tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76026935687776459062011-11-28T00:51:53.290+01:00Finding zen amidst the chaos of being Mommy. . .this is my journeyMikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.comBlogger1511100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-37931650060108348912009-07-07T14:05:00.003+02:002009-07-07T14:06:21.715+02:00

Temptation is buying bags and bags of pinata fillers weeks ahead of time. Those damn individually wrapped candies are just screaming my name from the top shelf they are hiding on.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-72411453480112075472009-06-17T09:41:00.005+02:002009-06-17T10:00:42.909+02:00

Here I share with you the secrets and wisdom of aging gracefully. No! No! Make it stop! I won't go!!!! Yes, gracefully.The reason your back stiffens as you age. . .It becomes harder and harder to get a full glimpse of your ever-expanding and/or sagging ass in the mirror. You see, it is a psychological defense mechanism. The less you can see, the more you can convince yourself it is still the

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-22313012280582962842009-06-08T09:12:00.002+02:002009-06-08T09:45:51.617+02:00

My husband has a ritual. When watching a soccer match on television, he likes to have a glass of beer and something salty to munch on, for example, chili nuts.Not so long ago, the all-important, the-world-will-implode-if-you-don't-see-it European Champion's League final was on tv, and the kids got to see a little bit of the game and have their first taste of chili nuts. Bonding over sports, a

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-1178399242443422942009-06-08T08:59:00.003+02:002009-06-08T09:12:27.504+02:00

Thanks everyone for the kind comments on the last post! So it really isn't just my mom, my friend Lin, and my husband's nephew's wife who look at this page regularly. I was truly touched. And inspired. To write!And to be fair to "Crackbook" as Kim called it, much of my recent time away has been thanks to out-of-town visitors and spring cleaning. I am telling you now that if anyone in this

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-56785026855997192632009-05-20T11:00:00.004+02:002009-05-22T13:15:46.240+02:00

I had been wondering what the problem was. I just haven't been as motivated to blog as I had been at the start of last year.There are the usual excuses, loads of laundry, nice weather, house to clean, must-be-out-in-the-nice-weather, attempting a vegetable garden, holidays. Oddly enough, I don't think those aren't really the problem.When I started this blog, it was my attempt to keep in touch

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-83013145364647411592009-05-06T11:38:00.003+02:002009-05-20T11:00:21.081+02:00

The kids and I were sitting out in the yard enjoying a beautiful spring day when I heard an obnoxious buzzing sound.Flies. They've begun their buzzing, but this was a little louder than usual.Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was two flies. Mating."Oh, no," I exclaimed. "Those flies are making baby flies!" I looked around to grasp something I could swat them with. If I could get them both,

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-13953224679804780252009-05-06T11:32:00.003+02:002009-05-06T11:38:27.633+02:00

Who comes up with this stuff?? I always feel like poo after exercising. Tired, sweaty, thirsty, and usually the makings of a headache. Instead, I am thinking that I should embrace my chubby cheeks. It is the cheapest way to puff out the fine lines and wrinkles, after all.Pure Genius.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-40205069251681985732009-04-24T12:48:00.007+02:002009-05-22T11:50:24.225+02:00

I have been recently having storage space-related panic attacks."So much CRAP, not enough place to put it all!!" My heart begins to race and stress levels rise as I look at the sea of clutter that surrounds me. As soon as I feel like I have got it under control, a clutter tidal wave of kids and husband crashes over me. Today, as I am packing away a bunch of cleaning supplies (oh, this EXCITING

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-73335994170063998772009-04-20T10:08:00.006+02:002009-04-20T10:30:09.896+02:00

Laney loves the camera. (My how different my kids are in this regard. Nicky acts like your infringing upon his human rights if you ask to take a picture.) So earlier in the year, she asked me to take her picture. Suddenly, she started rolling around on the floor and posing in model fashion, without any prompting from me. Laney, SuperModel Then it was Mommy's turn to pose.It is probably best this

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-89468681541188222262009-04-15T10:59:00.004+02:002009-04-15T11:15:16.158+02:00

Laney loves to play with her baby dolls. She wants to "play babies" every day. Every single day. Mommy does her best to accommodate. Mommy also loves to play babies with her little girl. Just NOT every single day.The other day Laney asked to play babies. Again. Mommy was making dinner and told her that she couldn't at the moment. They could play later, she told her, while secretly hoping that

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-77572475679818625472009-04-15T10:51:00.003+02:002009-04-15T12:13:39.798+02:00

I told Laney to get ready for bed.She gave me her most exasperated look and said, "Again?! We ALWAYS have to go to bed!! We have to go to bed every day!"Poor kid. Those are the breaks. Life is hard in this house.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-77311841358979154532009-04-15T10:30:00.000+02:002009-04-15T12:14:24.698+02:00

So my Blogger spellcheck has gone wacko. I think it is checking Norwegian spelling, so most of the words come up spelled wrong. I have tried fixing it, but haven't gotten it to work yet.So if you find any glaring spelling errors, you know why. I am no longer a good speller (was once upon a time, in elementary school) and completely dependent on spellcheck.Bad grammar. That's just gonna have to be

