9 More Days

December 16.  Less than a dime's worth of days until Christmas.  

Right about now, I'm experiencing one enormous sensory overload - all 5 senses are surged with all things Christmas.  The kids are getting revved up for their holiday break and our checking account is nearly depleted.

Yep, it's almost Christmas.

December 16.  The world is all decked out in it's celebratory attire ready for merriment and well wishing.  No need for party streamers and balloons.  We've got evergreens and tinsel and red and green bows.

It's a perfect time to have a birthday.

But this day is not mine alone.  I share this 9 days before Christmas birthday with a gamut of people that you might recognize.  I've never met any of them personally.  But let's see if I have something in common with my fellow Sagittariuses.

Hallee Hirsche (22)

She played a bratty teenager on one of my favorite TV dramas - ER.

I played a bratty teenager in real life.

Flo Rida (30)

Ah, Flo.   He and I both appreciate music from the 80's.  I danced to Dead or Alive with my highly shellacked, highly flammable coif.  In fact, my bangs nearly rivaled the lead singer's.  Flo Rida gave us a newer version which is off limits in our house.  He needs to sit in on one of our FHE lessons and learn about wholesome music and clean lyrics.  C'mon Flo!

{that is a funny visual...Flo Rida joining us for FHE...

I better watch my bottle of homemade vanilla}

 

Michael McGary  (38)

Former Boyz II Men member (center front).  Provided Jeff and I good kissy-kissy music back in the early 90's.

Benjamin Bratt (44)

Did I EVER think I would be able to post a picture of Benjamin Bratt on my blog and not look like a totally, desperate housewife?

Happy Birthday, Benj!

William "Refrigerator" Perry (47)

In Junior High, a group of us did a lip sync to the Super Bowl Shuffle.  This is when he was the 400 lb. defensive tackle for "Da Bears."

Oh, and we both like food.

Billy Gibbons (60)

OK.....this one is a little bit tougher....I'm a girl.....let me think.........no facial hair.....I bathe daily......um, there's gotta be something......hang on.......OK.  I have it!

ZZ Top sang a song about Legs.  

And I have 2 of them!

Who'da thunk?

Can you name this non-celebrity?

LOVE the Farrah Fawcett hair.

Lesley Stahl  (68)

We both like to talk.  As correspondent/co-editor for 60 minutes, she gets paid for her gift of gab.  I just talk for free and live up to my childhood nickname - Motor Mouth.

Arthur Clark (92)

Penned the book "2001: A Space Odyssey".   

I think we both have large imaginations.

{That's why I'm 38 and still afraid of the dark}

Jane Austen (234)

Did I mention that I share a birthday with THE Jane Austen?

Kennedy and I have chosen Pride and Prejudice as our chick flick.  We speak in English accents for days afterwards.

I can't convince Jeff to play along.

And he doesn't like it when I call him, "Mr. Darcy".

Ludwig Van Beethoven (238)

The oldest of our birthday club and definitely my favorite.  I played Moonlight Sonata when I was younger and loved the haunting beauty of his music.  Deaf and still composing?  Truly inspiring.  I love classical music.

And I love Ludwig.

***

It's been a year since I had to commit to memory a new age for myself.

I'll have to start over again - for the next 365 days, I'll have to remember that I'm 38.

Happy Birthday, December 16thians!

Watch Out Hallmark

*The Arizona Gregsons may not want to spoil any surprises by reading this post.

I love my husband.  I really do.

But he's proven that he cannot be trusted when it comes to helping me with Christmas tasks.

Here's a sampling of the melodious and eloquent writings of Jeffrey Jay - Christmas card style. This tender and heartfelt message is being sent to his brother and his family - along with their Christmas gift.

The Gregsons,

May the warm lovely glow of this glorious season reach your inner bowels.  Will you enjoy the sweet sugar plum kisses of your kindred offspring.

Make this the most festive embrace of holiday cheer and goodwill to man...and to all a good night!

God bless you Merry Gentlemen.

