a short conversation about lite brite

Layne:  "I was over at the neighbors' house today and Jay was there playing Lite-Brite with Hadley.  Cameron says they got the Lite Brite for a buck fifty at the D.I.  Cameron knows a different Lite-Brite song that's not the one I know and not the one you know!" 

John:  "What's the one you know again?" 

Layne:  (singing) "I'm making things with light, Lite-Brite makes them glow so bright." 
John:  "Oh yeah!" 

Layne:  "And the one you know is (singing) 'Lite-Brite, making things with light, making things with bright light." 

John:  "I'm so happy to have that confirmed by an outside source!" 

Layne:  "I'm not confirming it!  I've never heard that song, it's just the song you always sing." 

John:  "No, somebody else.  Was it Dave? (thinking)"

Layne:  "No, Dave's younger than me.  He wouldn't know it." 

John:  "No!  It was Jenny!  Remember?  She sang the song independently." 

Layne:  "Well she's younger than me too.  That's weird.  Anyway, Cameron knows a Lite-Brite song that is neither one of those." 

John:  "Whoa!" 

mad baggins

Grant started The Fellowship of the Ring the other day--I tried to encourage him to read it a while ago, but he was resistant.  I think he's jazzed about the story now since he's seen the first installment of The Hobbit, and I told him he could see each of the three movies once he read its corresponding book.  We went to Layton yesterday and he read aloud in the car, and now we're all enthralled and having little book clubby discussions about it.  It's been a few years since I read the books, and I'm really enjoying it.  I'm excited for Grant on his little journey of discovery.  He's also reading Tarzan of the Apes, and loving it, as I knew he would.  It's so fun when your children start reading cool books! 

Yesterday I helped with the kindergarten roundup.  Kindergarteners are pretty cute.  There were a few who look like they're not so much looking forward to school and are going to have a hard time the first day--they may need what the handout we gave them called "a reassurance from home."  My kids never needed any kind of security or comfort object; they were like "Smell you later" and out the door.  Probably because I withhold affection. 

I almost got into a fight with a child

I was out at the school this morning helping in Ike's class, and I was playing a spelling game with a little girl who lives up the street from us.  The word was "fawn," and I explained that it meant a baby deer, and a kid sitting at the table next to us horned in and said, "No, a baby deer is called a cow . . . alf."  I said, "A calf?" and he said yes, and I said, "No, that's a baby cow.  A baby deer is called a fawn."  Then he said, "My dad is forty-five, and he says it's called a calf."  And I, because I am twelve, said, "Then he's wrong."  I felt bad about it, because first of all, I'm guessing that his dad does know what a baby deer is called, and second, does it really matter, even if he does call it a calf?  Then I said, "A baby elk is called a calf--maybe that's what you're thinking of," and he said, "No, it's a baby deer.  My family goes hunting all the time.  We go every day and night."  I said "That sounds fun!" and refused to engage any more, which I think shows tremendous maturity, don't you? 

I just hate it when people are wilfully stupid, even children.  Children are sort of unteachable at times.  It's why when we are advised in the scriptures and other church situations to "become as a little child," I wonder what kind of child they're talking about. 

there they are a-standing in a row

I'm going to type this post all in one paragraph, because it enrages me how Chrome and Blogger interact and double space the first paragraph and single space the following paragraphs.  I will delineate paragraph breaks with asterisks.  ********  Oof, the setup for this story is disproportionately complicated for the payback, but I accept the challenge:  Our speakers on Sunday were a departing missionary and a husband and wife who have had one son serve a mission and another son who likely will be serving a mission as well.  The missionary is one of those young people you meet who make you feel a little bit embarrassed about how well they've got life figured out, compared to where you were at that age.  He's an incredible young man: hardworking, responsible, polite . . . I could go on.  I just admire the heck out of him.  Anyway, the husband of the couple converted to the church some time after they were married, and he was comparing himself to the missionary, and said, "My goals at that time of my life were so shallow," and John leaned over to me and whispered, "Boobs."  Because let's be real:  that's what many, I dare say most young men are preoccupied with at the age of 19, missionaries or not.  ********  Ike has a musical program at school today, and it promises to be a lot like Emmett's recent musical program, which is to say that Ike will only be participating begrudgingly, because he feels that the music and actions are demeaning to him or something.  He's in grade school; what kind of refined musical palate can he even have?  ********  Grant was tardy to one of his classes yesterday, which is one thing, but what I want to talk about is this:  his teacher doesn't allow backpacks in the classroom.  There are a few teachers like that at his school--why?  Why can't they have backpacks?  I do not understand.  Are they worried about theft of sticky notes and markers?  Are they worried about terrorism?  ********  I gave Willa a haircut and it wasn't a disaster.  ********  Emmett never has any homework, which makes me a little suspicious until I remember it's Emmett.  ********  We had our New Beginnings program on Sunday night, and my remarks were useless, but thankfully the bishop batted cleanup for me and said all the right things.  I think this calling is making me neurotic and unsure of myself.