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-2126565577953774762009-03-23T20:13:00.006+01:002009-03-25T10:23:51.372+01:00

Not so long ago, I was reading a book that I got for Christmas. It's called Snømannen (The Snowman). I needed some help with a few unfamiliar words.The conversation went something like this:"What are brystvortene," I called into the other room, where Seven was doing whatever it was he was doing in the other room."Brystvortene? Those are nipples," he called back.Hmmmm. So this character has no

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-59423069892960757112009-03-13T10:19:00.005+01:002009-03-13T21:33:07.102+01:00

I am pretty sure it is a law of mathematics.C = 30tpFor every child in the house, toilet paper consumption goes up about 30 times.I don't know how many times I've come into the bathroom to find a whole roll of toilet paper rolled onto the floor. Sometimes, it's an extraordinary amount in the toilet, and considering the dimunitive nature of my children's bathroom parts, I'm pretty sure a wholly

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-23820301731940698612009-03-11T10:05:00.007+01:002009-03-13T12:39:41.651+01:00

When you are the parent of a son, one who is obsessed with Spiderman and Star Wars,one who shuns dolls and soft toys in the daytime, one who will one day grow to be a man. . . there is something incredibly sweet about coming in to do the last tuck-in for the night and finding him curled up with a stuffed elephant. I bought that elephant when I was about eight months pregnant. The reality of the

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-65938945395369923302009-03-06T14:31:00.002+01:002009-03-13T12:09:50.266+01:00

And so the whole, "Better you than me" equality speech was meant to segue into the following story. And then I never actually segued. . .and poof! There went another month!I was actually waiting to download photos for this story. . .Blah, blah.Sooooooooooooooooooo, anyhoo. . .I was gone for an hour and a half. When I left all seemed relatively calm in the house.When I got home, I was greeted by

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-5328631229201510132009-03-06T14:13:00.004+01:002009-03-13T12:11:39.872+01:00

You know, the usual.It started with a case of writer's block in December. I decided to take a short break and wait for the kids to do something exciting. Really, what IS the point of having kids if they provide you with nothin', NOTHIN' for the blog??! Hmph.Writer's block became. . .blah, excuses, excuses, more excuses, blah. " Christmas?! Is it Christmas, already?! It came so fast." Blah, blah.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-34134833416351641132009-02-09T10:47:00.006+01:002009-02-09T13:31:06.835+01:00

When the Ladies LeftThere is a show on Norwegian television with that title. I have to say that I was a little surprised, although the ad makes me laugh every time.Little boy jumping on the bed bonks his chin on the shelf and begins to wail. Dad looks on helplessly, while the song "Highway to Hell" plays in the background.I was surprised, because this is a country pre-occupied with sexual

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-6208580145609388662008-12-05T10:07:00.002+01:002008-12-05T10:16:29.712+01:00

Relevant background info:synes = think or feel in NorwegianLaney regularly mixes Norwegian in with her English. Anyhoo. . .Laney likes to give compliments. She adopts a very girlish, sweet tone and says, " I like you" or "you're pretty." Today, she told her father, "I like you best. And Mommy. And Nicky. I like all of you three." She was also in a kissy/huggy mood and gave them generously.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-49174494258605210022008-12-01T21:13:00.003+01:002008-12-01T21:34:02.915+01:00

A couple of people at my husband's work really enjoyed a batch of butterscotch-oatmeal cookies he took with him recently. When trying to recall the magic ingredient, he just couldn't come up with the word."What was it called again?? Butter? Butter-something. Buttercrotch? No, that can't be it."No, honey. That's certainly not it. "Here you go, lovely co-workers. Have a chomp on some lovely

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-59962429817039063942008-11-19T12:22:00.005+01:002008-11-19T13:06:52.428+01:00

The rules of the children's game, Candyland, are simple. One chooses one of four brightly colored gingerbread men and places them at the start. Then one picks a card from the deck of face-down cards and moves the gingerbread man forward to the appropriate spaces, generally one or two colored spaces. To make the game more exciting, there are several points along the trail with a special picture,

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-82583943385244992482008-11-17T10:38:00.014+01:002008-11-17T13:15:17.789+01:00

Pre-mommy-of-a-three-year-old girl, I thought my relationship with my daughter's hair would be one of joy. . .of braids and ponytails, pretty bows and clips. I was excited about all the cute pigtails and fun I would have with my daughter's hair. What is it about little girls' hair, anyway? She was so adorable and would be even cuter with bows in her pretty hair.I didn't think I'd have to wait too

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-27118231313023006322008-11-10T10:25:00.009+01:002008-11-10T20:46:07.974+01:00

When one moves to a new country, one inevitably compares their new country to "home." Things are done differently here and there. It's not always good or bad, just different, although one's stage of culture shock can color the comparison.In the early stages, the honeymoon period, ones sees only the positives of the new country and feels secure in the decision to have moved. They can't breathe in

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-45783301263611539722008-11-07T08:00:00.001+01:002008-11-07T08:00:01.583+01:00

Have way too much time on your hands? Then check out your color vision. Why not? It's Friday!Warning: Doing so may make you feel blind and dizzy for a few minutes following.The best score is zero. Mine was 7. I almost went blind getting that score!

