Volume VIII, issue i. January 2012

 This is my 100^th post! Whoop-a-dee-doo!


Confessions of a Teenage(r) Mamma Queen  

Although I’ve now only been the mother a teenager for two weeks, my limited experience tells me I’m going to love this stage of motherhood.  A lot. Holden is as sweet as he is sarcastic and that is saying a lot. 

Just to give you an example, about a month after Charlie was born, Holden came upstairs to find me doing dishes. He gasped when he saw me and said, “Why are you doing that?” and he muscled his way in front of me and finished the dishes. 

* * *


Teenage-hood is difficult enough on days that aren't your birthday, so I wanted to usher him in to this new phase with style.  One of his favorite parts of our Christmas Day festivities is the Christmas Breakfast Casserole we have on Christmas morning each year (When I raved about it to one of my friends , she mentioned that she has never heard me use the word “casserole” in a sentence.  That made me very happy.) You can find the recipe here if you’d like. (You'll have to scroll down until you get to it.  Stop being lazy and scroll!)

When he lamented that he only gets to eat the potato-ey miracle once a year, he gave me the idea of serving him breakfast in bed on his big day.  Luckily there was no school that day, so I let him sleep in until 8:00 and then, like a sun with kiddie-planets orbiting around me, I walked into his room and sang “Happy Birthday.”  He was in that adolescent form of slumber that borders on comatose, so it took him about five bites before he woke up.  I’ve never heard such a string of groggy, yet enthusiastic thank-you’s in my life.

We inherited my Grandpa Kartchner’s pool table when my brother moved into a new house that already had one.  I wanted the table so much that I stewed long and hard over where to put the beautiful, vintage gem.  We decide to take opon ourselves the Extreme-Home-Makeover-esque task of cleaning out one of our dance-studio-sized storage rooms in the basement to create a new home for the “Man Cave.”  Eve complained that she didn’t like the name and Eric suggested the “Man Cave with Lovlies.”  She didn’t like that one either.  I said, “How about ‘Man Cave with Benefits?’" 


(Obviously we are currently open to any suggestions.)

Our new Man Cave made both a perfect venue and alibi for a surprise birthday party for Holden.  I mean, you only turn thirteen once, right?  (Thank the stars above!!)


While Holden was sweating his way through basketball practice on Friday night, we surrepticiously snuck thirteen of his pubescently awkward friends into the Man Cave.  Eric picked him up from practice and then asked him if he’d like to play a friendly game of pool.  The gangly gang of friends were so hopped up on sugar from emptying the bowl of candy I’d thrown in the room to keep them happy that I had to turn the TV on extra loud to drown out their cracking voices.  


When Holden entered the room they yelled their “SU-PRISE!” with such gusto that Marie crumpled to the floor in terror.  To say Holden was genuinely surprised is an understatement. 

                                       This is the real deal.

We spent the next three hours eating grown-uppy-type food and playing nostalgic party games pulled from the files of my own memories of Rexburg parties as a teenager.  There was screaming, jumping up and down, squealing, and grotesque gorging at the birthday buffet, but that was just me.  


I suppose the boys had fun too. They were explosively boys-terous, but equally respectful.  I couldn’t ask for better friends for my boy. 

                         (Yes this is indeed SICK and WRONG.  I am so sorry, but it had to be done.)

                                                    Birthday Bunco

      Peter's Prowess


Peter was chattering on about Charlie being asleep in my belly and I was sort of half-listening as I typed.  


Finally he said, “What’s it called when you were stuck on your bed for like, forever?” 


I stopped typing and gave him my full attention. “You mean when I was pregnant?”  


Yup. That was the thing.  

* * * 

Ever since the days of his Elvis-like baby bouffant that wouldn't quit , Peter has been our little Chris Farley-on-a-drinking-binge comedian.  For his last haircut, I decided to let his hair do more of its thing and really set it free from the straight lines of the bowl cut.  I added layers and Peter-personility to the do.  

Caleb looked at Peter's hairstyle and commented, "I like Peter's new haircut.  He looks like he's from New York or something."


* * * 
I recently climbed the Mount Everest of cleaning projects and reorganized the toy closet. . . one toy at a time.  Once everything was peacefully categorized and shelved, the play-a-thon began.  It was like all of the toys were new again, especially since the kids had been shrewdly applying the "throw-up" organization method my entire pregnancy.  Peter and Marie played for hours.  I actually sat down on the floor and played with them, entranced by their imaginary dialogue with the plastic figures.  At one point, Peter created some sort of snack drive-through with different toys ordering peanuts and candy and popcorn.  


Then he marched a lion toy up to the take-out window and, in a deep throaty voice, growled, "PEOPLE!!!" 

The Gospel According to Peter


Peter gave me an impromptu Sunday School lesson the other day as he played.  


He said, "You know how we came to earth to get a body?"


Yes.  I know that.


"Well, you know that guy who was mad that he didn’t get to have a body?"

Sure, sure.  I know that guy.

"And he was mad that he didn’t get a body so he made a robot body?"

I’m a little hazy on that particular detail actually.

"And then he was so mad that he killed Jesus. . ."

Okay. . . ?


"And then Jesus got to have more lives!"




Just Because Everyone Should Get to Have a Marie in Their Life