Truly Yours,

The Other Gregsons

***

Amy, I apologize.  Brent, you and Jeff share the same irreverence so this should not come as any shock to you.  

I'm just glad he didn't give any descriptive details about your inner bowels.

Burrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Dear Board of Education,

If it's cold enough outside that my car doors and windows are frozen shut, I think it's too cold for a school day.

My kids and I think on mornings like this, there should be a mandatory stay-home-in-your-PJs-drink- hot-cocoa-and-watch-Christmas-movies-while-munching-on-the-8-dozen-cookies-and-candies-that-mom- brought-home-last-night-from-a-cookie-exchange.  That would be our vote.

I don't want my kids to lose any fingers or toes on their way to or from school.  And their Santa lists have been sent so it's too late to ask him for any replacements.

{Or do you think he accepts addendums?}

Shivering and blue lipped,

Kristen G.

Life's Badges of Honor

I often joke about getting older.   The horrible onset of wrinkles and other physical tattlers of age.  The muffin top around my waist.  The drooping sistas that have lost all elasticity due to 4 babies and their nursing games.  But here's the honest truth - getting older doesn't bother me. In fact, I'm learning to embrace it more all the time.  Sure - who wouldn't want to look 10 years younger?   But I wouldn't want to be 10 years younger.  I feel that I've evolved into somebody that I like and want to continue to get to know better. I'm perfectly imperfect - go back and count how many posts I've written about my weaknesses and flaws in my personality. There are plenty.  But the person that I see in the reflection each morning is someone who has earned every wrinkle on her face - each line reminds me of the distance I have come over the years and the hurdles I have managed.  The lessons learned. The emotional battles fought.  The tender moments of humility or the stings of humiliation.  The natural progression of growing up, getting older, and becoming (hopefully) wiser.  

They say that you never know what a person has gone through until you walk a mile in their shoes.  But how about tracing the lineage of their wrinkles? Wouldn't that be so telling?    

One thing that I have really gained over the years is the ability to not worry about what other's think.  In my youth, I spent way too much time fretting about external opinions and expectations that I had no control over.  I was fearful of doing something embarrassing in front of others. What would they say about me?  Who would they tell?  I held back and missed out on so many opportunities in life.

So now I'm making up for that self-conscious lost time of my youth.

Last Saturday, I was shopping at The Wals-Mart all by my lonesome. No kids. No make-up. No worries that I was wearing badly faded jeans, tenny runners, and a hat to hide my bedhead.  I left my pride at home and was fine with any chance meetings with familiar faces that I might see.  

As my shopping journey unfolded, an opportunity presented itself.  

I could not turn it down.

Call it an early mid-life crisis if you will, but I'm livin' life and not worried about the shouldn'ts, wouldn'ts, couldn'ts.

At almost 38 years old, I didn't need my kids around to have a visit with Santa Claus.

And he didn't even notice my wrinkles.

*Post Note:  Wouldn't the Drooping Sistas be a great name for a book club?  Or maybe a matronly rock band?

When Penmanship is Crucial

When offering a reward for a lost object, it is vital that you give an accurate and detailed description.

And that your handwriting is legible.

Are we searching for a "gay stormtrooper"?

Or a "guy stormtrooper?"

I'll Tell of Two Tales: Tradition and Tragedy

This post was originally going to only be of joy and holly and fa-la-la-ing. 

But Shaw invited Murphy and his danged law over yesterday so our postcard perfect post has taken a slight detour.

A detour to Gravityville.

I'll tell you more about that in a second.  But first - drum roll please - I present to you (with no commercial interruptions) the Gregson Kids' Ornament Extravaganza!  Huzzah!

I buy an ornament for each of the kids annually.  A hanging memory of sorts that represents something about them for that year.  This is one of their favorite parts of the Christmas season. Unpacking the box of tree decorations sends the kids on a one-way trip to Memory Lane.  They can't wait to remind me of what each ornament represents.  I just smile and play along as they retell the meaning behind every bauble as if to jog my memory.  Most of their ornaments tend to dangle from the lowest branches on decorating night, but somehow migrate upwards after they go to bed.

