tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90032440085439786662024-03-13T00:49:39.024-07:00Wisps of thoughtAmy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-73403114404474919132012-10-03T13:05:00.000-07:002012-10-03T13:05:58.004-07:00Serenity now!Quick! I just got the grouchy younger girls down for naps and I only have 20 minutes before the cyclone comes home from school! Hurry up and relax, Amy!..No, You're tense still...enjoy your break even more!! come on now, focus...
Yeah, that's how it is in my world. I normally would zonk out on the couch and watch something mindless like Chopped and make fun of everyone's hair, but I have the heater guy hooking up the heating stuff in the basement and he might judge me. We are this close to having my dad's little suite done down there. The thought of that makes me dance for joy, in my heart, not in body because I am relaxing right now, dang it! I have had construction guys traipsing in and out of here for 2 months now and I am ready to lock the door and throw things at anyone with a tool belt. Here's what was stopping me before: they were doing all the work for me. So hey, when you get right down to it they are my little buddies...very expensive little buddies. But alas, heater-man is the last one, when he leaves this afternoon it is all up to me and my drill. I kind of know how to use my drill, I have named it Pete. Pete and I have a date tonight to hang curtain rods and perhaps a shelf or two in the kitchenette. I sure hope Pete is up for it because I frankly have no idea what I'm doing. Charlie does, but he wants to do other stuff, like work...gosh. (I love you dear, but your priorities are a hot mess).
So yeah, home improvement projects, hmm. Not a good time to be had there. But I assume I will be happy when it is done. Honestly if it wasn't a choice between finishing the basement and having my poor youngest child living in my closet until her 12th birthday I would never have embarked on this adventure. Too much, you know...effort...and decision making. (Oooo, heater-man just came up the stairs, which caused me to bolt to the living room to intercept him in case he was all done and wanted a check or to ask where the bathroom was or something, but he was just going to his car for some more heartery-type things. Now that I am thinking about it, only one of the 20 or so constuction guys we've had here have asked to use the bathroom...now I'm going to be up all night figuring out the implications of that, great.)<strike></strike>Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-27696757169296221282012-08-10T17:59:00.001-07:002012-08-10T17:59:38.732-07:00My Photo Book Aug 10 2012<object width="425" height="425" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab" classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000"><param name="movie" value="http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/flashslideshowphotobook/slideshow_pb.swf"/><param name="flashvars" value="xmlURL=http%3A%2F%2Fws.shutterfly.com%2Fpsdata%3FprojectGUID%3D0ActnLRu1ZuGrOSg%26uid%3D005083574969%26size%3D0%26ts%3D1344646764000%26height%3D425%26width%3D425&size=0&ob=0&fc=0&ss=0&sb=0&ft=0"/><param name="menu" value="false"/><param name="quality" value="best"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"/><embed width="425" height="425" align="middle" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" name="wrapper" quality="best" menu="false" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" flashvars="xmlURL=http%3A%2F%2Fws.shutterfly.com%2Fpsdata%3FprojectGUID%3D0ActnLRu1ZuGrOSg%26uid%3D005083574969%26size%3D0%26ts%3D1344646764000%26height%3D425%26width%3D425&size=0&ob=0&fc=0&ss=0&sb=0&ft=0" src="http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/flashslideshowphotobook/slideshow_pb.swf"></embed></object><p style="width:425px;margin-top:0;text-align:center;"><a href="http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0ActnLRu1ZuGrkY&eid=115">Click here to view this photo book larger</a><div style="margin-top: 10px; width: 425px; text-align: center;">Create a gorgeous, high quality <a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/photo-books/wedding-photo-books">wedding photo album</a> at Shutterfly.com.</div><img width="1" height="1" border="0" style="padding: 0; background: #ffffff; border: none; box-shadow: none;" src="https://os.shutterfly.com/b/ss/sflyshareprod/1/H.15/111?pageName=sharekey&c1=photobook&c2=blogger" /></p>Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-44774296340946054282012-03-01T09:45:00.001-08:002012-03-01T09:47:35.235-08:00True cause of Zombie-ismGood Morning! How did you all sleep? Great! Me? Thank you for asking but my nights have become a series of frustrating near misses with the sandman. Which is very sad because I really like sleep. Generally sleep is my favorite hobby. I wish there was some sort of competitive sleeping sport. I knew going in to motherhood that sleep would have to become optional. I just didn't realize how irritated I would be with anyone else who actually gets a full night sleep.<br />
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Last night I was up 6 times with various little girls and their specific issues. Little girl #1 was up because her sister was coughing too much and she couldn't sleep. After the third round of putting her back to bed I threw a blanket on the couch and told her to sleep there. Problem solved, I went back to bed. Then little girl #3 decided it was time to eat. Grr. What can you do? I got back out of bed and fed her because I am a saint and that is what I do. Finally I dropped back into bed and took a deep breath and closed my eyes in serene relaxation just to hear a little voice at my bedside murmuring something about bugs. Perhaps you remember Mia's recurrent nightmare about bugs? Somehow she has passed this nightmare on to little girl #2. Sisterhood is special. <br />
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After putting Eliza back to bed, again, the 3rd time (by now she was wearing her super hero costume) I just threw a blanket on the floor in the hall and told her to sleep there, Apparently bugs only like to sleep in bedrooms. Whatever. As I crawled back into bed again Claira realized that she was lonely and needed to burp some more so she summoned me with her remarkable lung capacity. I nudged Charlie and told him it was his turn. He grunted and started snoring again. So I dragged myself back to the nursery while envisioning what it would be like to stab Charlie in the eye with a fork. When the baby finally settled down I shlumped back to my room and threw myself back on my pillow with a dramatic flair that has taken me years to perfect. My clock mockingly informed me that it was 6 a.m. and I really should get up and hit the treadmill, because that is what a perfect person would do. I tell this imaginary perfect person where she can stick it and drift off to sleep once again. Then the alarm goes off. <br />
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Charlie, completely oblivious to the nights festivities bounds out of bed with enthusiasm and hits the shower while dropping a casual remark about how wonderful it is that Claira is sleeping through the night now. I think i threw a pillow at his head. Or maybe it was a fork. I can't be sure.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-74604641352151256472012-01-18T21:18:00.000-08:002012-01-19T09:42:08.400-08:00Lessons from the PICU<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RpRVVixg9Kw/TxhV6dcMnBI/AAAAAAAAAD8/T8MDx54Lk_0/s1600/IMAG0530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RpRVVixg9Kw/TxhV6dcMnBI/AAAAAAAAAD8/T8MDx54Lk_0/s320/IMAG0530.jpg" /></a></div><br />
So, when I decide to have an emergency, I am not content to merely have one or two major incidents. Anyone can have an emergency c-section leading to a preemie baby and a painful recovery. I like to step things up a notch and have another child admitted for a rare random disease, just for the bonus points. As I was being prepped for my surgery my cell phone rang, and since I was on scared-out-of-my-mind auto pilot I answered it. Mia's pediatrician was calling to tell me that she needed to be admitted to the hospital IMMEDIATELY. My hysterical laughter alarmed both of us so I handed the phone to Charlie and let him deal with it while I went to my happy place in my head and started humming The Girl From Ipanima.<br />
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Long story short, Mia wound up on the other end of the hospital while Claira and I were there recovering. I guess she doesn't like to be left out of things. She somehow managed to get osteomyelitis in her hip. Honestly, who does that? So here's what I learned from that whole experience:<br />
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PICU nurses deserve hazard pay. NICU nurses are saints, I'll give them that any day. But the PICU nurses have to deal with the kids when they are old enough to fight back...and be bored...and try to escape. Not that my perfect angel of a daughter would do any of that. Mia very quickly learned that if she pushed the pretty red button on her bed, a magic fairy would answer and grant her every desire. Another movie? No problem. Mint brownies at 2 a.m.? Brilliant idea! New sheets and jammies because you managed to spill paint all over, again? Don't even worry about it, I am here to serve you. At least that is what Mia heard. I'm sure the conversation sounded a whole lot different from the nurses station.<br />