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-6373120067555316532008-11-05T10:05:00.002+01:002008-11-05T10:52:31.175+01:00

You know what I envy my daughter? BESIDES her youth and her perfect, unblemished complexion. . .I envy her the way she wakes up in the morning. The rest of us in this family are slow to get out of bed -- the two adults being the worst. If we had our way, we'd never get out of bed. (Not as sexy as it sounds, really. We're talking about snuggling under our own covers, in blissful sleep,

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-54280066264510554702008-11-03T10:44:00.006+01:002008-11-04T17:04:09.510+01:00

I was fascinated to see an advertisement yesterday on TV2 (one of the larger TV networks here) for 24-hour Election '08 coverage. This is the American election we're talking about. The Norwegian elections are next year.It made me really stop to think how powerful the president of the United States is. His (one day her) election is covered the world over, not in passing, but in 24-hour special

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-41059430759072995752008-10-27T14:26:00.005+01:002008-10-27T14:50:52.873+01:00

When you think you've been doing a better job of posting to your blog and realize that you've posted LESS this month than in any other. I think I might have been fired if I was actually getting paid to write this thing.Do you ever read the comments? I try to post back to comments. So even when I don't post, I might be on here commenting. Maybe.Others post funny or touching stuff, too, but I

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-78122108486367072592008-10-27T11:47:00.006+01:002008-11-03T10:42:42.205+01:00

My due date had come and gone, and we were anxiously awaiting our second baby. According to the ultrasounds, we were expecting a little girl. A daughter. I would finally be able to indulge in all the sweet, ruffly stuff that I couldn't buy the first time. As one does, I wondered what this new little one would be like. What would she look like? Would she look very much like her brother? I knew

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-54950053702396970462008-10-20T12:56:00.007+02:002008-11-17T13:10:30.914+01:00

Laney was walking around, arching her back, and sticking her stomach out as far as she could.Seven teased her. "Do you have a big stomach?"She didn't miss a beat and said nonchalantly, "Not as big as yours."Nice.Tact. We'll work on tact.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-60554743039728318302008-10-16T11:54:00.012+02:002008-10-16T12:49:40.883+02:00

Seven bought me a gliding chair and ottoman shortly after Nicky was born.We had a big living room, not a lot of furniture, and a baby that wouldn't ever let us put him down. Nicky and I spent A LOT of time in that chair. The chair faced the sliding glass doors to the backyard. Much of my time after Nicky came into the house was spent looking out those windows and at the big shady tree we had in

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-27450835820735217552008-10-14T14:36:00.005+02:002008-10-16T11:53:49.573+02:00

Do you know that show Little Einstiens -- children's television that pretends to be intellectual by throwing in a couple of classical music bits? Laney loves it.In one episode, the four explorers are flying over Florence, Italy in their little red spaceship."Hey, pappa and I got married there," I said, pointing at the television."In a spaceship?"Um, no. In Florence.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-73455529226467354602008-10-07T21:30:00.003+02:002008-10-07T21:32:28.792+02:00

Yesterday, Nicky threatened me with the following:"If we don't play one more game of Uno, I won't snuggle with you tomorrow." I can't tell you how hard it is to keep a straight face when you're being threatened with the word snuggle.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-17803765137618318862008-10-02T23:05:00.006+02:002008-11-17T13:11:30.126+01:00

The observant among you may have noticed my little 'translator' on the side of the page. At the quick press of a flag, my blog is instantly translated into several languages. Cool.I added it on to the page in the hopes of translating the site into Japanese. My friends and family in Japan could read what I wrote and be a part of my blogging experience. The first time I clicked on the Japanese flag

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-86108134146368940202008-09-29T14:18:00.010+02:002008-10-02T23:04:19.778+02:00

If my daughter had come on her due date, today would be her birthday. Instead, she decided to grow to gigantic newborn proportions and come fashionably late. Very fashionably late.Like mother, like daughter. She will spend the rest of her life trying to get places on time. (Although I did my mother the favor of staying normal newborn proportions and arriving late. Then again, I came into the

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-19971213451646266012008-09-29T10:32:00.009+02:002008-10-02T23:05:32.986+02:00

In the process of de-junking our attic a few weeks ago, I was handing down boxes and bags of who-knows-what to Seven. There was tons of stuff we needed to go through. How is it that we have a huge attic and no storage space? Oh, because our attic is filled with all kinds of useless crap antique things. We inherited this house, which means we inherited the long-since forgotten things being stored

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-36875501314273986352008-09-28T12:59:00.003+02:002008-09-28T13:09:02.280+02:00

Kids say the weirdest things when they think you're not paying attention. We were lying in bed this Sunday morning and Nicky crawled in with two favorite characters. The following is an excerpt from their conversation. A conversation between Spiderman and a transformer called BulkheadPlllllllllllllwwwwwwwwwwfffffftttttt. (Extreme farting noise)Bulkhead: Æsj! Gross! Spiderman, why did you

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-72775380327989624922008-09-28T12:57:00.004+02:002008-09-29T11:59:50.906+02:00

I had begun to notice that the chaotic state of my house was in direct proportion to how much I neglected it by doing other things. . .like blogging. I decided to neglect blogging for a time to bring my house back into control.It's not, but close enough, so back to blogging!