Here are their ornaments this year:

Shaw sleeps with a white teddybear dressed in a pink snowman hoodie.  Yes, most definitely pink. This bear was a prize thrown from Bukoos (a local merchant) during our Farmington Days parade in July.  The bear is from The Cheesecake Factory so his nickname is "Cheesecake" or "Strawberry Cheesecake".  Shaw loves his little stuffed friend and won't go to sleep without him.  His ornament is not quite the right shade but we'll make it work.

Brittan, newly baptized and now old enough for scouts, was so excited for these 2 milestones. He will definitely be one of those boys who wants to pass off everything in the scout book.  He really looked forward to getting his scout shirt and he made sure I knew that he wanted a scarf.

Taiden discovered sushi this year.  That was the one request that he had when we went to Florida - to be able to eat sushi in the Japan Pavilion in Epcot.

Kennedy's ornament was a little more difficult.  I wanted to go in the direction of her being an officer this year but couldn't find a Husky (school mascot), or an officer sweater, or a Husky wearing an officer sweater.  (Heck, if I can find a sushi ornament, shouldn't I be able to find that?!)  So I had to get creative. Green is her school color.  The sparkly glitter represents her personality and the fun she's had so far in 8th grade.  The crazy, busy strands represent her too - she is crazy busy.  With her officer duties requiring going to 1 - 2 athletic games a week, homework, YW, and the other things that occupy her time, she is always on the go.  

Now...

deep breathing...

going to my happy place...

images of a Martha Stewart Christmas house of my own...

counting back from 10...

popping another Valium... (Just kidding about the Valium part.  I don't do drugs.  I just self-medicate with sugar.)

The Tragedy of the Tannenbaum Trio

It's been 6.5 years since we've had a toddler in the house, but apparently it's still in their molecular make-up to be attracted to Christmas decorations. Heavens - with Star Wars ornaments dangling next to toy ornaments next to cookie ornaments falsely advertising that they're edible - what should a 19 month old do?  His world is one of touching, and pulling, and playing, and exploring.  

And that's just exactly what he did yesterday morning as I was trying to slap on some mascara.

Here's some of the carnage.  While Dorothy's Ruby Slipper and Jeff's Bugs Bunny are unharmed, Santa has lost both legs and Simba has been decapitated.

Mr. Gingerbread Man is smiling 'cause he's still technically hanging on the tree, but the Dalmatian has just experienced a toddler hit-n-run.

Ghastly!  

Kennedy's piano suffered the most damage.  I find peace in knowing that my piano is on the ground level of our home and that this is not a foreshadowing.

The minute I heard the shrills of terror coming from Shaw, I knew exactly what had happened. See this is not the first time someone should have yelled, "TIMBER!".  It's happened with 2 other kids.  4 tall and thin trees loaded down with yearly remembrances makes for an unstable situation when a 1 year old is let loose.

My solution?

Wrapped bricks and rocks to help anchor the trees.  Great idea - just 4 hours too late this year.

December 3rd and we already have all of our bad Christmas Karma out of the way.  The trees have fallen, been repaired, and put back together and our Christmas Present Peeker has been ousted.  As long as we don't freeze to death tonight at Temple Square (10 degrees) we should be good.

But will you keep us in your prayers just to be sure? 

Santa in Training

Beard of White

Beard of Yogurt

I Spy with My Little Eye

Ah, kids.  You gotta spank 'em.

I mean, love 'em.  That's what I meant to say.  Love 'em and paddle 'em and hug 'em.

We have a Christmas peeker in our family.  And his name is Brittan.  A couple of weeks ago, I had a gift in my bedroom, covered carefully with a beach towel, waiting to be hidden away someplace safe. Because my home is the size of a cracker jack box and finding perfect gift hiding places requires hours of organizing, sorting, and dejunking, the towel draped present remained in my room for several days.

