Making Room in the Inn

No pics tonight, but I anticipate plenty on this subject in the near future!

We have six people in our family and three official bedrooms.  Yes, you do the math.  Guy added another "bedroom" of sorts to the basement to allow our firstborn a place to hide from the rest of us spread her wings.  But this still leaves two rambunctious little whirlwind boys sharing one tiny little upstairs room.  It's been. . . okay.  As in: the blood has been minimal.  It definitely isn't ideal.  When they argue, I send them to their room . . . where they continue to argue.  Often at rapidly increasing decibels.  Where's the safe haven??  Hey, I'm not picky . . I'll take "safe from flinging blunt objects."

So as wrecked as I am over the thought of aforementioned firstborn abandoning us next year for college . . .  I can't help but feel a little squee at the thought of an open bedroom to spread out this pack of wild animals a bit.  Next-in-line has also had these very thoughts and began to plan out a complete room transference and makeover in earnest.  Firstborn was, shall I say, "less than thrilled" with ANY plans mapped out a year before her departure.  She pointed out that she wouldn't be gone ALL of the time.  True.  Yes, so true.  I guess I should have realized that.  All or none thinking much?

This "question of the basement bedroom" has been weighing on my mind.  Well, when I remember to weigh it.  I think I have FINALLY come up with a solution!  One of the children . .. at this point I don't care which one . . . but one of them will share the room with firstborn.  That way most of the year, he/she has it to him/herself.  And eldest still has a space when she returns home for holidays and vacation.

I assumed that next-in-line would be the firstborn's choice, forgetting that there is no way in creation they'd EVER agree on room decor.  Firstborn is all about classic colours, Pokemon and superheroes.  Next-in-line is all about sparkle, pink, sparkle, purple, sparkle anydamncolourjustbringonthesparkle.  No, it would never work.  So the obvious answer and what oldest requested when I spoke with her about this very subject, is for the YOUNGEST to share her room.  They both are almost obsessed with superheroes - and most of the time he sleeps in her room, anyway.  They have the brilliant bond that can only be formed with siblings spaced far apart. She is his hero and he is her sidekick.

After profuse promises to Sprout that we WILL give her current room a makeover involving lots of paint and sparkle and shine and "holy crap you'll need to wear shades anywhere near the door, it will be so amazing" assurances, she seemed okay with the situation, as well.  It would be particularly splendiferous if we could accomplish this by, say . . . . her birthday in March.

Yes, I said March.  Stop laughing at me.

Anybody up for a painting party??

Four Score and Three Years Ago

My sweet mother-in-law celebrated her 83rd birthday today.  Her actual birthday is tomorrow - she is one day older than Martin Luther King, Jr.  Let that sink in for a moment . . .

This woman is amazing.  Truly.  Can I sign up to look like this at 83???

It won't happen.  For one thing, I have no problem doing nothing.  No problem a'tall.  My MIL gets twitchy if she isn't . . . well . . .  doing something.  Anything.  It has to be productive, even!  (Indeed it makes me look bad.  Very bad.)  She works, volunteers at the hospital, teaches Sunday school, walks daily and travels across the continental U.S. to visit with any various assortment of four children, twenty grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

Me?  I . . . . uh . . . well . . . . I . . . . blog.  Does that count as productive?

We enjoyed a pizza party and in lieu of birthday cake, horked down her favourite:  Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

The whole idea here was to make a stack of eight doughnuts, and then another stack of three, with corresponding candles.  It looked better in my mind than it actually turned out - but she was happy, so I'll take it.  Notice how bent out of shape Chase is in that first pic.  He's going through a phase of feeling offended at everybody else's birthday because it isn't HIS.  It'll be a long four months for him.  And us.

I can't say enough how grateful I am that my MIL is who she is.  She enjoys everything about our family and rarely turns down an invitation to join us.  She is supportive, funny, kind, respectful and could not be more proud.