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-20642863049723439202008-09-17T12:50:00.008+02:002008-09-29T12:14:08.985+02:00

Laney loves the movie Barbie and the Twelve Dancing Princesses. Barbie is the best princess, of course, but I guess they had twelve so they could get in as many of hair color/eye color combinations as possible to appeal to little girls. One thing I don't understand is why there are eleven other sisters and Barbie gets to do everything.In any case, the princesses are beautiful with brightly

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-5282747825313690032008-09-15T13:00:00.003+02:002008-09-15T13:10:40.520+02:00

One of my kids will be talking and start shifting from foot to foot. They keep talking or watching tv or even drawing. Hips start a little wiggle and feet shift from one to the other and back again."Do you have to pee," I ask."No.""You look like you have to pee," I say."No, I don't have to pee," comes the irritated response.We both move on with other things. Usually, I'll be engrossed in some

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-83788698951171935952008-09-15T12:59:00.001+02:002008-09-15T13:12:18.473+02:00

Dette er hva Laney kaller salami (spekepølse).

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-52921540706513412772008-09-11T16:32:00.001+02:002008-09-11T16:33:43.107+02:00

What happens when life gets in the way. . .

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-75257151453142729502008-09-01T21:35:00.008+02:002008-09-10T09:55:51.232+02:00

And from the family vacation story that would NEVER end. . .Our last stop -- Kirkenes, Norway. What? Never heard of it? Where HAVE you been?? Anyway, Kirkenes is the Norwegian border town into Russia. It was, apparently, one of the most bombed places in World War II, caught in the cross-fire between Russia and Germany. This was our actual destination, as it is where my husband is from and his

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-2406902861988556212008-09-01T10:03:00.007+02:002008-09-01T23:38:31.503+02:00

He's not particular about which shirt or pants he has to wear, but my five-year-old has several hard and fast fashion rules.1. DO wear rainboots. . .ALL THE TIME. No matter what the season or weather, rainboots complete any look.2. DON'T wear shorts for any reason. No matter what the season or weather, shorts are always OUT. Bare legs in the breeze, ugh!3. If your mother forces you to wear shorts

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-89019896501564608202008-08-27T15:47:00.005+02:002008-09-01T10:54:40.625+02:00

Laney saw a picture of an actress in a Renaissance-style dress that pushed her breasts into her throat.She says to me, "Her these (referring to the actress' breasts) are up there. Your these (referring to my breasts) are down there."Hey, kiddo. Watch your mouth. They haven't sunk that low yet! Have they? Have they?! Oh, no! I've gotta run and check! Oh, good lord! Am I a dwarf with sagging boobs?

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-19625194281348338452008-08-27T09:58:00.009+02:002008-08-27T15:43:23.852+02:00

If you'd ask me ten, no, five, even two, years ago to compile a list of "100 Things I Will Never Be Interested In Doing," then I am pretty sure "Gardening" and "Picking Berries" would have been on that list. The local Safeway has a lovely selection of fruits and berries, so why on Earth would one bother to go to the trouble of growing one's own? Worse, why would one spend one's precious free

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-65264544972711633662008-08-19T11:04:00.009+02:002008-08-27T15:28:54.663+02:00

Ooops, sorry. We return to posting, um, Tuesday!Apparently, there is a little battle between the Norwegians and the Finns as to who is the rightful 'owner' of Santa. Is he Norwegian? Is he Finnish? Each country stakes their own claim. It makes sense to me that he would be Norwegian as the northernmost part of Norway is quite a bit closer to the North Pole than the northernmost part of Finland.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-23227600822280095512008-08-14T01:42:00.006+02:002008-08-14T02:29:33.895+02:00

Family Vacation Photos! The thing about blogging is that you feel bad when you don't post. And since I've said for over a week now that I would post some pics from our road trip, I've felt the the weight of not having posted them rest heavily on my shoulders ever since. I NEED to get those pictures up, I would remind myself, as if people were waiting with bated breath.It's a little ridiculous,

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-8994150159480345442008-08-14T01:41:00.000+02:002008-08-14T01:41:01.066+02:00

The day we left for our trip, Buzz Lightyear (aka Nicky in a Buzz costume) insisted that Nicky wanted his Spiderman suitcase and that he, Buzz, knew exactly what to pack.Advised to pack wisely as there was limited space in the suitcase, Buzz and Laney went to work packing the suitcase with the bare travel necessities.Unwashed black Spiderman costumeUnwashed red Spiderman costume(Really! What

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-34608936705536235292008-08-12T13:00:00.000+02:002008-08-12T13:00:02.954+02:00

A friend of mine sent me her humorous tale of bathing suit shopping with a three-year-old. It's too funny not to share, so with her permission, here you go.As if buying a bathing suit at my size isn't humiliating enough, my lovely daughter has to make the shopping experience even worse! Seriously, never take your kids bathing suit shopping with you!Last weekend, I decided that I needed a new

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-29278109810840512352008-08-09T12:47:00.004+02:002008-08-09T13:14:16.289+02:00