And Brittan peeked.

Christmas '08

The little stealthy sneaker. 

But here's where the real frustration lies - the present wasn't even for him.  He knew what was under my lame Christmas camouflage was meant for his older brother.  I caught wind that Brittan may have seen something he wasn't supposed to, so that night as I was tucking them into bed, I talked to them about Christmas looky-looks and how it just ruins any surprises and the excitement of Christmas morning.  I emphasised that even if you know where things are hidden, you need to resist the urge to peek.  And you need to keep your mouth shut with any information you might have.

Get real, Kristen.

As a kid, my mom would make a list of what we were getting for Christmas. Down to the very last candy cane.  The problem was, she would leave it on the kitchen counter in plain sight with a spotlight blazing on its classified information.  I swear I remember bold letters across the top of the list beckoning to "READ ME."  I obliged.  I don't know why.  I couldn't control my eyes (nor my hands picking up the list to bring it close to my face).  The entire time I knew I shouldn't be doing what I was doing and I would keep saying to myself (as the paper got closer and closer to my wild eyes), "Stop!  Put the list down and walk away!  Walk away and have the strength to never be tempted by a literary lure like this again!"  But I couldn't tame my curiosity.  I would read the whole list in less than a nanosecond, know what the entire family was getting for Christmas, then quickly replace it to its rightful place.

That list should have been contained in an alarmed-temperature-controlled-bullet-proof-glass case (spotlight still shining).  It was a truly invaluable document and should have been given the respect it deserved.

Or at least handled with white gloves.

{Might I add that this may be the first time my mom is gaining this knowledge.  I'm sorry mom. I was a restraintless child lacking in Noel morals.}

So, perhaps I deserve having a child with this same foible.  I'm just not sure how to handle my current situation.  See, Santa is still a very powerful and popular guy around here.  A hidden camera 2 years ago gave my kids solid proof that he exists and is more jolly than ever.  We're a house of believers. If my boys ever start to doubt I tell them to simply not write a letter to St. Nick that year and see what happens. 

They've never risked it.

Back to the challenge on hand, Brittan sees a gift with uncanny resemblance to something Taiden has on his Santa list. He waits a whopping 12 seconds until after I leave the room to tell Taiden exactly what he saw. Keep in mind that this is 12 seconds after I finished my articulate, expressive, and persuasive Don't Spoil Christmas speech.

What is a mother to do?

A)  take back the gift and think of something else

B)  give it anyway and have a major spoiler alert in regards to the guy in the red suit

C)  shift some things around and have mom and dad get the credit under the Christmas tree

D) tell Brittan that the gift was actually for him and that it is being returned to the store...that way Taiden can keep it on his Santa list and hopefully Santa will still be able to deliver

E)  cancel Christmas

I chose D and coupled it with a TV-less day for Brittan.

* Post note:  Before you think I'm a horrible mom, let me assure you that I don't spank my kids. TV-less days are much more painful. :D

{Psst!  Be sure to answer the "Did you peek as a kid?" question over on the right.}

V is for Victory

The place:  LaVell Edwards stadium

The quest:  To win bragging rites for the next year

64, 301 people showed up to witness one of the oldest and most spirited rivalries in the realm of college football.  

A rivalry with the power to halt friendships, divide families, and cause long lasting mood swings in some.  

{For the record, I still love all of my U of U friends.  Is the feeling mutual today?}

There was a dash of red in the sea of blue.

The Cougars showed up in jerseys that were reminiscent of their 1984 National Championship colors.  

The Utes had hate and blood in their eyes.

After tailgating, we headed to our seats.  The same seats my dad has had forever.  Blue runs in his veins.

My family tree includes 4 generations of Cougars.

BYU is where Jeff and I began.

I love Y mountain.  

Jeff.

A Cougar.  Then a Ute.  

{Repented.}

Now, forever a Cougar.

Yet another thing to add to my gratitude list this year.