where's the jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?

We spent the holiday weekend visiting family--my two remaining grandmas and John's parents.  It wasn't exactly a day of service, but it was still a good thing to do, we think.  Idaho is, as ever, entirely too cold.  I am amazed by my grandma, but I am thankful to not be a cattle rancher.  It is an unforgiving career. 

Grant's quest to fill every moment of his time (that he's not playing video games or teasing his siblings) with basketball and soccer continues apace.  I am trying to learn more about basketball so I can yell intelligent things at his games.  I now know what it means to set a pick, and can recognize when it is being done.  This is progress.  There is no mold growing on Grant's margarine and butter experiment, and we are feeling sad and disappointed. 

Emmett has discovered the Riordan universe and is happily plowing through them.  He loved the Benedict Society book I bought him for Christmas, and has tasked me (like that corporate-speak?) with reading it.  He loves piano and enjoys swimming, which we haven't paid for yet this month, so I guess we are squatters. 

Ike alternates between shaky compliance and sulky defiance.  He was sad the other day when he saw a picture of a wolf that had been hunted and killed, but what if the wolf had eaten one of his stuffed animals, maybe Sealie (a seal)?  What then? 

Willa is sucking her fingers again because I guess she wants buck teeth.  This makes me very angry. 

I wonder if the dog can tell where the goat has been

We had stake conference last week and got a new stake presidency.  I had to speak in the Saturday meeting.  All of the moisture left my mouth until I felt like a raisin, but thankfully I didn't make that smack-smack sound into the microphone.

John and I spent an hour sitting on couches until I remembered that in most cases I am morally opposed to buying new furniture.  

Grant's science experiment is to determine if margarine can support microbial life.  We don't think so, but so far neither does the butter.  

Emmett's science experiment is to determine if temperature affects a magnet's field of attraction.  I don't think so, but stranger things have happened.  

Ike wanted to do a science experiment to determine if glass cleaner or shower cleaner is better at cleaning.  

Willa is not doing any experiments, but she is playing school with her Rosie O'Donnell and Beach Glam Steven Barbies.  

every handout in every town

This is probably going to come out wrong, but:  sometimes my children are incredibly stupid.

They refuse to wear coats in even the coldest weather.  I bought Emmett a brand-new coat last night, and he made a big fuss about how comfortable it was, and then this morning he threw on his ratty old hoodie with the sleeves coming apart and trounced out in the single-digit temperatures.  He  won't wear the coat to wait for the bus because then he'll either have to cram the coat into his backpack, or leave it on and sweat.  Who can sweat in this weather?  I've been on buses, and toasty they ain't!

Similarly, Grant had plenty of time to put on his body spray/man perfume this morning, but not enough time to notice that he hadn't brought in his backpack from the car or to pack his lunch.  He left his lunch home yesterday, too.  Either he's embarrassed about the lunches or he's a space cadet.

I screamed something fierce at Ike this afternoon because there are only so many times you can be lied to about the rabbits being fed and watered when they really haven't before you sort of come . . . unglued . . . and there is yelling through gritted teeth and prophecies of blame, like such as the "Those bunnies are going to die, and when they die it's going to be your fault.  You are the one who will have killed them because you were too lazy to give them food and water."

Willa spends a lot of time in her room, waiting until she's ready to stop whining and talk like a normal person.