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Numbers are hard. Ok, put yourself in my place for a minute. There is a special code to get into the NICU, a special code to get into Pediatrics, and a special code to get back to my room, which is where I have to be in if I want my drugs. I know I could probably handle that for a short period of time when I am focused and wearing my own clothes. But put me in a hospital gown, ply me with hormones and sleep deprivation, and it was like they were making me do quantum physics in order to pass through any doors. After a couple days the nurses knew who I was and the tale of my improbable adventures in family health care were whispered in reverence in the hallways, so they would let me struggle for a minute trying to remember where I was and who I was trying to visit then they would chuckle and just buzz me in, shaking their heads in pity. OH! And the security bracelets! By my count I had 5 of them semi-permanently wrapped around my wrist by the time I crawled into bed that first night. As I am not a jewelry type of person that was a massive irritation.<br />
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Kids adjust pretty quickly to anything. Now, if I had to have a PIC line in my right arm with a tube leading to a medicine pump in a giant fanny pack around my waist and was told I would be wearing that for over a month, I would probably throw at least one or two massive tantrums...a day. But not Mia, she just shrugged, then figured out how to accessorize her pump with massive amounts of glitter and self-fashioned arm warmers. I kind of want to be just like Mia when I grow up.<br />
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And finally, mother-daughter bonding can take place in the strangest of circumstances. It's been a couple months but Mia still cuddles up with me and talks to me about how cool it was that we had matching IV's. And she would call my room phone every couple hours to see if my magic red button was working properly yet (she was very upset that the only thing the nurses brought me when I pushed it was more pain meds). She would call and we would discuss what we would order from the cafeteria for lunch, then when our food trays came I would call her back and we would talk on the phone as we ate. I have a lot of memories from that whole experience, but listening to Mia giggle on the phone as she figured out that she could make her bed go up and down will stay with me forever. And sitting in the chair next to her bed and watching her patiently show her little sister how to work the buttons to Eliza's amazement and delight is one of my favorite moments ever<strike></strike>Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-89528804393809159392012-01-17T12:04:00.000-08:002012-01-17T12:04:51.386-08:00Lessons from the NICUI recently spent some time in the NICU with my baby, Claira. She's just fine, but was a month early and had to be taught to do normal newborn things like breathe and eat. Luckily she was a quick study and got to come home after a couple weeks. I was delighted by that (and maybe just a twinge regretful since that meant I no longer had a room full of nurses to take care of her while I blissfully slept ALL NIGHT LONG. Seriously, when does a new parent get to do that?) (I also went out to movies and to dinners as much as possible during that two weeks. Does that make a horrible person? I know I should have spent all my time by my baby's bedside fretting and worrying, but that got old really quick, and my kids at home were not happy with that arrangement.)<br />
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I did spend some hours there every day, holding little Claira and doing whatever mom things the staff would allow me to do. Mostly I sat in my appointed rocking chair and observed. I learned great tricks from the nurses, such as a rice bag on a sleeping baby's stomach is magic, theirs were actually elbow length gloves filled with rice and sewn shut so that it looked like disembodied hands were holding the babies. Awesome, and creepy. Also, the nurses there are human and have to do whatever they can to make their day more tolerable. One nurse had a picture collection of babies with ridiculous hair (yes, Claira has the same male-pattern-baldness curse her sisters had, so she made the collection). One nurse liked to make molds of all the newborns hands as gifts to the parents, or more likely, it was a devious way to play in the mud while keeping a technically sterile environment. Hmmm...more disembodied hands...I'm noticing a theme. <br />
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I also learned some things about the other parents, and myself. First off, I am totally able to control myself and not point and laugh when the young parents of the infant in the next door bassinet sang I Can Show You The World in harmony at regular intervals. It was difficult, but I managed to keep a straight face, that is something I never thought I was capable of. Secondly, I learned that at some point parents are way too comfortable talking about breast pumps and bowel movements with complete strangers. And news of a good bowel movement can make cheers erupt through the whole nursery. Parenthood does strange things to a person.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-72121084330999705102012-01-12T11:32:00.000-08:002012-01-12T11:55:50.161-08:00Signs of a stroke?I think my brain has finally broke. I have a secret addiction and I am so ashamed to admit it I can only talk about it here...on the internet where only my closest friends will read it. I've started to do crafts.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YYDHtwL4L24/Tw82JE4SFOI/AAAAAAAAADw/2E9R_SkkujQ/s1600/IMAG0511.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YYDHtwL4L24/Tw82JE4SFOI/AAAAAAAAADw/2E9R_SkkujQ/s320/IMAG0511.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696831583203497186" /></a><br /> I blame this.<br /><br />Apparently the postpartum hormone swing has lead me to glue gun abuse. And spray adhesive...that stuff is awesome. How come no one ever told me about it's magical powers? I almost feel the same way about it as I do my Shark steam cleaner, I practically get giddy when it's time to clean my faucets and I get to spray all the gross gunk out from under the tap and watch it fly all over the mirror...Sorry. I'll try to focus.<br /><br />So, this new obsession is alarming on many levels. When Charlie came home from work to find me covering old diaper boxes with fabric and ribbons he immediately started calling a neighbor to watch our kids so that he could take me to the emergency room for my obvious mental breakdown. But, I explained to him that I was NOT crafting. I was simply getting around to decorating the house (yes, we've lived here over 4 years, what's your point?) since the magic decorating fairies were obviously not ever going to show up. (I'm calling their union rep.) This got him to put the phone and his car keys down, but he still eyes me suspiciously whenever he sees me attempting to make a roses out of bits of ribbon I find in the girls room as I clean.<br /><br />Now here's my problem. I have no clue what I'm doing. It's like I skipped the multiplication table of the crafting world and skipped straight to mod podge algebra. So I need lots of advice. For Valentines day I have issued Charlie a challenge: Only homemade gifts, and only spend 10 bucks. Since the medical bills of our past couple months have started pouring out of our mail box I decided this was a reasonable challenge for us...well for me anyway since I have Pinterest. He has no clue what to do.<br /><br />So, here's what I want to do. Decorate my bedroom (Yes the walls are still bare after years of being here, lay off man.) I want to frame sayings that are meaningful to us and hang them artfully above the bed. I know what those of you who know me well are thinking and no, I'm not a pod person, there are mushy sayings like "Eye you(that's how Mia used to say I love you and Charlie still uses it on a daily basis) but there are other sayings like "So's your face" which is an integral part of our ongoing courtship. The good news is that I do have a bunch of frames laying around empty because for some reason Charlie's students keep giving him them as end of year gifts, I guess a lot of mom's figure it's the only male-teacher-appropriate gift in their teacher-gift arsenal.<br /><br />OK, so how do I go about this? Is there a computer program that makes pretty things? Do I go find scrapbook paper (and where would I find such a thing?...stop laughing, I told you I have no idea what I'm doing.) What other ideas can I incorporate? And where does one get vinyl sayings to put on the wall? And how does one put it on the wall? <br /><br />Maybe I'll just make him a cell phone charging station out of an old lotion bottle.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-12225881853426507812011-08-12T08:26:00.001-07:002011-08-12T08:41:39.132-07:00It's a girl...again...Yay!!I like my girls, at this moment Eliza has an old lady scarf perched on her head and is doing her best pirate impression, She's trying to say "Arrrgh", but since saying her r's isn't quite a skill she has yet, it's kind of more like "Awww", maybe she's a bashful pirate. Anyway, as I was saying, I love my girls. And we're going to have another one...oh boy.