I Think I'm Gonna Be Sick

*Thanksgiving Desserts 2009

2 pumpkin

1 apple

1 sour cream lemon

2 chocolate

1 chocolate pecan

1 banana cream

1 regular pecan

1 lemon meringue

1 raspberry cheesecake delight

2 pumpkin rolls

1 plate of fudge

1 large bowl of heavy whipped cream

*Note to self - Send a hand written thank you card to the following saintly beings: the inventor of sugar, the manufacturers of elastic waistband pants, and the makers of Gas-X.

Send flowers too. 

This Year Shaw Will Be Carving the Turkey

Happy Thanksgiving 

{Psst!  Don't forget to vote in the sidebar.  Over there on the right.}

Only In Magazines

On Saturday, I attended a New Moon brunch that was meticulously prepared and organized for 10 fanpires.  Every element was carefully thought out and no detail was left undone.

It was like stepping into the pages of a magazine.  

The food was heavenly.  Girly food that spoke to my I-don't-usually-go-to-brunches-on-Saturday-afternoons-and-I'm-so-glad-I'm-not-home-folding-laundry self.  Brie with brown sugar, pecans, and cranberries baked in puffed pastry.  Two kinds of quiche.  English cranberry scones. Rice pudding. Spinach salad with goat cheese (I think the hostess was trying to prove a point - and she did). Crackers with fruit.  It was like something out of Gourmet magazine.  

Only better.

(And I really do think I heard angels sing.)

The hostess, Alysa, is an interior designer and her home is beyond beautiful. She has such a flair and creativity that makes her house jaw dropping.  She and her husband restored an old pioneer home that had belonged to his family. The end result is a work of art.  I kid you not - it is gorgeous.  It is a place where you can stand in every room for minutes on end and just study and sigh at all of the amazing things she has done.  It's like a creative sensory rush.

Luckily her husband was willing to email me these pictures.  None of the pictures I took with my camera turned out.  He, obviously, has a real grown up camera and is a great photographer. 

(2010 New Year's Resolution #1:  Get a new camera)

(2010 New Year's Resolution #2: Beg, plead, and grovel for Chadwick to come out of his photography hiatus and take a family picture for us) 

I tried to sneak out with one of these pillows but thought the feather trail might give me away.

Treats for the movie.

The table was covered with funny tidbits about the books.  My favorite was: Edward Cullen - raising the bar for husbands and boyfriends since 1918.


When one of Alysa's boys saw this poster, he asked, "Mom, why are you in that picture?" She IS Alice. She has a definite je ne sais quoi about her. 


Great conversations about Edward, losing oxygen while scuba diving in underwater caves, shark attacks and surefire ways to save yourself from one (my method will work, Randee!), and wondering why Jacob has to be so darn cute (and under age).

I've decided that I am boycotting breakfast and lunch.

'Cause brunch is where its at. 

(2010 New Year's Resolution #3:  Convince Chadwick that he needs to smuggle in the baked Brie recipe when we do our family photo shoot)

:) !

I Stand Corrected

Thanks to newly formed friendships and generous fellow foodies who are looking out for my gastronomical welfare, I can now say, with my head held high and with a tear of dairy joy in my eye, that I, in fact, like goat cheese.

What a travesty it would have been had I carried on through the remainder of my days with the dark shadow of corrupt goat cheese still tainting my tongue. Thank you Chadwick & Alysa for righting this great wrong.  My taste buds and I are so glad the two of you came into my life. You guys are awe inspiring.   Truly.

To you whom I may have swayed with my persuasive rant on my misgivings towards the creamy creation, I say, "I apologize.  I was misinformed.  I was lead astray.  I was wrong."

And to Smith's cheese department, I say, "Get thee hence."

{And I will never be tricked by bad cheese in adorable packaging again.}

It's the Reason I Stress Over the Season

Please do me a favor and tell me what I should get for my parents and in-laws for Christmas.

Seriously.

