's what counts. That final score doesn't reflect who you guys are. You ARE that 12-0 run." That old cliche about it not really mattering if you win or lose is missing something. It's not just how you play the game. It's how you see it. And how you see yourself.

Yesterday a certain team I know won their game by a whopping twenty-one points. (They could have had a complete blow-out but Eric took out some of his star players during the second half because of his polite, Eastern upbringing.) After the game, he said to his troops "See? You were that 12-0 streak today. That's who you are."

Interestingly enough, our "Coach's" euphoria after winning looked a whole lot like the euphoria after losing but having a 12-0 streak.

Show n' So-Telling

It was Eve's turn to bring the "Show n' Tell Bag" to Kindergarten on Friday. As she slowly rummaged through every room in the house on Thursday, I could tell she was plotting out the most impressive cargo to tote with her to school. I looked forward to seeing her accumulation of the usual toys and trinkets. Later, she showed me the pile of birthday party catalogs she was planning on showing to her class. Rather than any of her menagerie of dolls, toys, and games, she wanted to show-off her display of . . . party catalogs. Where in the world did she learn such strange and interesting (and of course FABULOUS!) behavior?

Volume V, Issue X December 2009

Each year on Christmas Eve Day, we descend, locust-like, upon the local Dollar Store and let our kids roam freely so they can purchase gifts for each other. They are, indeed, like kids in a candy store with their pick of anything they want for the people they love the most. They buy surprisingly sensitive gifts, showing us just how aware they are of each others' likes, dislikes, and personalities. They collectively choose a gift for Eric and a gift for me, putting their cute noggins together in a private conference to decide what would be the perfect gift. HMMM. . . why did they choose this for their Dad this year?

Maybe it's because they know he's such a sucker for Marxist Literary Theory.

Most of our Christmas Traditions revolve around gluttony, so true to greedy form, we have an all-you-can eat buffet for Christmas Eve that always includes Babonne's Leek and Potato Soup, a cheese platter (French cheeses for us, cheese-sticks for them), crackers, fried shrimp, artichoke dip, a variety of sausages, and french bread. This year, the kids begged me to throw in some home-made mac n' cheese--you know, just in case we didn't have enough. . . urp. . . food. Holden graduated from the kiddie cheeses to Brie and discovered the wonder and awe and deliciousness of the "stink factor."

After the kids steadily shoveled in the grub for about fifteen minutes of silence (except for the occasional lip-smack and other sounds of dietary satisfaction), Ethan said, "I'm so full! But I just want to keep eating!" Holden nodded in agreement and said with resignation, "It's a curse, really."

During her toddler days, Eve ruled with a flower-petal fist, calmly demanding the respect and admiration of the household. Like Eve, Marie is a sort of tiny matriarch in waiting, but rather than opting for a peaceful political platform, she rules in a sort of joyous reign of toddler terror. She turns her volume to "eleven" on either end of her emotional spectrum, which has no middle, only ends. As I was soliciting sisterly service (sorry, let me wipe the spittle off of your monitor) today, Marie's shrieks made it almost impossible to maintain a conversant feel to my phone calls. "Hi, this is Sarah d'Ev. . . SHRIEK!!! MAMMA! MAMMA!. . . Sorry about the background noise. . . SHR-ee-ee-EEEK!!!" I kept offering my tempestuous little goddess treats to try and placate her fury. A bag of chips. Some carrot sticks. A glass of water. One by one my offerings were rejected and ended up as a soggy sacrificial mess on the kitchen floor. Her maniacal message was clear : she wanted me and only me with no phone in tow.

Not that she needs words to make herself understood when she's got the language of volume on her side, but Marie's vocabulary increased by two significant phrases over the holidays. She can now say, "Mine," which she used on Christmas morning to mark her territory as she surveyed the loot around her. (It actually sounds more like "M-IIIIIII-NE!!!!" and is accompanied by frantic, red-faced tugging and ear-splitting screams.) Fortunately, her second new phrase is "Thank you" (which sounds more like "Tae tee!), and is cute enough to offset the narcissism of the first phrase. Seriously, we'll give her anything she claims is hers just to hear her bestow a heart-splitting, grinning "Tae tee" on us!