We were in the grocery store when a woman passed us with her newborn."Mommy, can we have that baby," Laney asked me."You want that baby?""Noooooooooo, not THAT baby. We can't take baby away from her. We can buy a new baby!"Later, I heard a baby wailing loudly. We passed the same mother again as she tried to wrestle her older child's hands out of the candy dispensers, while baby screeched her

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-44926588955182565682008-08-09T12:39:00.003+02:002008-08-09T12:47:09.516+02:00

I was changing her for the morning when Laney says to me in her cute voice, "We are friends."I melted inside."We ARE friends," I said and gave her a hug. May it will always be that way, baby, even when you're sixteen.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-65352823574075548792008-08-05T00:49:00.002+02:002008-08-05T01:00:22.006+02:00

I really am here. I have lots of pictures. I'm dying to bore you with all my pictures. I just have to learn to download them into the computer since we bought a new camera, which comes with new software, new software that threatens to destroy my already overburdened computer. So in the meantime, here's a forwarded email that I rediscovered in my cluttered email box. It's obviously dated.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-25674907820675574452008-08-03T15:28:00.002+02:002008-08-03T15:33:13.807+02:00

Did you miss me? You -- one of the three people that reads this blog.I will soon post the obligatory photos and the exciting tales from our journey -- romance, suspense and adventures on the high seas. . .Or day at the hotel pool and visiting the wrong Santa Park. Same thing, really.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-60971970177613726912008-07-30T15:54:00.006+02:002008-08-05T00:35:59.631+02:00

We caught the end of a documentary about a woman with restricted growth disorder, i.e.- dwarfism, coming to terms with her condition and meeting others like herself for the first time.I explained to Nicky that she had a condition that did not allow her to grow to a normal adult height and that she was very small, not much taller than he was.He asked me, in all earnestness, "Mommy, are you a dwarf

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-63975443591819574292008-07-21T21:52:00.005+02:002008-07-22T00:02:53.372+02:00

The family and I will be interrupting this blog to take a short vacation.What?!You thought my life WAS the vacation??Well, hmpf.I do. . .stuff. My hobbies include collecting scrapbook paper (I never actually cut it to form any kind of scrapbook, but, boy, buying that stuff is FUN. . .ooooh, and all the cute embellishments that are piled on top of the paper. . .very productive hobby), collecting

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-11062594613703392962008-07-17T16:18:00.005+02:002008-07-17T22:20:40.405+02:00

Our digital camera is officially dead.Despite the fact that the 20-minute delay in taking pictures had begun to annoy me greatly, it was still a very active part of our family. We bought it a few days before Nicky was born, so that we could send pictures to our families, none of whom lived around us at the time. (You can't force your newborn baby photos on your friends and family unless they are

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-68861277358656599692008-07-16T18:27:00.005+02:002008-07-17T15:42:45.928+02:00

We were at a small country fair not so long ago and went for the kids' activities. They had face-painting. Nicky held back and didn't want to participate at first, but after seeing Laney all done up as a kitty cat, he decided he wanted to be a tiger. Once he had his fierce tiger stripes in place, ones he didn't have to draw on himself with ballpoint pen, he was so careful with his make-up that he

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-3161809986405072722008-07-09T10:32:00.007+02:002008-07-09T14:13:07.356+02:00

When the month started, I waddled when I walked, could no longer sleep on my back, and desperately missed a regular an occasional after-work beer. It had been a long time. . . My pregnancy had come easily, unexpectedly, and had gone smoothly. My life was still my own, and it felt familiar to me, even if my body didn't.By month's end, it was a completely different life. I was a different me. I was

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-8102856071096367332008-07-04T00:28:00.009+02:002008-07-09T14:16:17.088+02:00

It is 12:32 a.m., and the sun is shining brightly. That's MIDNIGHT, people. I guess I have been living here too long. It hasn't even occured to me to bitch about, mention, marvel at the Midnight Sun. For two months of the year, the sun doesn't set at all. We're nearing the end of those two months -- or are we in the middle of them? I'd have to get an almanac, and well, it's the middle of the

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-1711735671220572572008-07-02T00:13:00.007+02:002008-07-02T00:41:27.037+02:00

Some of you have seen this before, but since it goes along with the theme, I thought I'd post it here. There was a point in time, in college, of course, when I seriously thought all baby clothes, 0 - 2 years, should be unisex. That way, during those critical formative years, people wouldn't readily be able to tell the sex of a child and thereby impose their gender biases on them. All babies would

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-21441497908299412382008-06-30T09:28:00.007+02:002008-07-02T00:37:19.562+02:00

Since I seem to love pointing out when my boy is a boy and my girl is a girl, I suppose I should be equally eager to point out when my boy is a girl and my girl is a boy. At least, if we enjoy gender stereotyping and choose to pigeonhole our children in that way. And apparently, I do.Take, for example, my children's relationship to dirt and mess. Nicky has always been a very clean and neat baby.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-81893425834292507072008-06-28T13:39:00.007+02:002008-06-28T16:28:11.677+02:00