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<br />I was absolutely positive this bun in my oven was a boy, my crazy old neighbor lady told me it was a boy before I even knew I was pregnant. She would come out of her house, in her night gown, followed by 13 of her cats and say in her trance like voice "your pregnant, and it's a boy", then turn back around and disappear. If you can't trust a prediction like that then what is this world coming to? Also, my doctor would listen to the fetal heart beat and spout off all the old wives tales that said that the slower beat meant it was a boy, and he's delivered a bajillion kids (Seriously, he's old, he wears a bow tie). So you see, I had it on pretty good authority Charlie was finally going to get a boy that would play in the dirt with him (my girls don't like dirt, Eliza gets up several times during a meal to wash her hands...I'll worry about that later.)
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<br />But then the ultrasound day came, with me on the table with that gross jelly all over me, Charlie and the girls trying to stare at the screen and pretending they knew what they were looking at and the doctor announced that we were getting girl #3. I breathed a sigh of relief because what on earth do I know about boys? Charlie laughed, because what else can he do? Mia's response? "Darn!" We all looked at her for a second and she said in her really disappointed voice "little sisters are too much work". Then we all looked at Eliza, who was busy trying to shove a latex glove into an outlet...she didn't really care what else was going on in the room. And I've mostly gotten used to the hormonal uncertainty that is the established mood at my home. (Do any of you remember a vignette in the old Animaniacs cartoon called Katie Kaboom, where the daughter of a family was all sweetness and light, until she got mad, then she made the incredible hulk look like a sissy and destroyed the house with lasers coming out of her eyes and tossing Acme bombs with abandon? Yeah...Mia...) hmmm. I guess I at least have the stuff for a baby girl already.
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<br />Let the fight over names begin!!!Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-65037183179857024742011-06-20T11:31:00.000-07:002011-06-29T14:51:41.014-07:00I need to pick my vacation destinations more carefullyI took the soul crushing van of doom on a road trip last week. And, it did not, I repeat, did NOT, involve a soccer tournament. Ok, kind of it did. Charlie was going to Cedar City for summer games. I paused and envisioned myself trying desperately to entertain my high energy children by myself in a hotel as charlie refereed soccer for 14 hours a day, and practically shouted that he was going alone. I only meant to be vehement, but I have volume control problems sometimes. Then, I had another vision of me with the two bored girls here at home for four days, while I was in the throws of morning sickness(oh did I forget to mention I am expecting again? Well, there you are.) Most days I have about 3 hours in the morning where I feel human, then I crash into a ball of nauseous slime on the couch until bedtime, only to rise to hurl once in a while. Charming, I know. My world is a glittering palace of glamor and excitement.<br /><br />Where was I? Oh yes, so I was thinking about how much fun that would be, then for a split moment I envied polygamists. (in no way do I agree with their doctrine, but when you feel awful, you kind of wish you had a back up housewife around to entertain the kids and do the dishes. That's all I'm saying.) Then I thought of my awesome big sister, Wendy, who loves me and is nice to me even when I am whiny and gross. So I announced that while Charlie was gone, I was taking the girls to see their Aunt. He mostly looked confused at this point, taking the girls on a car trip longer than 10 minutes is something I avoid like the plague. But he just shrugged and said to have fun. Then I sat down and realized I had just planned a trip to VERNAL. Wendy has very few faults, but one of the major ones is her choice of hometown. Come on, Vernal. Hmm. I suppose there are good things about Vernal, so I will end my rant here. <br /><br />All in all, it was pretty awesome. The girls behaved reasonably well. I was right in assuming that Wendy would keep my kids safe and entertained while I crashed on her couch for a few days, she's like the really cool version of Mary Poppins (but with less singing.) And the girls introduced her to Phineas and Ferb. I'd call everyone involved a winner. Even the van, it contained us and transported us just as advertized. Hmmm.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-68063599008779411592011-06-18T11:58:00.000-07:002011-06-20T11:30:09.701-07:00vehicle induced identity crisisThe day finally came. My tenuous and distant grasp on anything associated with my carefree youth has finally slipped away from me. I drive a minivan. How those words have crushed my soul with their enormous weight. I knew this day would come. The moment the phrase "Hey, lets have kids" passed between Charlie and myself, the minivan of doom has hung with its soul crushing mass over my head. Like the proverbial cartoon piano hanging precariously from a fraying rope out a window waiting for me to pass by, it has been there. Hounding me relentlessly from the edges of my subconscious. And now it is here. Parked in my garage. Mocking me and my self image as a carefree, relatively cool person. I stare at it as I go to lock the doors at night, and for just a moment we stare each other down. It always wins. I'm a middle aged mom who drives a minivan, there's no denying it anymore.<br /><br />I will write more and make it amusing later, some day...when it doesn't hurt. I thought it wouldn't be a big deal. I learned to drive in a minivan. My mom's minivan was the only vehicle available to me until I had bought my own car. Why is this so hard for me to accept? I'm not even a car person. It shouldn't bother me. I should accept it as just another marker of the passage of time in my life. Like the first time I bought eye cream, or waited patiently for food storage items to go on sale. It's the way life goes, and I will accept it. I can still be me as I drive down the road in my shiny, silver dodge caravan. Just give me time. And perhaps a drink.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-47062745191408919522011-06-14T10:59:00.000-07:002011-06-14T16:13:39.126-07:00Martha Stewart takes a holidaySo, maybe it's just me, but sometimes I have days when I wonder why the universe has allowed me to be a parent. Most the time I'm ok, I give myself a B+, which is fine, I'm not striving for hall of fame or anything, just survival. <br /><br />So imagine my surprise when I woke up Friday and had an itch to sew my cute little girls cute little matching sun dresses! I don't know what happened. Sewing generally thrills me about as much as wading through pools of spiders. But hey, who am I to resist a completely innocent urge? I dragged the kids to the fabric store (mia was in tears because that was not what her plan for the day was) and forced them to pick out fabric as I slyly asked the clerk what the easiest pattern in the store was as I am a what I like to refer to as a special needs seamstress. Anyway, long story short, here's what we ended up with after 3 hours of me cursing my machine<br /><br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ECGjYTTrIc/TfesvCgzkWI/AAAAAAAAADo/bW4t-LT3A74/s1600/IMAG0197%255B1%255D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ECGjYTTrIc/TfesvCgzkWI/AAAAAAAAADo/bW4t-LT3A74/s320/IMAG0197%255B1%255D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618148984296280418" /></a><br /><br /><br />Yes, they are freaking adorable, thank you for noticing. This picture was taken Sunday morning about 10 minutes before we left for church. Approximately 13 minutes later, Mia's dress, hair and dignity will lay in shreds on the kitchen floor. (Aha! you were wondering when I would get to the "Amy is a massive mom failure" part of my story!) We wandered to church, my cute little matching girls holding hands and giggling, me trailing behind with tears of self satisfaction glistening in the sunshine. We selected our usual pew and settled in for the chaos we accept as sunday worship with kids. Here's where I made my fatal mistake, I asked Mia to (Brace yourself) Move to the END OF THE ROW! I know, how dare I say such things to her? Her screams of indignation echoed through the chapel as I tried to calm her down and explain that she can't sit in the middle because she puts her feet on the hymnal holder thingy and refuses to let anyone squeeze past her. This lead to more hysteria and a violent outburst. Charlie finally noticed that he was dressed and at church with his family just in time to raise his eyes from his smart phone and see his angelic 6 year old take a swing at me with her remarkable right hook. I've always been proud of that right hook. Anyway, he dragged her out of the church, all the way back home with her scratching and screaming and clawing at him the whole way. By the time they reached the safety of the house she had ripped her dress, reduced her cute curly hair to a hopeless birds nest and worked herself into such a frothy mountain of rage it took her nearly 2 hours to get a hold of her emotions and return to church (charlie had sewn her dress strap back on with a needle and thread and tried his best to salvage her hair, because he is adorable.) <br /><br />Anyway, my point is, within about 3 minutes my "I am the worlds best mom with adorable girls whom are worthy of a magazine cover in dresses I sewed with my own hands" mood fell to "my whole ward just saw what a miserable failure of a disciplinarian I am and my children are secretly abusive monsters that should be locked in the basement for the safety of the whole neighborhood" kind of mood. It happens that fast. Eliza and I sat through the meeting with shame hanging over our heads (well, I did anyway, eliza mostly was irritated that her dad wasn't sitting next to her, she likes him lots.) Yep, that's how it goes. Kids. Hmm.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-14095585973399957762011-06-12T08:39:00.000-07:002011-06-12T08:42:29.094-07:00Hello?Is anyone still out there? Charlie finally had time to sit down and figure out why I was locked out of this account this morning, so I guess I'm back. Woohoo! <br /><br />Man am I relieved, the voices in my head were beginning to be really obnoxious without this particular creative outlet. I've been telling my kids my rants instead, and quite frankly they don't really care. Anyoway, I promise to start writing again, even if no one is reading this anymore, in fact that may be a good thing, no pressure and all that.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-9011652023900349582010-04-20T17:59:00.000-07:002010-04-20T16:31:57.388-07:00A real vacation?I've been meaning to write about my valentines day experience this year, but it's taken me a while to process it all. Here's the best I can do.<br /><br />We had a "vacation". Yes, it is once again soccer season. This tournament was in St. George/Mesquite, and I was feeling saucy so I decided to pack up my girls (have you ever packed for a baby? You basically have to take everything. I finally stopped myself at the 6th recieving blanket and after packing every burpcloth in the city of Spanish Fork. Oh, and water, who knows what kind of water they have in Mesquite, how can I feel good about feeding my baby Mesquite water?) and headed out to the fields with my husband in his cute little referee shorts. (Yes, they have to be that short, otherwise the socks would look ridiculous.)<br /><br />So St. George was the same as usual, dry, forsaken looking palm trees, people who wish they were in California, yada yada. And Mesquite...not so much. Apparently if you don't golf there is no reason at all to go there. And to make things even more adventurous we got to stay in a hotel that was actually closed...and perhaps haunted. I decided it was haunted because then the disgusting, dirty decor was ambience, not a health code violation. It seems our hotel was used as an "overflow" hotel when the real hotels just didn't have room. It was kind of fun, in a life risking sort of way. The up side is that none of us got bit by mystery bugs, unlike our poor soccer-referee neighbor. He looked like a bedbug buffet.<br /><br />BUT! It weasn't all bad. Here's the awesome part. All the soccer games got cancelled for the last two days so Charlie actually had to SPEND TIME WITH HIS FAMILY ON FAMILY VACATION. Sorry, it still gets me a little excited that he was finally able to experience that. Because he is an over achiever, and it was Valentines weekend, he even came up with a plan all on his own for family fun. Vegas was only an hour away, and he had 48 hours to spare, so instead of packing up and heading home like everyone else we headed south to Las Vegas for a romantic Valentine's get away...with two kids in tow...Brilliant!!<br /><br />I don't want you all to get the wrong idea. I was impressed by his gumption. He even got us a big fancy suite at the Luxor so we had panoramic views from our in-room hot tub of the glittering city lights. We went walking around the various casino's trying to see everything we could (I had Eliza in her Moby wrap. You get some good comments when you take a 3 month old into a casino.) <br /><br />Mia's favorite thing was the volcano in front of the Mirage. She made us stand and watch it at least 3 times before we were allowed to go back to our room and crash. My favorite thing, and possibly the most romantic thing Charlie has ever done for me, was that we got to spend an hour at Sephora. I frantically searched for my favorite eyelash curler (refer to my previous entry about my love affair with the Shu Umera eye lash curler). Alas, it was no where. And I gave up in a wave of self defeat and sat down next to one of those people pretending to be a statue outside on the side walk. Charlie quietly got up, and went in the store with Mia happily trailing after him (although he previously made it clear that he would rather eat lint than step inside a Sephora...boys are weird). Ten minutes later he came out holding a large bag and Mia came out smelling like she tried all the perfume samples. He handed the bag over and said "They don't carry them anymore, but I got the lady to give me all the ones they had left in the stock room". Man, I really love my husband.<br /><br />Later that night, as we were in our romantic hot tub, watching the view of the strip through our slanted, pyramid-corner windows, I glanced over my two children, splashing around and giggling in the tub like it was their own private pool, to my adoring husband and was completely content and happy. Best Valentines day EVER.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-5727611171979907822010-03-27T19:13:00.000-07:002010-03-27T19:28:58.455-07:00My new friend KipI had a birthday a few weeks ago, so no whining that I haven't written, I'm an old lady now with arthritic hands so this takes a lot of effort. I've been on a stupid diet and exercise kick since then. Charlie bought me Wii Fit Plus for my birthday and I got a membership to weight watchers....because apparently we both hate me. So I am old AND unpleasant. Gosh, are you sure you want to read this? I may insult you because I can't have a brownie, so all of my brownie hormones have converted into yelling-at-random people hormones.<br /><br />Since the blessed anniversary of my birth, every morning I turn on my stupid Wii and pull out my stupid balance board and say good morning to Kip. He is my cartoon personal trainer. I could have picked the chick one, but I may have called her names that I don't think my kids should over hear at their tender age. So, Kip....yep. He's my buddy. And I hate him. Stupid Kip. I named him Kip because he looks really perky and slightly effeminate. I'll bet he was a cheerleader in his computer animated high school. He tries really hard to be in my good graces, but then he says something dumb like "your balance is a little off, do you find that you trip a lot when walking across a room?" Then I have to let out a string of not so nice words at him, but he doesn't care. He just goes on to the next torturous yoga pose as if he is impervious to my pain and insults. But if I stop, he yells at me. Yesterday in the middle of the palm pose I had to leap off my balance board because Eliza was screaming at me that she had flipped over on her stomach and got stuck (this happens a lot and I usually just sit there and laugh at her....because I need a brownie). Anyway, I jumped over to grab her and Kip shouted, as if I was across the room in the kitchen eating a brownie "HEY! THOSE MUSCLES AREN'T GOING TO TONE THEMSELVES YOU KNOW!" So I jumped back on the balance board, scared that he would make me do more lunges if I didn't shape up. I don't like being yelled at. <br /><br />So, in my old decrepit age, I am being bullied by an inanimate object. I'm not sure what that says about me. I could just not turn on my Wii, but then he would get all mad at me for not working out. And he would probably yell at me. And then I would cry. So for now, I just deal with it, but some day he is going to push me too far. Then I'll do something, I don't know what. I may...put the disk in the freezer....that'll teach him. Oh yeah Kip, you have it coming. Just keep pushing me.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-47199794340741345282010-03-03T11:14:00.000-08:002010-03-03T11:37:10.417-08:00Cute kidsAlright, you know how all kids are cute? Even the ones that are kind of funny looking are adorable in that E.T sort of way? Well, my kids are cute, dang it. But I will be the first to admit that they have had their less than glowing phases. Even little Eliza in her short three months has had a few less than stellar looks. <br /><br />For example, she was born with male pattern baldness. Not completely new baby bald. Oh no, the only bald part was right in the front and center, the rest was almost 3 inches long, all around the perimeter. <br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nXrx2GtvFPQ/S462xEVIoFI/AAAAAAAAACU/0S_mC2ClxCc/s1600-h/Eliza_birth+024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nXrx2GtvFPQ/S462xEVIoFI/AAAAAAAAACU/0S_mC2ClxCc/s320/Eliza_birth+024.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444489953629741138" /></a><br />You can see the hair in back sticking up like a mad scientist...tee hee. See, cute, even if it is funny.<br /><br />I almost considered just buzzing the rest off and letting it all grow out together, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I just tried to camouflage it with a comb over. Yep, I had a little baby girl with a comb over. I also tried head bands, but they never stay put. Now the bald spot is just grown in enough that I have started to do things with her longer hair, like pigtails and stuff.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nXrx2GtvFPQ/S463M6VFxYI/AAAAAAAAACc/UX0ZlkuLnIg/s1600-h/hair.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nXrx2GtvFPQ/S463M6VFxYI/AAAAAAAAACc/UX0ZlkuLnIg/s320/hair.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444490431981536642" /></a><br /><br />I actually mostly do this for my own amusement. I tried a mohawk, but that seriously didn't work since it only went to the middle of her head and the front just had that "new baby chick" fuzz. Maybe I'll try putting it in curlers and see what happens. (Can you tell I am not working right now? I need a hobby. Perhaps I should try knitting again to spare my kids from my boredom.)<br /><br />I had a similar problem with Mia. When she was born, she had a mullet. A serious mullet. Plus, she had white hair, so she was like an albino baby with a mullet. It was pretty startling at first. But, I got used to it, and by the time she was about 18 months it all sort of worked itself out and now she has this gorgeous mane of golden shimmering hair that would make women in shampoo commercials seethe with jealousy. I don't have any pictures of her mullet on this particular computer, so she is going to be spared the embarrassment of those being published. But here is the lustrous current state of her hair.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nXrx2GtvFPQ/S464LKJjMGI/AAAAAAAAACk/MVxjVKgafZU/s1600-h/DSCF7182.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nXrx2GtvFPQ/S464LKJjMGI/AAAAAAAAACk/MVxjVKgafZU/s320/DSCF7182.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444491501379989602" /></a><br /><br />So, when I see funny looking kids on the street or at the store, I just smile. Because I understand. It isn't their fault. Even if it isn't something like their hair, or being crossed eyed, it isn't their fault. It's probably because their mom dresses them funny or has no idea what to do with their hair. So, make fun of the parents if you must, it's all their doing, but spare the kids. They just do their best.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-28704824580212039112010-02-02T11:44:00.000-08:002010-02-08T14:25:54.460-08:00Love song for Macey'sI do have my share of happy places. I love my circle couch, sitting there with a remote (or novel, because I'm well rounded) and a diet coke is pretty much my version of bliss. Also, I have made it a habit to hang out at Macey's, my local grocery store. Yes, I know, grocery stores are not known for their relaxing amenities, but bear with me, it makes sense in a round about Amy-has-a-unique-albeit-skewed-outlook. (albeit is an interesting word....I'm going to have to use it more.) <br /><br />Here is the play by play: First, you go in, you coral your 4 year old into a grocery cart so she can't run around and drive you crazy, and you put your infant in a front carrier because then she falls asleep and you can just pretend you have a horribly misshapen growth on your chest and ignore her. You take a deep relaxing breath and proceed into the store.<br /><br />There, you are visually assaulted by "The Wall of Bargains", but in a good way. Chocolate covered pretzels, four for five dollars? Brilliant! Hunts spaghetti sauce for 1.09? Don't mind if I do. You leisurely work your way through the displays of consumable wonders and notice that you are working up a thirst. Just when it seems palpable, you wander smack into the Deli section and gaze longingly at all things deep fried. The deli wins a place in my heart because it houses a magical fountain drink dispenser. So, of course you mosey over and help yourself to a diet coke (you also may need to get a drink for the child in your grocery cart, depending on her noise level.) But, if drinks aren't her thing, never fear, because the Bakery is next, and the wonderful bakers in their baking aprons will give your child a cookie, because Bakers are like the Santa Claus's of pastry and cute kids get what they want. While you sip your beverage and your cart-caged child eats her cookie, you can stare in amazement at the cake being decorated by the woman in the glass-enclosed cake decorating area. (Mia can watch her for hours...I wonder if she feels like a zoo animal because I sometimes get the urge to throw treats at her for her performance. Maybe she would rather be thought of as a street busker and have me throw change into her white baking hat, I'll have to try that line of thinking next time.) Then you walk past the donuts and play the "What would I eat if I didn't have to lose 30 pounds" game.<br /><br />And this is just the first corner of the store. At Macey's wonders await you around ever corner! Visit Tim the produce dude and get his advice on pineapple selecting. Sample ladies and candy bar displays lurk around every corner, like the proverbial trench coat wearing alley loiterer...except friendly and safe. Yep...this is one of my happy places and I am not ashamed any more. After all, don't people always say that happiness is where you find it (I never really seem to get platitudes right so feel free to correct that if you must.)Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-44262339086642633192010-02-02T11:21:00.000-08:002010-02-02T14:01:44.402-08:00You owe me big time Jake.I have had to add a few things to my list of stuff that has made me lose my faith in humanity. Now, along with Oprah, Celine Dion, and techno remixes (why oh why must they go on for so long and be so repetitive??? Who enjoys that? It's like being pounded over the head with a drum machine.) Last night I had to add the Bachelor to my list.<br /><br />I watched this juggernaut of a show in it's first season, when it was a novel idea, finding love on national television? How on earth will that pan out? But now we all know, it doesn't. No way, no how. So why is this show still on? How have they managed to find women who are willing to pretend that they think that finding the love of their lives equates dressing in skanky cocktail dresses and fighting over some rose happy guy who is willing to go on national and make out with 20 women to find the love of HIS life...honestly, there aren't this many stupid people in the world, are there? Oh and last night I made a drinking game out of it (I couldn't find the remote, hence my being subjected to this show). Every time some idiot woman talks about having a "connection" with Jake (the current Bachelor) you take a shot of the beverage of your choice. I drank protein water because I am trying to lay off the hard stuff (diet coke). Also, every time Jake cries because he has to send someone home. Has he not ever seen the show before? Why is this taking him by surprise? IF he is really there to find his true love he should be thrilled to whittle the pool of bimbos down to one so that he has found her. Come on. Quit your bawlin' pretty boy.<br /><br />So, after last night I am banned from watching that show. Apparently Jake the pilot + protein water makes me a little bit violent. Charlie was afraid I would throw some projectile through his pretty new TV and removed all hard objects from my reach. And also, apparently the rage that show has created within me has made me tense my muscles in my back and today I cannot stand up straight or lift my 12 pound baby up without tears of wretched pain springing forth. Stupid Bachelor.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-53993468322888147532009-12-24T13:48:00.000-08:002009-12-24T13:49:46.542-08:00Merry Christmas!<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nXrx2GtvFPQ/SzPh2HvS7LI/AAAAAAAAACM/xk9-GzJCIjM/s1600-h/Girls+and+Santa.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nXrx2GtvFPQ/SzPh2HvS7LI/AAAAAAAAACM/xk9-GzJCIjM/s320/Girls+and+Santa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418923096563444914" /></a><br /> Merry Christmas Everyone!!!Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-55479983406775263342009-12-19T09:06:00.000-08:002009-12-19T09:18:54.917-08:00Writer's block?So, many of you have mentioned my novel that I was once writing. I was doing this when Mia was a baby and I was stuck at the house most of the day while she slept, which is a magical and really boring time of motherhood. I got about 50 pages written of a delightful murder mystery that I never really thought I would try to get it published or anything, it was just for my own amusement. After that point, however, Mia grew into the "hey, what's up with you ignoring me? aren't you suppose to be interacting and doing mom type stuff?" phase. So the book got put on the back burner and mostly forgotten about. I tried to find it a couple of years later, when she started to go preschool and I had a few minutes to myself every day, but it was gone, I couldn't even remember if I had written it on my current laptop or the previous one. So sad.<br /><br />Here's the kicker though. I thought maybe I would just start over again, because i had a really good, intricate plot all thought out with lots of twists and surprises and many fabulous and amusing characters....but I can't remember how it ends. I've been wracking my brain for weeks and weeks and I have no idea who did it and why. <br /><br />As frustrating as this is, I think it points to a bigger problem. What other incredibly brilliant things have I forgotten? Who knows, I may have cured cancer and solved world hunger on a lunch break a few years ago and just forgot to write it down. I've always embraced my absentmindedness and tried to convince those around me that it was a charming quirk that just made me more lovable. But no, it is a serious character flaw that will probably lead to my demise, and maybe even the destruction of the world someday. Man, try walking around with that burden on your shoulders. Being me isn't for the faint of heart.<br /><br />I've tried to correct this problem by buying various PDA's and calendar systems, but the catch is that you have to remember to use them. I once got this awesome day planner from the UVU bookstore, that had lots of Mormon and Utah themed jokes and quotes that cracked me up and kept me awake while I was in my really boring physiology class, but I never remembered to write anything down, other than the family birthdays and stuff that I really didn't need reminders of. And it isn't even that I forget everything. I can remember completely trivial and useless details to a fault. I am a genius while playing Trivial Pursuit and if you ever need to know any details about the career of Danny Kaye or the use of Jello throughout history, I am a handy person to have around. But for actual, useful information that is relevent to anyone's life, you may want to ask that Mom-mannequin that I wrote about in the previous blog.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-51165411953720734662009-12-16T14:17:00.000-08:002009-12-16T14:34:15.544-08:00stylin' momAlright, so I am not one to buy into all the latest trends, by nature...plus you have to actually be paying attention to stuff, which I don't normally do in order to be trendy so, whatever. But with all this new "mom gear" you are suppose to have I have been doing a little research and have come to the conclusion that people are dumb.<br /><br />This is not a new conclusion, I will admit. But come on, do people really need all this stuff? I mean honestly, has anyone ever been in desperate need of a diaper stacker? This is my second kid (a little girl, named Eliza, for those who were wondering) and I have yet to actually use one of these. There are a bunch of other things, like bedside bottle warmers and wipe warmers which seem like a good idea, except that you actually have to be in a state of mind to remember to use these things, which doesn't happen when you have a baby screaming at you at 3 a.m. so, those are also off my wish list.