One of my favorite lines from "Steel Magnolias" (DO NOT watch it if you're pregnant. You'll cry so hard you'll go into labor) is "Nobody ever cries alone in my presence." My hyperactive tear-ducts faithfully follow this mantra. Marie's mantra is similar, but changes the verb and becomes, "Nobody ever eats alone in my presence." It doesn't matter how painfully healthy the meal is either. She'll gobble down cookies to be sure. But she'll also eat zucchini, broccoli, peas and even canned green beans (Can you tell I've tried to stave her off with greens? It just doesn't work, I tell you!). She positions herself in the exact middle of my lap and then leans her fluffy little feather head in to my food as if it were telling her a secret. I try and sneak in a few bites for myself, but I end up spilling more food on the front of my shirt than usual. . . and as a Hafen Girl who is genetically programmed to have stains on the front of all of her shirts that's saying something!

So, now you're wondering why I don't just nip this in the proverbial bud, aren't you? You're thinking that I'm allowing her to manipulate me. You're right.

But I really don't think she's going to be climbing on my lap to share my food when she's eighteen.

This is a fleeting moment of tender closeness that simultaneously aggravates and tickles me. I find myself giggling at every splash of tomato sauce that graces my clothes. Her keen, curious interest in the event of eating and in me allows it to continue. And when next week or next month she finishes a meal without me, at least I'll still have the marks left on my shirt to remind me of the soft feel of her cheek next to mine and the fat, sticky fingers on my hand, helping to guide my food into her mouth. I'm going to feed her (and me) while I still can.

Volume V, Issue ix November 2009

Beauty is in the Black Eye of the Beholder

When Ethan emerged from an altercation with Eve's head looking like something out of a Rocky movie, he was embarrassed that he had gotten such a manly looking wound from playing with his little sister. His plan was to tell everyone that he got his black eye from ". . . uh. . . falling down." Child Protective Services, may I take your order? We told him he'd just have to be honest, and that running into your sister while playing a wild spinning game was nothing to be ashamed of.

Peter Neutron, Hair Genuis

If you've ever had the honor of running your fingers through Peter's luscious locks, you know that the mane on that kid would make even Fabio jealous. Sometimes during bath-time I can't resist playing with the soapy mass, making it stick up in fine, "aesthetically pleasing configurations of hair." I was stunned at the resemblance between our dear Peter and Jimmy Neutron when we created this particular masterpiece. As a baby, his hair was in a perpetual pompadour, and strangers often asked me if I had styled it that way. To the contrary, I painstakingly plastered it flat to his head, but in a matter of minutes, it always sprang up with super hair strength.

Thai Beanie Baby

Starting with Holden, my pregnancies have been filled with mind-bending nausea, bone-crushing fatigue, and taste-bud numbing Thai food. Since each of the kids was practically raised on an in utero diet of rare steak and 4 star spice (the highest spice level they'll let you order) Thai curry, we weren't really surprised when the kids developed an early tolerance for food with a kick. However, petite Marie has taken the need to feel the heat to new levels. The other kids started liking Thai food at age three or four, but because of her status as a prodigy of all things cuisine related, Marie has been eating Thai food since before she could walk.

I made some Thai Barbeque chicken for dinner, adding extra red chili paste, garlic, and soy to a home-made sauce recipe and cooking it in our dutch oven to make sure the spice level would come close to combustive. The boys loved it, but Eve said she thought the fire-power was a little too strong. I assumed we'd probably have to go easy on the sauce for Marie's portion, but, boy, was I wrong.

After she had eaten her portion, she climbed on my lap and started lapping up the sauce off of my plate using a fork and her whole face.

What a Beautiful World :

Eve's Personal Eden

World View, Part One

While packing for our most recent trip to Utah, we asked each of the kids to bring their travel bag upstairs. We let each of them bring a bag with miscellaneous entertainment items. Sometimes they'll bring games or toys to keep them occupied or favorite items from home that they just can't live without.

I was scurrying around packing the 50 plus outfits needed for our 6 day trip and didn't notice that Eve's pile of "necessary items" was multiplying by the minute. When I turned around to gather up the final bags to add to the Everest-sized pile in the back of the Suburban, I saw that Eve had packed up not nine, not ten, but ELEVEN different bags of various sizes and shapes, including carrying cases, backpacks, and purses. In these bags she had a mountain of much needed items such as jewelry, stuffed animals, scarves, plastic food, and, our personal favorite, the Lincoln Elementary School Parent Handbook (the blue book in the little pink suitcase).

Intermission. Let's play a game. Guess which one of these outfits Eve put together all by herself? Guess which same outfit I let her wear when we went for a walk? Guess which same outfit caused a passerby to grin and say, "I wonder who dressed herself today?" Yes. The shirt says "Here Comes Trouble" and it doesn't lie.