There was a time, oh, about five years ago, when words like fart or snot made me cringe. I've never been one for toilet humor. It's always grossed me out more than made me laugh. I never developed an appreciation for snot/booger humor either.However, after the last five years of dealing with all sorts of unpleasant bodily secretions and functions, i.e.-snot, farts, poop in technicolor --who

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-39433963064018109492008-06-27T17:57:00.006+02:002008-06-27T18:06:36.641+02:00

We were playing hide-and-seek. Nicky hid under the bed. When I found him, he kicked his leg out. I moved my head so as to avoid a black eye."Mommy, can you put your head back," he asked me."No, Nicky," I responded. "I don't want you to kick me in the face.""I won't kick you in the face really hard. Just a little."Gee, kiddo, sounds like a win-win situation all 'round. . . Silly me. I didn't

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-59413762896108695882008-06-25T10:54:00.003+02:002008-06-25T11:42:20.314+02:00

Just because I thought this picture was adorable and the World Wide Web would be lacking without it.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-5591516502291997202008-06-23T09:57:00.009+02:002008-06-24T12:19:23.204+02:00

Once upon a night, I told the kids I was too tired for bedtime stories. They decided they would tell me bedtime stories instead.Nicky:There is Red Spiderman and Black Spiderman. They fight, fight, fight, fight, fight. Black Spiderman dies. Wait, first, there is Junior Goblin and Venom. And they die. They are bad. And then. Then. Um. Then. Red Spiderman fights all the bad guys. And they all die.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-80345685180188928152008-06-23T08:31:00.003+02:002008-06-24T12:17:50.565+02:00

Is it love that makes me want to pull my hair out in chunks? Because if you asked me, I would tell you I love my kids. Yet, they are the reason I want to pull my hair out by the roots. Is that what love is? I thought it was all mushiness and kisses on the nose and looking forward to seeing them everyday. Recently, I've wanted to run screaming from my house -- every bleeping day, as opposed to

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-49642360371868384702008-06-18T13:01:00.005+02:002008-06-23T09:43:00.442+02:00

My two-year-old toddler's hypocrisy knows no bounds. It's really quite hysterical.Take, for example, chewing with one's mouth open. At one, Laney didn't know better and would sometimes start trying to talk with food in her mouth. My son, whose gag reflex is mighty powerful, would begin to carry on and making a big fuss, gagging and whining. "She's showing me her food," he'd complain. "Stop her!"

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-86429085395367106682008-06-16T12:09:00.008+02:002008-06-16T23:01:01.056+02:00

So in an effort to bury the profanity-laden post a couple of posts down, I thought I'd throw up a couple of pictures to distract you.I bought a cage for the kids. Just kidding! (You knew that right? Laney kind looks like she might be in a cage, though. Funny eyes.) It's actually a soccer net. Seven and I have begun the journey of living vicariously through our children and imposing our dreams

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-67685866815503725262008-06-15T23:08:00.010+02:002008-06-15T23:51:14.975+02:00

When I was seven or so, I got into a fight with one of my friends about whose dad was smartest. (Do you remember this, Jackie?) She kept insisting that her father was smarter than mine. She refused to see my side. Clearly, my father was the smartest of the two, because he knew EVERYTHING! Her stubborness and failure to see reason infuriated me. I began to lie about my father to make my point.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-11775260271351347982008-06-14T11:40:00.011+02:002008-06-23T10:37:04.148+02:00

Two nights ago, my son was telling a story when he said, clear as day, "These fucking pants wouldn't come off."For emphasis, he added, "These fucking pants are so stupid."Have I mentioned that he's only four?I just sat there in shocked silence, unsure of how to proceed. Seven, whose back was turned to Nicky, tried not to laugh. We looked at each other, then I looked at Nicky. What do I say?

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-31694516485414762842008-06-11T10:40:00.005+02:002008-06-11T10:58:29.836+02:00

I'm happy to have passed on many wonderful characteristics to my daughter, and my photogenic quality is one of them. My uncanny ability to look good for the camera in every situation is really quite remarkable. And it is a true testament to the loving eye of the photographer that he was able to capture us both in a moment of such sublime beauty.And do you THINK that he took that photo again?

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-71726435750455987412008-06-11T09:28:00.013+02:002008-06-11T13:29:29.801+02:00

Submitted as further evidence that boys and girls simply come out of the womb wired differently.Nicky, in his four-plus years on this Earth, has never cared about what he wears. Okay, that's not totally true. He did, for a brief period, insist on wearing a towel draped around his shoulders as a Superman cape, and he hates to wear shorts, even on hot summer days. Other than that, he doesn't really

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-25629546842592655372008-06-08T11:00:00.010+02:002008-06-11T09:27:34.923+02:00

One of my favorite stories about Seven is from when he's five or six years old. One night, his mother read him the story of The Ugly Duckling. When she came to the part about the other ducklings making fun of the young swan, little Seven began to cry. His innocent heart just couldn't understand how anyone could be so mean. How could they tease the swan and call him ugly? Seven's little heart hurt

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-10709348207205850342008-06-02T12:45:00.003+02:002008-06-02T22:46:37.369+02:00

Have you ever wondered when cleaning out the lint tray on your dryer, how it is you have clothes left, when so much of the material seems to be trapped in that tray?