<br /><br />Ooo, here is one thing that I love though. The Moby Wrap ( I tried to insert a link to it right here, but I am still a technological idiot and it didn't work. Sorry)<br />Granted, I had to look it up on youtube and watch a bunch of instructional videos to figure out how to put the dang thing on, but as I do have a baby that insists on being held all day, and a job that requires the use of both hands, not to mention the need to brush my teeth once in a while, it's pretty darn useful. Now if only someone would invent some sort of shield so that when I eat while "wearing" my baby I wouldn't drip and get crumbs all over the poor kid. Or, maybe someone would invent some sort of mannequin (except not creepy) version of a mom so that the mannequin could wear the baby and the baby would never know, and I could just take a nap. Hey, maybe it could even somehow trick older kids, like Mia, into thinking that I was playing with her at the same time so I could take a real nap, not the kind where she comes in every 10 minutes to explain to me that she is bored and the TV does not count as a playmate. Hmm...yes, inventors of the world need to get right on that idea. I'll be here waiting.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-58179860722417190962009-12-01T12:17:00.000-08:002009-12-01T12:18:57.000-08:00I figured out my password!!Sorry, it's been a while, having a baby and all that. But mostly it's been a while because I couldn't remember my password and had to spend a couple weeks hacking into my own account. Woo hoo! I will write a real post soon, I just needed to let you guys know I am still breathing and stuff. Love your guts!!Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-69529977217475575452009-10-25T12:10:00.000-07:002009-10-25T12:33:26.427-07:00Hiding the CrazyI apologize. Not for abandoning you for so long, oh faithful blog, but for unloading all the crazy that I have been trying to conceal for months now. As you know I have previously hinted that I may not be in my right mind due to all these lovely pregnancy hormones so I have mostly kept my sporadic thoughts to myself as much as possible. But today I am bored. And I can't watch one more episode of Backyardigans with Mia or I will beat my TV.<br /><br />Yesterday was a fun day. It started off with Charlie getting up early with Mia so that I could sleep in (Charlie is so awesome) and then 30 seconds later my darling unborn baby started kicking me in the bladder, again, so I had to get up anyway. So, I ventured downstairs and realized that I had to clean my pigsty house up because there was a BYU football game on that night. No, I am not a crazy superstitious football fan who thinks we will lose the game if my house isn't spotless. It's just that Charlie (who is very friendly and sweet) invites people over at random to watch the game with him and I never know how many are showing up expecting a party. So, I pleaded with Charlie and Mia to help me scrub stuff. I cleaned the kitchen as they vacuumed all things that would hold still. <br /><br />Then I decided to make cinnamon rolls (shut up it makes sense). Except about half way through the baking time I remembered I have a horrible cold (courtesy of stupid charlie and his germs) and I can't smell. What is the point of baked goods if you can't smell. So I screamed at the oven and decided to go hide in the shower until I calmed down. So I locked my bedroom door, and then locked my bathroom door and hopped in, enjoyed the steam and tried to chill out for a few minutes. It lasted all of 2 minutes until Mia, with a nail file in hand, picked through both locks (who taught my 4 year old to pick locks? Dang Charlie) so that she could come tell me, with her face full of fury, that her dad had sprayed her with cold water. I asked her calmly, (while inwardly chanting a soothing yogic phrase that I made up because I don't speak yogic) to tell him that was very mean and that I would be down in a few minutes to talk to both of them. She sounded satisfied that her dad was going to get in trouble and ran away (Man, I really want some seven layer bean dip right now.) Then, she came in again to say that dad was in bigger trouble now because he was tickling her when she was yelling at him. Then he came in to say that Mia was totally just trying to get him in trouble and was only crying when I was around to hear it. (I'm still in the shower at this point, trying not to scream). No wonder I am so freaked out to have another kid, I already have two of them that I can barely handle.<br /><br />So, after my super relaxing shower (man I really want bean dip....I don't have any chips though. And now I am going to cry, Darn Charlie and his non-chip buying). My dad and Charlie's mom and brother showed up for the game. I served my cinnamon rolls with tears in my eyes because I wasn't even tempted to eat them. Then I got a lecture from my mother in law on random and various things such as daring to schedule my induction, delivering at the wrong hospital. Why was I so thoughtless as to breath in Charlie's germs and get a cold? Oh, and my favorite was "why on earth are you naming your daughter Elijah? How do you spell that? is it a family name? (for the record, that isn't happening, but I was having fun with this topic so I let her go on for a good 20 minutes, even arguing that Elijah was my great grandmother's name and she was an amazing woman, before Charlie decided to step in and explain that no one had even considered that name and she must have made that up herself.) (Ok, bean dip is gross, never mind)<br /><br />So, dear blog...you see what you are missing? Not only are my emotions random and inconsistent, but they aren't even particularly entertaining. Oh, we lost the game last night, but that is ok.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-63211032325192026622009-09-30T12:37:00.000-07:002009-09-30T12:44:19.044-07:00total cop outOk, I know it's been a while, but honestly, I am one grouchy grouchy hormonal woman right now and I have been afraid that if I write something it would be horribly offensive to someone and then I would have to gravel apologetically and that is irritating.<br /><br />So, in lieu of an Amy post, I have hijacked a recipe Russ sent me. He figures that since he lived in France for a couple years he has magically absorbed the ability to bake. Those of you who know my cute little brother understand how this is completely logical in his world. Those of you who don't...enjoy getting to know a truly individual character.<br /><br /><br />Title: Russ's French Bread Bowls<br /><br />Description:<br />Bread Bowl Recipe- Made with patience and love. He just emailed it to me because he is super helpful<br /><br />Ingredients:<br />5 ¼ cups of flour<br /><br />1 Tbs of Kosher Salt (or normal salt if you are poor)<br /><br />1 Tbs of yeast (good yeast)<br /><br />1 ¾ cup of warm water<br /><br />1 Tbs of Sugar<br /><br /><br />Directions:<br />Put hot water in your mixing bowl. Add the sugar, then sprinkle on the yeast. Let the yeast yeastify for like 5 or 10 minutes- you will know when it has yeastified. Okay, now you put in the salt and add the flour a cup at a time. Mix until beautiful. Cover and let rise for an hour. Okay, an hour has past…move on. Now you want to divide the dough up, I have no freakin clue how many bowls you can make from this recipe, but just make the dough balls an adequate size, maybe about half the size you want the final product to be. Kind of roll and tuck the dough balls until the top is smooth like a nasty mushroom. Let it rise. You can glaze the dough with your favorite glaze. Egg whites work well with a pinch of salt. Even just salt water works. Some people like milk, milk will make it a softer crust. Okay I should have told you earlier to preheat your oven to 445 F. you should have done that dang it. 445 you say? Yes, I say 445. You see this will cook the crust good, what you do is cook it at 445 for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 390 degrees and continue cooking for another 15 minutes or so. If you tap your bread and it sounds hollow, then you are done. …but are your done? NO!!! let your bread cool until you can touch it without swearing. Cut the top off, scrape out the middle, then, if you want to eat paradise then you will mix garlic etc with butter or olive oil and brush that inside the bowl then place it back into the oven at a reasonable temperature to toast it. So you get a garlic bread bread bowl. Fill the bread bowl with your favorite bread bowl filler and eat. Perfect way to show your family that you love them.