World View, Part Two

For our Family Home Evening treat the last Monday in October, we created some scary skeleton cupcakes that were baking as we gave the lesson. As we struggled to get the kids to give us some semblance of attention, Eric realized that our treats needed to be taken out of the oven. He looked up and said, "Cupcakes!" Without a pause, Eve gave me a quizzical expression and asked, "Is that you or me?"

World View, Part Three

Eve's Primary teacher rushed up to us at the end of Church and told us she had to share an Eve-ism with us. She had taught the kids that day about Prophets and how we have modern-day prophets just like they did in the Bible and the Book of Mormon. Eve looked sadly at her teacher and raised her hand and said, "I don't know any of the prophets. . . The only one that I know is President Hink-Dorf."

I'm sure President Hinkley and President Uchtdorf wouldn't mind that one bit, especially when it's coming out of such a cute mouth.

World View, Part Four

Eric was getting the kids ready for bed and he and Eve started playing a sort of word game involving what each of the kids brought to the world. Eve would say, "Would does Caleb add to the world?" and Eric would respond, "Caleb makes the world crazier!" Eve asked about each of her siblings in turn and then said, "What does Eve add to the world?" Eric looked at her lovingly and said, "Eve makes makes the world beautiful." Before he could even take a breath at the end of his sentence Eve added, "And smart!" Sniff. Elaine Showalter would be so proud!

World View, Part Five

As I helped Eve get out of the car on a recent trip to the store, she stuck out her lower lip and gazed at me with absolute puppy dog eyes. She continued to look at me this way until I said, "Eve. What's that look?" She smiled and explained, "That's the look I give you to get what I want!"

Sherlock Hol-mes-den

For his first Middle School book report, Holden was supposed to dress up like one of the characters in his book about Sherlock Holmes. Of course the book report was the Wednesday before Halloween, so I was already a craft-crazed lunatic and figured, "What's one more costume?" NOT so elementary, my dear Watson! Have you ever tried to assemble a detective hat with no pattern, no sleep, and no sense of moderation? Six hours later. . . (said in a French accent, a la Sponge Bob). I was up nearly all night and kept wondering why I was torturing myself. Could I argue that it was for the cause of education? (Edutainment maybe?)

The d'Evegnee League : SUPER FAMILY!

Our house looks like it was hit by a

Halloween Hurricane of Hafen Heights!

This Hurricane of Crafty Proportions left in its wake : dirty laundry left untouched and unacknowledged; an answering machine angrily blinking red with the number twenty-six; trips through drive-thrus for lunches and dinners with kids gleefully grinning at their good fortune; those same kids with brain cells melting into goo as they watched too many intelligence-stunting movies and played too much Wii; trails of thread weaving throughout the house from one floor to the next as if some small child had tried to find their way home rather than being imprisoned by the pin-poking, appendage-measuring witch in her sewing hideout.

But. . . ding-dong. . the witch is not dead yet. Oh no. She survived to sew again! But only as a sleep-deprived, zombie-like version of her former self. The Halloween Hangover is in full bloom. And despite the bags drooping under her eyes and the laundry crying out to be done, and the craft room that is weeping for someone to please save it, this witch is oh, so, happy! And she knows she'll be back next year as she is every year, because every year it's worth it!

Each time I emerged from my steadily sinking craft room with some newly created emblem or carefully concocted cape, the general family reaction was enough to keep me in stitches. When I poked my head out of the hideout to show Caleb the Green Lantern insignia, he studied it thoughtfully and said, "Mom. I think you could make anything with fabric!"

And, seriously, how fun is it that Super Heroes are so obsessed with absolute comfort in their costume planning? Most of us now have a new set of super jammies!

While munching away on our Halloween lunch of cheap, 88 cent grocery-store freezer section pizza, we discussed different movie-plots starring us, of course. I told them that if we had the technology, we could create a story-line in which the entire Justice League would be captured by the Super Villians, with the exception of Aqua Man. The villians chuckle sneeringly, gloating about how Aqua Man is powerless against them in their landlocked lair. The scene shifts to Aqua Man with his telepathic circles spinning madly out of his head in the direction of the Super Villians. Cut to one of the Super Villians sitting on the toilet, reading a carefully placed magazine. He wails as a geiser of water shoots him up off of the toilet, his evil arms flailing as he screams for help. Aqua Man saves the day!

Yes, my Super Friends. Halloween was very, very good to us this year!