If you could see my face, you would know that there is not a hint of jest in my demeanor.  A slight frown is forming on my lips and a definite scowl is approaching my brow.

It's the part of Christmas that I stress over more than anything else.  

Decorating?  Delightful.  Shopping for the kids and my hubby?  Easy peasy. Baking goodies and candies and munchies of merriment?  Memory making. Wrapping, and bustling, and caroling, and peace on earthing?  Such a joy.

Finding the right gift for our parents?  Back-breaking.  Taxing.  Grueling. Worrisome. Arduous. 

Scrooge inducing.

What do you get for people who have been collecting stuff for 60+ years? People who really don't need anything?  People who have a hard time coming up with gift ideas for themselves when you pose the question, "What would excite and enthuse and delight you for Christmas?"

(my furrowed brow deepens as I recall the echo of "socks...socks...socks...socks...socks" from Christmas Q & A's of shopping seasons past)

I don't like giving socks for Christmas.  I'll admit that I have given them before.  But I didn't like it one bit and I wasn't being true to myself.

I was just desperate.

So, please friends, family, and bashful blog stalkers - help ease my pain this holiday season. We love our parents.  We want to give them what is rightfully theirs - a gift with meaning and purpose and significance.  

Or at least something they will use. 

When giving suggestions, kindly keep in mind the following parameters:

1.  It needs to fit within a 1 income budget.  I have 6 mouths to feed and as much as I'd like to give them front row tickets and back stage passes to every Neil Diamond concert across the country, my kids cannot survive on Saltines and Tang.

2. It needs to not require me to be too crafty.  Long crafty projects involving painting, and shaping, and glittering, and glue-gunning make me want to peel my toenails off.  Also remember, I don't sew.  If there's minimal craftiness involved, I can handle it.  If it takes longer than 2 hours, I'm comin' for ya and you better run...

3.  Suggestions need to not include the words: skull and crossbones, bedazzled, Chia Pet, or Blue Boutique.  For the heart health of my fathers, it should probably also not include the word Obama. 

Come one, come all!  Share in the holiday warmth this year.  Give me your ideas so I can rest easy through the coming weeks.  I know you're brimming with fabulous suggestions.  

Pray tell!!!!

Otherwise, Jeff says we'll hit the The Wals-Mart on Christmas Eve and call it good. 

Sick and Wrong

For the record, I have never:

eaten goat

licked a goat

hugged a goat

kissed a goat

wrestled a goat

milked a goat

studied a goat

raised a goat

kicked a goat

shared a meal with a goat

exchanged conversational pleasantries with a goat

run away to Vegas with a goat

shared a jail cell with a goat

knocked back some homemade vanilla with a goat

Then why, on Sunday afternoon when we made a gourmet pizza that was topped with goat cheese, did I know exactly what a goat tastes and smells like?  How do I now know what it would be like to do the above list of goatish things?

Do I like goat cheese?

To this I answer:  BLA-A-A-A-HHHH!   BLA-A-A-A-HHHH!

(does this lower my status in Foodie-ville?)

Reaching the Age of Accountability

"...show unto your God that ye are willing to repent

of your sins and enter into a covenant with him to keep

his commandments, and witness it unto him this day

by going into the waters of baptism."

- Alma 7:15 (Book of Mormon)

Yesterday was a momentous day for Brittan and our family.  As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, it is our belief that 8 years old is the age of accountability in which a child knows the difference between right and wrong and can enter into the waters of baptism by choice and with a knowledge and understanding of the promises they are making. Brittan was ready to take upon himself the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and to live to be an example of him.

Although in its infancy, Brittan's testimony is growing and expanding as he learns more about the gospel and the principles that we strive to follow.

"Our church is true because Joseph Smith brought our church back to the earth.  He restored the Priesthood.  I know Joseph Smith is a true prophet because he was very faithful and obedient."

His famous Aunt Carene and cousin Chante both gave talks.

"I believe the Book of Mormon was written by true prophets.  It teaches me about miracles that have happened, that I must repent, and that I need to be baptized like Jesus.  He didn't need to be baptized but he did so he could be our example."

