Can't help but say (before heading to bed)...

I love my girls.

So much. I love being their mother.

Still can't believe they were given to me.

Today included a trip to story-time, where Lily was scolded for being so blatantly sassy and mean to a "stinky boyee"( her words). Lily has a love/hate relationship with the opposite sex. Already. She loves "Timmy" - Forrest's teenage friend - and "Justin Beeeeeeber" - she caught a glimpse of him singing on the Disney channel and oh no! She frequently says, with starstruck eyes gazing out of the window as we are driving, "Mom, I dus pwetending to mawwy(marry) Justin Beeeeeber."*
*(Enter Tyler & Rachel's most frequent two-word prayer: Help. Us.).

Yesterday afternoon while "helping" me bake, she began sticking her hand into her glass of water and swishing it around everywhere. I told her, "That's acting like a baby. You can't help me bake if you're going to act like a baby."
She responded,

"Oh yeah? Well you're acting like a monshter."

London shoved her bee bee (blankee) into the toilet, and howled when she had to go to bed without it. Sarah was babysitting, and out of desperate surrender gave it to her anyways (?!). Bad, bad auntie. Sarah was scolded. No blankee.
My little dolly also falls immediately quiet any time I begin singing "Silent Night". She can be in the middle of the tantrum and I will begin singing, and suddenly she'll sit in my lap and allow me to caress her face. She just stares back sweetly, watching my mouth intently as I sing, and does that cute shiver thing when I tickle around her ears.
I tell her "I love you." and she always responds,

"I waaaa woooooooo." (I love you, London style)

The girls were running through the kitchen this evening, intermittently appearing in princess costumes and then nude, chasing each other. Giggling, screaming, squealing, pattering, noisy little nudies.

I never knew it would be so fun. Or so much work.

(Love this pic, anyone who knows London knows that this is one of her best and most common facial expressions, so funny)

Goodnight.

Horrible Sleep

I had the most fitful sleep last night. I dreamt that some psycho guy who lived next door to us, in a house I've never seen before but filled with gross references to 1960's wood paneling and mustard yellows, in a neighborhood I've never seen before - was trying to kidnap my girls. He somehow tricked me into letting them take a nap at his house (?), until I realized it was all one big psycho lie and had to break in to get them in secret. Tyler was absent from the dream (constituting a nightmare in and of itself), and I was trying desperately to carry both girls in one arm and hide them under the bed or in the basement. I would try over and over to dial 911, but all that would dial was 991, 991, 991. I would get connected to random people and try to get them to dial 911. I even called my Mom and tried to get her but she told me to stop being so paranoid, and that she had called the police enough for me (but I think she eventually did).

Then the cop finally came and the guy faked that he wasn't a psycho and I was even more frustrated and then I woke up.

Good morning.

Guess where we were?

* Warning * : If you're not prepared to spend the next three hours scrolling through the world's largest posting of pictures EVER, then I suggest you stop now, while you're still ahead. Sorry, this post is for me.****

Dear Walt,

If the Genie from Aladdin came for a visit and granted me three wishes, they would be as follows:

1. Permanent peace, love, and happiness bestowed upon my children, my family, myself, and all the inhabitants dwelling on this earth so that no suffering or evil can exist any longer - coupled with a simultaneous conscious awareness of the aforementioned peace, love, and happiness so that no contrasting forces of the aforementioned evil and suffering would need to exist in order to distinguish the presence and enjoyment of the aforementioned permanent peace, love, and happiness.*(This was one sentence so technically qualifies as one wish).
2. Larger lips, teeth, and mouth.
3. I want Walt Disney to be my Grandpa.

Yes, I love you. We love you.

And so I'm writing you this letter as if you were my Grandpa. Because Grandpa's like to know about these sorts of things. And they love lots of pictures to accompany itinerary details, right? (the kind of quantity that is capable of shutting down blog servers around the globe)
We had the unbelievably fun opportunity to visit the wonderfully magic kingdom you so inspiringly created. Sigh, I get weepy and nostalgically happy just thinking of it. To have the opportunity to do nothing but play and imagine and laugh with my children for one solid week: what a dream!...a dream...that's a wiiiish....my heart maaaade....when....i was faaaaast....asleeeeeep....
oh, sorry... back to my letter:

Lily and London have officially met their match for imagination and energy.

And oh boy, did we have fun. Some favorites included The Peter Pan ride (a classic, of course), the Tea Cups (Lily's favorite), Splash Mountain (Lily's other favorite...ps...a three year-old...on Splash Mountain!! Can you imagine?...what kind of a mother would allow it?!), The Tower of Terror, Soaring over California, Churros!, Holiday lights, Mainstreet, Holiday parades, FANTASMIC!...I could go on and on....

Lily and London loved picking out their
Princess dresses before entering the Princess Fair (spoiling courtesy of Gamma and Pop, of course):

Lily chose Princess Belle. London chose whatever dress Lily was going to choose.

Enter the most priceless moment of the trip: Lily's transformation into a real Princess (or so I assume, as she began smiling and waving at the crowds we passed for the rest of the trip, until the final day when Tyler and I had no choice but to confiscate the hideously dirty, tattered remnant that remained).

We were able to meet some pretty important people:

Ariel...

London really took a liking to Pochahontas...

Really really really took a liking to her. She refused to leave, threw her autograph book down after ripping the pages in a tantrum. Pocahantas responded very sweetly with,
"My! What an organized little Princess you are!"

Organized? Kudos on finding a perfectly neutral yet actually inapplicable word to describe another screaming toddler encountered throughout your day.

We even saw the newest Princess Tiana in her New Orlean's Jubilee!...

TinkerBelle and her fairy boyfriend(?) with awesome hair...

And a few other important Princesses as well (whom Lily was quick to spot and chat with...I swear these two princesses are the same kid...?):

But of course a Princess isn't complete without her Prince:

Prince Mickey-Ears Finn.


And a few other honorable mentions:

Ian and Jacob made it in from Hawaii...


We even met SANTA.
(Which, I'm not gonna lie...after Disney Character sensory overload, the visit with Santa was more like "Oh, hey Santa. Um, can you make this quick? We just heard that A Small World will be closing a half hour early. Oh yeah, and if Lily asks you for anything this Christmas...bend her over that jolly knee of yours and give her a signature Santa spanking. This IS her Christmas.)

And Mrs. Clause too!

However, I've saved the best greetings for last:

Oh Walt!, we had such a good time.

Even on the scary rides (which for London included Snow White and Winnie the Pooh):

London did love the Jungle Cruise...

And the tree-house (which for me will always belong to the Swiss Family Robinson clan, sorry Tarzan)...

Yes, we had a jolly good time indeed.

By the end of each day, we had tired little Princesses on our hands.

Lily literally fell asleep like this. The bathroom light I turned on while reading bothered her (and yes, that is a binkie you are seeing in her mouth, and yes, we are pathetic parents).

We would wake up again the next morning, and repeat the same exciting day as before.
Until...



the last day.
Tired to the toes but still tingly from the day, we had to wave goodbye.

Bye, Bye Walt.

Bye, Bye Disneyland.

Until next time.

As you can see from my exhausted-to-the-point-of-fainting children's faces (this last pic is my fave because of those little "drunk on fun" expressions),
we had an amazing vacation.

We love you.

Love,

Your adopted grandchildren (please?)

It's Cold Outside.

It is 6am. Freezing. And dark too.

It brings back memories. Memories of 6am seminary classes in high-school. (Seminary is an early morning scripture study class for LDS high-school students every day BEFORE school. It's also where we go to drink our early morning holy juice, milked from the golden udders of the magic cow hidden in our temples, drunk in preparation to take over the world through specific covert military training involving spoons.)*

*Hint, that last part was a joke (albeit a lame one). An attempt to add to the stereotypical weirdness already assigned to our religion, one that includes attending scripture classes in the wee hours of the morning. Trust me, we can make better fun of ourselves than anyone else. Try me. Come on, try me.


My brother drove a 1975 black Toyota Landcruiser. It had the capability to wake an entire neighborhood as we drove by....VROOOOM VROOOOOM CLACK JUMP...RRRRR...RRRRR.....VROOOOM....SPOOF, CLICKITY CLICKITY CLICKITY....VROOOOOOM.... Luckily for the neighbors, we didn't have any neighborhood, as we lived a few miles outside of town (although at that moment I desperately wished we did. It would have given some satisfaction to at least awake the rest of the world at 5:30am in holy indignation to share in the misery of this loud engine and car exhaust. Wake up! Wake up, world! Tiiiiime to study your scriptures! I'll be danged if you get to enjoy your sleep if I can't enjoy mine! VROOOM....CLICKITY...VRRROOOM...Wake up! booooo haaaaa haaaaa!). We'd trek the 6-10 miles of dirt road in the cruiser to get to seminary. It was louder than you can imagine, bumping down the road in the freezing cold of morning. It was always dark. The heater only worked so well and came up from the bottom of the dashboard, blasting strongly enough to burn your feet while the rest of your body still froze.