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-39693739926282539682008-06-02T07:08:00.008+02:002008-06-11T22:42:37.776+02:00

Yesterday we visited a sheep farm. What a great experience for the kids and me. Seven enjoyed himself, too, but he's "been there and done that" before. I've never been within 10 feet of a real sheep before.The farm belongs to Seven's cousin. There are about 180 sheep on the farm. Bestefar*, who is in town for a short visit, arranged the visit for us. It's lambing season. (Is that the correct

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-701355689476284132008-05-28T10:42:00.004+02:002008-05-28T12:06:48.189+02:00

My kids love to play hide-and-seek, and they want to play all the time. The funny thing is that they are notoriously bad at hide-and-seek. When we first started to play, I'd walk around saying, "Where is Nicky? Hmmm, where could Laney be?" It would take one second, then one of them would call out, "I'm here!" They'd come out of their hiding place, almost always the same hiding place, in the

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-49996274997857307842008-05-26T10:29:00.005+02:002008-05-26T11:32:11.145+02:00

I've been wondering about a curious phenomenon. There are these little jelly candies shaped like men. They are gummy, chewy and coated in sugar, or at least a sugar-like substance. Very healthy, I'm sure. Let's call them Jelly Men.My kids love Jelly Men. They especially relish in biting their heads off. Like so. They call out joyfully, "Look, Mommy! I ate his head!" They laugh uproariously. Then

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-58484229353134357062008-05-25T22:47:00.004+02:002008-05-26T11:17:17.777+02:00

It is so easy to complain when the kids drive you crazy, so its important to brag on them when they've been nice.This morning, I heard Nicky wake up. I fell asleep again and didn't hear a thing until Nicky came in. He crawled under the blankets with his father and described how he and Laney had been playing this morning. They had played with trains. They had built blocks. They had played in

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-27046253509084736342008-05-24T14:03:00.005+02:002008-05-24T14:26:31.629+02:00

There are days when my children can play together, the picture of brotherly and sisterly love. I can go about the day, accomplishing a thing or two, while they talk, laugh and play. We all come together to eat, color, and do other activities as a group, then they break away to do their own thing. They share when they are asked to. They want to do the same activities and generally enjoy each

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-42880130099246922882008-05-23T19:24:00.008+02:002008-05-26T11:30:48.610+02:00

Last night, I went downstairs to grab something when I noticed that there was a documentary on the television. Just as I passed through the room, the voice, speaking in Norwegian, began talking about Okinawa. It was such a surreal experience for me to listen to a voice describing the people and culture of Okinawa in the Norwegian language. It felt like two wildly different parts of my life

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-75157543102093401332008-05-21T09:36:00.007+02:002008-05-23T22:16:28.277+02:00

Let's take another stroll down memory lane, shall we? Shortly after my daughter was born, my mother called to ask me what I might need for the baby. In addition to all the pink, ruffly, and girlish necessities, I requested a nursing cape. We had only recently moved to Norway, and I hadn't been able to find one. I couldn't understand it at first. Nursing in public is widely accepted in Norway, how

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-44139903501733541262008-05-20T21:10:00.004+02:002008-05-20T21:13:26.975+02:00

Laney came to me with a package of tissues today. She wanted me to hide them in my sock. Ummm, okay."Mommy, put this Bless Yous in your sock," she tells me.She also calls a sneeze a Bless You.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-71204955575157837112008-05-19T10:41:00.023+02:002008-05-19T20:30:51.599+02:00

This past weekend, we celebrated Norway's Constitution Day. There are a lot of similarities in between American and Norwegian national day celebrations. In both countries, people grill hot dogs and eat ice cream. There are parades. There is a lot of flag-waving. There is patriotism and pride in country. There are speeches, generally boring ones. The boring national day speech is a phenomenon the

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-46982325778287621592008-05-17T00:01:00.006+02:002008-05-17T00:47:37.703+02:00

Happy May 17th! Today is Norway's Constitution Day. (Basically, the Norwegian equivalent of July 4th in the United States.) It's a big holiday here. Parades. Lots of flag-waving. Lots of cake and ice cream.I think Spiderman may just be Norwegian. See how well the flag matches the outfit?

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-74568125005791603272008-05-15T21:13:00.004+02:002008-05-15T21:23:57.956+02:00

My daughter's finger hurts. All of the time. Usually at bedtime. It's not always the same finger. Despite the fact that there is no open wound, she needs a band-aid for it to feel better. Failing that, tape will do.What do you think it could be?

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-86505633960626286672008-05-14T11:10:00.005+02:002008-05-19T13:10:16.326+02:00

Nicky asked me this last night. He was tired and almost near tears. He hadn't seen it in a really long time. Where was his Transformer? The small gray one that was about five pieces that could become a spaceship.I knew exactly where it was. I just couldn't tell him. How could I? His young heart would never understand.The short answer, the cruel truth is. . .Well, I threw it away.The thing is, I

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-81896243156077656372008-05-13T11:32:00.017+02:002008-05-13T13:12:57.916+02:00

Nicky loves the digital camera. He's actually quite good at taking pictures, and the instant gratification of seeing his work on the display screen in the back has instilled quite a love of photography.His first attempts ended in blurry images of his hand or the floor. The digital camera is perfect, because we could delete those pictures immediately rather than spend the money to have them

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-13950706615530076442008-05-12T21:48:00.002+02:002008-05-12T21:53:33.185+02:00

Through it all. No matter what. How could I not love these faces? (That's pista on the cheeks, if you're wondering).

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-90451904469464279652008-05-12T19:04:00.011+02:002008-05-13T13:16:55.230+02:00

The problem in trying to keep an upbeat blog about the adorable day-to-day things your kids do is that when you're in a crappy mood, it's hard to find anything fun to write. I could go on and on about things that irritate me, but really, who wants to spend their time reading a blog kept by an overwrought, emotional woman ranting about her day?Well, you, apparently. You're still here.Bless your

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-83262727566258666652008-05-08T22:43:00.006+02:002008-05-08T23:43:07.267+02:00

This is what Laney looked like eating a chocolate cookie in a controlled environment at roughly the same age. You see, I don't exaggerate these things.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-33973743832079109742008-05-07T09:29:00.008+02:002008-05-07T19:54:33.678+02:00

I may have to number these "Embarrassing Moment" posts as there are many, many of them. It's just a matter of how strong I am. How much am I willing to share with my Internet audience of five?Last summer, I had taken the kids up to visit my in-laws, while Seven stayed behind to relive the glory days of bachelorhood work. I was only there for two weeks, so I brought a little cash and a debit card,

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-45928460641365518232008-05-05T10:58:00.003+02:002008-05-05T11:01:54.754+02:00

Nicky, the tiger pirateAt some point last year, my kids came in with "tiger stripes" drawn on their faces and arms with pen. Nicky's markings bore some semblance to tiger stripes, while Laney had just covered her face in green marker. They were supposed to be drawing on paper, while I went in to the kitchen to finish the morning dishes and grab a cup of coffee. I didn't want to make a big deal

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-38298109544848973502008-05-01T13:14:00.006+02:002008-05-05T14:41:39.281+02:00

Piglet's been missing for awhile. Laney has a few stuffed animals from Winnie the Pooh. Piglet is her favorite, because he's pink. I'd noticed that he'd gone missing and went looking for him. He wasn't in the usual areas -- the kids' room, their play area downstairs, the bathroom. It wasn't an emergency, but I kept an eye out for him.Yesterday, I cleaned my house, well, part of my house. The sun

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-26966292032370741932008-04-29T18:20:00.007+02:002008-04-29T23:49:18.205+02:00

This has nothing to do with anything. It was just so funny that I almost peed myself watching it (that whole post-pregnancy urine incontinence thing is drag). The voiceover is saying something about this famous ski resort in Japan. Blah. Blah. They've built an outdoor hot tub area. The chairs are supposed to give you a stress reduction massage. You put 100 yen into the chair and the countdown

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-52435441799500931192008-04-28T09:45:00.019+02:002008-04-28T18:38:37.209+02:00

Swings! Green grass!It's officially spring! I have to say, though, as I took these pictures, I was just a little wary. I couldn't help but look over my shoulder to make sure that no one from the Disney corporation was off in the distance ready to take me out with a shotgun.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-70252326387791647772008-04-24T22:00:00.006+02:002008-04-24T22:10:12.573+02:00

Taken today. So that's what my kids' hair looks like. . .Studiously ignore the snow in the background, otherwise you'll get depressed for me. Instead, focus on the beauties in front, and you'll be happy for me.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-19542169641761754622008-04-24T21:57:00.000+02:002008-04-28T21:16:35.264+02:00

So I realized that the most recent pictures on this blog about my kids are of ugly wallpaper, a band-aid, and a hairy-assed man in short shorts. I need to remedy the situation immediately. However, I can't, in good conscience, include a picture of my sweethearts in the same entry as the words "hairy-assed man in short shorts."I'll just make a separate entry for the pictures.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-26440822602463079412008-04-24T11:57:00.006+02:002008-04-25T23:22:05.570+02:00

I heard this story second-hand as I was at my Norwegian class when it happened.Seven was getting the kids ready for bed. Part of the nighttime routine is a going to the toilet. This night, Nicky decided he wanted to stand and pee. Most boys are doing this at this age already, but Nicky just hasn't been interested. He said he would do it when he was older. I'm all about precision aim, a skill most

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-85072970520834627762008-04-24T11:51:00.004+02:002008-04-24T12:41:41.463+02:00

This morning.Nicky (to Laney): We're best friends.Laney: Yeah.Nicky, correcting himself: Just a little bit best friends.Laney: Yeah.I guess one can't really be real best friends with their sister, but I hope they'll be a "little bit" best friends. Forever.

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7602693568777645906.post-51244476619369576932008-04-22T10:41:00.013+02:002008-04-25T23:30:53.445+02:00

I have finally delved into the phenomenon that is MySpace. By weird coincidence, two friends in two weeks, both from junior high school, and both of whom I hadn't seen in many years, told me about their MySpace pages.While it's fun to connect with old friends, and I can see where one might get addicted, I have to say that I now know why old people are notoriously resistant to change. As I

Mikihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05711175903115498090noreply@blogger.com3