"Heavenly Father gave us families.  I'm happy about that because we can be comforted and loved by our families."

 

"When I get older I'm going to go to the temple so I can get married 

there and feel the Holy Ghost a lot."

-  Brittan

Hand Me a Pina Colada and the Calculator, Please

It's Thursday and I'm feelin' crazy.

Not your typical stay-at-home-mum-with-a-twitching-eye-and-"baby-flung-oatmeal"-matted-in-your-hair-and-wearing-yesterday's-mascara kind of crazy.  

That's the typical kind of crazy and who wants craziness that is typical?

Shouldn't crazy be atypical? 

I think it should.

So, because it's Thursday and I'm feeling atypical craziness in my bones (btw - I really do have a weird twitching eye thing...honest...ask my friend Randee....she knows....and still loves me just the same) I'm doing something on this little bitty blog of mine that I've never done before.  Not ever.

Ready?

(drum roll)

I'm having a giveaway!!!!!!!!!

(me and my blog here just want to be liked and to have friends and sit at the cool table - just like all of the other popular blogs)

Let's get straight to the best part of this zaniness that is crowding my cranium this morning - the prize. 

If you give the correct answer to my question (patience, children, put your hands down - I haven't asked you the question yet) you will win: 

* An exclusive, all inclusive trip for 4 to the tropical paradise that is Hawaii. 10 days and 10 nights of pineapple eating, and snorkeling, and tanning, and hula-ing, and surfing, and whatever else tickles your island fancy.  If you need a babysitter, we will happily watch your children for you.  All 10 days. They will be clean and happy and well fed and taken care of when you come to retrieve them.  

Sounds good, eh?  (I married a Canadian)

Here's the question:

How many leaves did we rake up this year?

No, sillies, I don't expect your answer to be exact.  That would be ridiculous.  

(funny little blog buddies!)

It just must be within 100 of the actual number.

Here's Shaw doing his figuring.

Here's from a different angle.

Yes, your answer must include the leaves that are still lingering on the lawn near the curb. See, those right there, near the wheelbarrow? Those need to be counted too.

No, the leaves don't have to be completely whole to be counted.  They must, however, be at least 3/4 whole to count.  That's just to keep it fair for everyone.

'Cause we're all about being fair around here.

The first person with the correct number (within 100) wins.  Deadline is next Monday at 2:00 p.m.  (That's when my stories come on and I don't want to be bothered with it after that.)

Ready?

Set?

Aloha!

(and good luck!)

Tick Tock - Don't Trust That Clock

Twice a year we change our clocks because of daylight savings.

And twice a year, when I reset my clocks, I set them 5 minutes fast.

In theory, that 5 minutes should allow us a chance of arriving to various destinations while enjoying the fruits of being punctual.  These fruits being things like less stress and perspiration that accompanies it, better seats or choices of seats, less chance of speeding and getting a ticket in transit, fewer gasps from heavy breathing while rushing nilly willy, or embarrassing apologies and entrances.

In theory, that 5 minute leeway should work.

But, of course, my theories never pan out.

See, whenever we're rushing around trying to get out the door, I look at the clock, sigh with relief, and say to myself, "Oh, we actually have 5 more minutes." Then I let the clock lapse that additional 5 minutes (and maybe a few more).

And I'm running late as usual.

Where's the logic in that?

Every single glance at the clock results in an adjustment to the actual time in my head.

My kids even see through my attempts at manipulating time.  My boys are supposed to leave for school at 8:30 a.m.  When the minute hand hits the 6, they'll say, "We have until 8:35 because the clock is fast."

Am I teaching them to be punctuality delinquents?

It really is absurd.  We have 7 clocks in the house.  All set 5 minutes fast.  Even the car clock is set fast.  All truthless in their efforts to relay time and space.  All facades of fact.   All half-truths of the hands.

Sure makes living in the moment a difficult task.