It was during that drive that I would sit, peering out my 12 x 14 inch window (assuming the doors were attached...not always the case) into other people's homes once our car reached the pavement and we entered civilization. I would notice lights just beginning to flicker on, and imagine the warmth of pajamas in the cozy splendor of their home, a blasting furnace penetrating a morning filled with leisurely breakfasts and hot cocoa. After my soul had experienced enough yearning, I would turn my head forward towards the blackness of the street, and drive on in the cold (Sometimes with a backdrop of Rage Against the Machine blasting. Not my doing. I had no say in choices of music, and my brother was obviously going through a bit of a "phase". Although to his credit and redemption, he now only listens to incredibly weak and poetic Nora Jones ballads and frequently spouts deeply philosophical conundrums in British accents. I swear. Reformed rager.)
It was during these moments, I repeatedly SWORE to myself:

I WILL NEVER AGAIN, EVER EVER EVER, CHOOSE A LIFE THAT INVOLVES LEAVING MY HOME IN THE DARK,
COLD HOURS OF MORNING.

It felt like being swallowed by the jaws of Satan himself to have to leave my home at such an hour. And this promise to myself kept me going. After four years, I graduated seminary.

And this morning, as Tyler trudged out into the cold to provide for us, I realized: I'm living my dream! My promise! (Yet another one that you -Tyler- have fulfilled). I have putzed around my home, picking up odds and ends in the cozy joy of my sweats. It is warm, and safe, and I don't have to walk out into a brutal world at 6am any more (so far).

But you do. And you do it for me, and our beautiful girls.

So Tyler, love, thank you for allowing me to fulfill my dream. And thank you for being a morning person. I'll be thinking of you (somewhat lustfully - you always look so smashing and fresh on your way out the door) as I drink my cocoa.

The best parts...

I was tidying up the kitchen during the quiet hour just before bedtime. Lily breezed by, engrossed in another episode of her daily adventures throughout the house, presumably squeezing every last ounce of life out of an already busy day. I stopped for a moment and scooped up her yummy-ness, just as if she were a baby (yesterday in my mind). I nuzzled my face into the nape of her little neck, inhaled a deep breath of her perfection and whispered closely into her ear,

"You make me so happy.
Did you know that?"

She looked up at me, and for a brief moment I was locked into those pretty little eyes, peering into her hazely greens. She smiled a genuinely Lily Lu smile at me and whispered - oh so softly - back,

"Yeah."




"Good."

Oops.

My Mom has been known to tell me, in her kind - motherly - way, "Dear, you are just being a little too intense." It's a politically correct substitute for the following adjectives: out-of-control, overly dramatic, angry, tyrannical, perfectionistic, exaggerative (not the deceitful type - but more so that I take situations to mean more than they really do).

As much as I hate to admit it, oh boy, is she right.
Case in point:
Halloween night.

We all happily headed out trick-or-treating. In an effort to not be just another house with their porch lights turned OFF, I left my lovely woven pumpkin basket stuffed with candy on the porch with the lights on for fellow trick-or-treaters. It just didn't feel right to go around the neighborhood begging for candy without returning the favor. Even if that did mean that the little ghouls would be shoveling more than one piece into their sacks. Happy Halloween, world. Good world, full of happy children parading down the streets in a safe and sound neighborhood.

Later at Gigi's spookfest party, Lily came up and explained that she had a bad tummy-ache. She was pale, and obviously about to vomit. I sat with her on the floor of the bathroom, waiting. I began to panic....is this the candy poisoning discussed in my third grade Halloween safety pamplet? I didn't check the wrapper before she ate candy? Is it cyanide...cyanide is lethal?! Maybe we should call the cops. Or rush to the emergency room. Why wait? Why wait for her to begin vomiting and convulsing with her eyes rolling into the back of her head before we take her to a doctor, only to be told if we had only caught it sooner she may have survived?!!?!
She tooted (we don't say "fart" in our house - we're what you might call a "classy" bunch) a couple of times and explained she felt much better. That was the end of that.

We arrived home later to find that the trick-or-treaters had not only taken all of the candy, but stolen my PRIZED PUMPKIN BASKET too, along with the rest of the pumpkins on our porch. I began lamenting to Tyler immediately, "I TRIED TO BE A GOOD CITIZEN...I TRIED TO BE A FRIENDLY NEIGHBOR...AND HOW DO I GET REPAID?!!! THEY STOLE MY PUMPKIN BASKET?!!! MY WONDERFUL WOVEN, BURNT ORANGE PUMPKIN BASKET!!!! IS THERE NO DECENCYYYYYYYY LEFT IN THIS WORLDDDDDDDDDDDD!? TAKE ALL THE REAL PUMPKINS, ALL THE CANDY - THAT IS FINE - BUT WHY MY BASKET?!!!"

It was 9pm, I was obviously a little tired. (Operating on what I call "mother time". When you are a mother your perspective on "late" hours and "dangerous" hours shifts dramatically. I used to feel like 1:30-2:30am marked the "late" hours of the night, the hours when bad things can happen. Now that hour begins somewhere around 8:30pm in the summer hours, and 7:15pm during winter. For example, since the daylight change, I begin feeling very afraid wheeling my cart out of a grocery store around 6:57pm.)

Tyler and I put the girls to bed and began watching a movie. I walked into the kitchen to grab a drink, when I heard something out our front window. I peered through the slats of our blinds, and saw a dark, black VW bug sitting in front of our neighbor's house with a teenage boy standing outside the passenger door. Down the street, a few other boys appeared to be throwing something at a house. This is it, I've had it. First, my daughter barely escapes being poisoned, then my pumpkins and pumpkin basket are STOLEN....and now my neigborhood's safety is threatened before my very eyes. It is 10:15pm, and under the cover of night our very own homes are now being compromised....

I'd like to claim that what happened next was a Halloween invasion of an evil spirit entering my body, but I fear I remember the details too vividly:

I threw open the door and marched out into the night. I halted and abruptly called out:

"Do you have my pumpkin?"

The boy turned around, facing me. He didn't say anything.

"You heard me. Do. You. Have. My. PUMPKIN.?"
DO YOU HAVE MY PUMPKIN?

If it wasn't so dark, I'm sure I would have seen a face of total bewilderment from the boy, looking at the crazy lady screaming accusingly about her pumpkins. The other boys down the street turned and started walking back towards their car, slowly. Angered at the lack of response, and the obvious vandalism I assumed was occurring, I began screaming:

"Get you ASSES out of here. GET OUT OF HERE!!!!!! GET. OUT. OF HERE NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

"Get out of here! Get out of here! Get out of here!"

They continued their moderate pace back to their car. One boy finally broke their silence and simply muttered, "Whoa there, turbo."

"Oh yeah?! You wanna see turbo?.. wait till I get my GUN...YOU BIG BUNCH OF WUSSIES IN YOUR LITTLE BLACK BUG! GET OUT OF HERE!!!! GET OUT OF HERE!!"

And with that, they drove away. I returned to our bedroom where Tyler was still watching television (too far away from me to hear what was really going on). He asked what I was doing. I explained what had just occurred.

"Are you kidding me? You threatened a bunch of teenage boys with a gun?"

He was angry. Very angry.

"Well, um, ,yeah. But I wasn't really going to get it, and if I did I only planned on doing that little "chuck chuck" sound when you, you know, do that thing before you shoot it."

"See...this is what I mean! I CANNOT BELIEVE you threatened a GUN?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS?! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE WORD IS FOR THE LITTLE "chuck chuck" SOUND...it's called PUMPING the gun!!!

"But I was angry and trying to keep the neighborhood safe."

"From a bunch of teenage boys at 10pm???!"

Uh oh. Oh no. He was right (and by default, once again - so was my Mother). Another classic case of me "overreacting". I went to the garage, got in my car and drove down the street to the house they were throwing stuff at. I shined my car lights and noticed toilet paper laced throughout their yard. Great, just great. Flippin fantastic. I had just unleashed all kinds of crazy on a bunch of poor kids toilet papering on Halloween for fun. They were probably Mormon too (as evidenced by their response to me that didn't include any swear words and the relatively early time at which the toilet papering was occurring - before the 11pm curfew when they'd return safely to their homes for a little of Mom's special Halloween rice crispy treats).

Oh, what have I done?!!!! I should have been encouraging them! Toilet papering is the perfect Mormon substitution for the male release of testosterone through underage drinking and illicit sex. I should have applauded them, and offered more pumpkins to smash. That's it boys, release the need for aggression and teen violence, smash those pumpkins! Release the toilet paper! Allow the paper to unroll all over the rooftop, eliminating your desires for non-virgin status...Release! Release!

I was upset. I still am. Tyler later noticed how upset I was over my behavior. He cut me a break and told me to forget about it and come watch the movie. But I can't. I wish I could find those boys. I wish I could apologize in person. I wish I wasn't so intense. I've got to stop flying off the handle.

I promise, I'm really going to work on it. In the meantime, does anyone know any teenage boys in the area who drive a black VW bug? If so, there is one sorrowful mother who would like to make them a big plate of Rice crispy treats and provide them with at least one perfect home to toilet paper.

To you...

Happy Halloween!

Luv,

Lon-tildy the Witch

&

Lily-Lu the Ladybug

(On their way to the church Halloween party - we didn't forget to dress up this time.)