<br /><br /><br /><br />Number Of Servings: some<br /><br />Preparation Time: a whileAmy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-24172897050854792652009-09-01T10:11:00.000-07:002009-09-01T10:22:25.379-07:00First day of preschool, part IIYes, it is that time of year again, even if the 90 degree weather doesn't know it. Mia just made her first trek of fall to her preschool class. And yes, she was just as giddy as last year, but somewhat more confident since she had done this before. In fact, she tried to get me to stay home and let her walk the half a block by herself. She said that I could watch her through the window, but that was all the supervision she would need. I didn't fall for it, don't worry. We walked together, stopping every 20 feet or so because Mia needed another picture taken of her cute new school out fit. Once again, she stopped me at the door of the classroom and stated firmly that preschool was for kids, not mommy's. I wonder if I'll ever get used to that.<br /><br />As she walked into the class and greeted her teacher I lingered by the doorway and listened to her instruct Miss Nicole, the lead teacher, that this year she was to be addressed as AMELIA,not Mia, and she would really like to learn to read this year. She carefully placed her backpack in her cubby hole and sat at a table with her hands folded as Miss Nicole met my bewildered gaze from the doorway. I guess she was trying to decide if she should just let AMELIA take over the whole class as she sat in the back and played with the classroom pets, a small tank full of frogs. I understood as I have had this feeling when dealing with AMELIA several times in the past few months. <br /><br />Make no mistake, I am happy that my daughter seems to be turning into a confident young lady and stuff, but she isn't the boss of me, Gosh! So, while walking home thoughtfully by myself I decided that perhaps I should spend as much time trying to instill confidence in myself as I do my child. Then I thought that sounded like a lot of work so I probably will just fake being in charge like I normally do. Plus I can still be in charge of bribing her because I am taller and can reach the cookie stash. It's going to be ok.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-53978504485410084062009-08-28T18:29:00.001-07:002009-08-28T18:41:54.028-07:00Maple Syrup Tidal WaveYou know how every once in a while you feel like you actually have a grip on life and may actually be getting into somewhat of a groove, and then something comes along and, not unlike Nelson in the Simpson's, trips you and points and lets out a hearty "Ha Ha!" That happens to me a lot. I had just begun feeling that I had somewhat of a grasp on how to do this working pregnant mommy gig until yesterday. I forgot to feed Mia and myself breakfast before making our daily trek to my place of employment to pick up tapes to transcribe. At first blush this didn't seem like much of a problem. I knew we wouldn't starve in the 30 minute round trip, but then I thought, "Hey! (always my first mistake) Let's go to Sonic" So I took a quick detour and ordered up a breakfast sandwich for me and French Toast sticks for Mia (Kids like dipping things, it's a whole sub-culture). This seemed like a brilliant plan until I opened the bag and pulled out the packet that held two tablespoons of maple syrup and started handing it to Mia. A nagging little voice in my head tried to stop me, because syrup + child + car ride did not seem like a brilliant move. But I shrugged and handed it over thinking "so she gets a little sticky, we'll be home soon and it's only a smidgen." I'm an idiot. <br /><br />20 minutes later I was hauling Mia, covered from head to toe in syrup up the stairs to the shower peeling maple soaked clothing off her as we went. And once that chore was done I got to attack the entire back seat of my car with the steam cleaner...twice. It still smells vaguely like an all night diner, but at least there is no sticky residue left. <br /><br />So, now that the wind is out of my sails I have given back in to the feeling of merely muddling through one alarming incident to another. But that is ok. It keeps me humble.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9003244008543978666.post-8559172452065709362009-07-23T10:00:00.000-07:002009-07-23T10:18:45.057-07:00Bad clowns=Bad hair?So, today my hair looks as though it has been struck by lightening and then tenderly styled by a blind psychopath. I blame the rodeo. Don't look at me like that, I could have blamed Celine Dion, but that would have been weird.<br /><br />So, last night I got to go to the Spanish Fork Fiesta Days Rodeo. Woo hoo!! In theory a rodeo is lots of fun. Lots of cowboys and the summer crowds swarming around you while you eat deep fried things, plus the added bonus of the chance of mayhem should an errant hoof connect with human flesh. Sounds pretty awesome, right? Well, now add 100 degree weather, three cranky preschoolers, two fighting married couples, a cute but sticky baby boy and a generally hag like pregnant lady. Yep, that was my night. Kind of takes the awesome out of it. And so does that stupid rodeo clown who thinks a urinating car is funny....you had to be there. Needless to say, Boom Boom the clown is not on my list of favorite performers ever. He was pretty lame. And he didn't even get attacked by a bull, so he was lame without a purpose, which is even worse.<br /><br />But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before my clan struck out for cowboy heaven, Charlie and I painted my living room. I've been trying to decide on a color for the better part of a year, and finally I just closed my eyes and picked a grayish blue. It is very nice. But, when Charlie and I do projects together we generally aren't friends for a while afterward. We have good intentions, but after about an hour of working we both are pretty sure that the other one is completely wrong in their approach and bossy beyond reason. And neither of us is ever willing to back down and apologize so we are not the most fun couple in the world for a day or so afterward. Apparently my brother and his wife had some sort of ordeal going on as well because there were dirty looks being thrown in all directions. Poor Dad was trying desperately to make this a joyous experience for us all so we were pretending (with varying degrees of success) that we were thrilled to be sitting on medival torture devices they call wooden stadium benches. <br /><br />Oh, so back to my hair. When I finally crawled home at about 11 p.m. (which is about 4 a.m. in a pregnant lady's world) I dragged myself into the shower because my lower extremities were covered in spilled snow cone (courtesy of my loving daughter and nieces). And promptly started crying because I then saw that my feet resembled a kindergarteners efforts of shaping clay into a human form. Stupid heat and hormones. So I just crawled into bed, with no forethought of what my half wet hair would look like in the morning. I blame Boom Boom and his dumb rodeo clown ways for all of it.Amy Hanosekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772692284022089834noreply@blogger.com3