Who wouldn't love somebody like that?

Getting My Game On

On Sundays, we go "Tech-free" as a family.  No computers, TV, iPods, etc.  Basically anything with a screen is off limits.  I expected the kids to riot, but they love it.  I have the hardest time of anybody.  I admittedly sneak away with my iPod now and again for a quick glimpse of the internet . . . just to make sure it's still there.  But aside from my twitching, it has been a WONDERFUL thing in Jinxieville.  So what to do with the time?

Church, nap, read, nap, talk, nap, play games, nap, explore the yard, nap . . . that kind of thing.

Today we played two of my favourite games:

Bananagrams.  Best.game.evarr.

Rory's Story Cubes.  Truly fun (and hilarious!) for all ages.

I'm not sure if it's because we tend to play it on Sunday, but Chase concludes each of his stories with "Amen" instead of "The End."  So we usually hear something like this:  "...an' then the aliens killed me with a magunet an' then eated a dead fish.  Amen!"

Works for me!  I'd love to hear a sacrament talk that goes like THAT!

A Night in the Life

There are approximately two or three hours between dinner and bedtime.  This is usually when everybody dives into the "tellyzone" and stuffs their brains full of the educational genius of Nickelodeon.  But tonight ... for some reason tonight, they didn't even glance at the darkened screen.  Tonight...

they were just a little cuddlier

a little more shocking

a little flashier

a little more helpful

a little bubblier

a little sillier

a little more musical

a little more observative

and a whole lot more interactive.

It was a good night.  My heart is happy.

Gratitude

I'm thankful for the smiles so sweet.

I'm thankful for cute sleep and feet.

I'm thankful when the laughter rings.

I'm thankful, Lord, for everything.

Jinx-o-Lanterns

For the past few years, we painted pumpkins.  I like paint.  Paint is more creative.  

Paint allows for individuality.  Paint is EASY.  

But this year, I thought I'd dive back into the carving club.

Chase was all a-go.

And that's the last I saw of Chase concerning "his" pumpkin. 

Scout dove right in.

You might not know this by now . . . 

but Scout is all about dramatic effect with the pics I take of him.

He was QUITE happy with how his "Bonehead" turned out.

This was the first time for both Scout and Sprout to carve their own pumpkins.  

I am pleased (oh boy am I pleased) to say that they truly did do it on their own, 

past my help in scraping the insides out a bit.

How perfectly perfect that Sprout's pumpkin was full of . . . SPROUTS!

It's almost scary how perfect hers was.  She's so careful about things, it blows me away.  

See "Chase's" pumpkin behind hers?  With the flamey-like eyes?  

Yeah, I think I broke about five pieces off of those flippin flamey eyes.  

Who came up with the idea for flamey eyes?   Flamey eyes are NOT FUN!  

And neither of those middlins made a single mistake. 

Sprout's was freakishly smooth and, well . . . I don't think it could have BEEN more perfect.  

Maybe she'll be a surgeon some day.  Wouldn't that be something.

So, remember the pumpkin patch?  

I picked out a freaky, bumpy one for Vee, knowing she'd love the uniqueness of it.  

And she did!  

UNTIL she found out that those freaky bumpy pumpkins have an INSANELY thick skin.  

She struggled over that thing for more than an hour and got NOWHERE with it, 

past scooping it out and making a bunch of scratches.  It was so frustrating!  

So we agreed to STAB that brute for the pure injustice of it all.  

Freaky bumpy pumpkin MUST BE PUNISHED.

So while she was at a school event, I whipped out the power tools 

and DRILLED that blighter.

And then I slapped a freaky face on it with my paints.  

And of course . . there was the stabbing.    Quite satisfactory, that.

 I brought it inside for our Church's Fall Festival, and lo and behold .  . . it WON!

 Stoopid freaky, bumpy pumpkin with insanely thick skin.

Scout felt it needed a little something after we returned home: