So what if I'm old, I have a kid who can drive!

I felt the earth move today. My oldest son, Zach got his driver's license. I am giddy with the knowledge that my days of being a chauffeur are gone! I have to confess it was a controversial move on my part taking him down to the MVD (not the DMV -- because that would be too conformist and Arizona does NOT conform!) My husband felt that Zach wasn't ready to be driving on his own. He's convinced that without him sitting in that passenger seat watching Zach like a hawk, it's only a matter of time before some traffic calamity becomes a part of our lives. Well of course it is. That is the nature of having a teen driver -- or maybe it just was in my house growing up.

I remember that it was only a few months into my sister Becky's career as a licensed driver that she managed to drive up the side of an embankment. She only stopped the car from rolling down by quickly opening up her door, wedging it into the bark covered landscaping. I don't even think my parents were home to rescue her, it was the husband of a good friend that got her out of that one. Heaven knows how. 

I got my first ticket the first week of being an official driver and I didn't even know it at first. I was cruising along at night, going 45 on a street ridiculously marked 25 when I saw lights in my rearview mirror. I dutifully pulled over to the side of the road to let that ambulance by when it pulled up behind me. I was illuminated by a floodlight that blinded my shocked, innocent eyes. I could not have been more surprised or freaked

My younger sister Sherrie wins the prize for best traffic faux pas -- I seem to remember some sort of collision with a policeman. Sherrie clarified that the street had some obstructing trees and that she didn't even get a ticket, but my parents did apparently have to pay for the damage to the police cruiser. Not only that, but the Ford Fiesta we both drove through high school died a spectacular death at her hands, spewing black smoke through the vents and enveloping her in a black cloud of toxic fumes while she drove home on the freeway. 

Sherrie also said that our little brother Ben sideswiped several cars while in his infant stage as a driver, though Ben was unavailable to verify this claim. All I can say is we have a family tradition of gathering colorful experiences around driving that make for great stories 20 years later. I'm proud to be part of that tradition, but do I want it carried on?

In all honesty, I hope Zach is spared the foibles of my youth. I hate to think of him dealing with tickets, fender benders or some unknown new adventure; but, if it happens, it won't be a surprise. So since he'll be 17 in a month, I thought it was time to see if he could pass the test. I figured we'd let the AZ MVD decide if he was ready to drive and if he passed, we'd surprise his Dad with the great news! As we were driving there, I almost sent a message to my Facebook stating my status of taking my baby to get his license. I knew that my hubby would read it though and I didn't want to ruin the surprise.  Well, as soon as we got there, Zach posted his status to Facebook and we got a message from Ren saying, "You're doing What?!!" So much for the surprise.

Well, he passed the test -- and driving the Ford Excursion no less. He had to execute a three point reverse turn without hitting any cones, then drive around the block and back to the office. That's it. I am now terrified to be on the road in Arizona knowing who's out there driving. My four year-old could have passed that test with his two year-old brother pushing the pedals. 

Then there's this: I realized as soon as we got the license that I will have to put him on my insurance. Holy Cow! What's that going to cost us? I guess on the plus side knowing what we're paying will give me some leverage. I told him that he would earn his privilege of driving by being at my beck and call for any errand I need run. I can't wait to send him to the store for milk or to take his brothers to scouts or better yet, to fetch me doughnuts. Woo hoo! I'm free. Free at last.

I wonder...

I just commented on my daughter's blog (which is lonely and would love for you to go read it and make a comment). Anyway, the security word I typed in was: FLUORING. Sometimes I see these words and I think, "That must be a real word somewhere...hmmmm." Well, this one I'm sure is the proper word for tile in a dentist's office. What else would they cover their floors with but something with fluoride in it? hahahahahahaha! Okay fine. That is just how bored I am on a Saturday night.

Say goodbye to spring...

This week must have been the un-official Arizonan farewell to spring. They didn't advertise it in the paper or tell us on the news, I just happened to pick up on the subtle clues. Last week we were in the 70's, there was even a day when we wore sweaters because the thermometer dipped into the 60's! (heaven forbid) This week? We hit 100, the air-conditioner is on all day and the cold tapwater came out hot. Definitely not spring anymore. I'm not going to whine, I'll just post pictures of the slip'n'slide that got resurrected after its premature inaugural usage back in February. I figured we'd better use it before the Smoky the Scorpion declared the scalding danger of hose water to be Extremely High. Curty had the most fun experimenting with techniques and the little boys (Eli and Gid) were just happy to be wet. Wouldn't it be nice if life were that simple for all of us?

Here are pictures in totally random order because it's late and I don't feel like labeling them.

Tooth Fairy Finally Gets a Rare Curtisimus Tootherous

Curty's First Lost Tooh

Curty finally, FINALLY  lost his first tooth and soon after, his second. I don't know why we were surprised that they didn't come out until his permament teeth were 2/3rds grown in. Seriously, this is the pattern Curtis has followed his whole life. 

When he was 1 we kept waiting for him to show any sign that he wanted to walk. Nothing. He didn't want to stand or hold our hands and toddle around. He was NOT going to try it, no matter how much we coaxed. Finally, when he was 15 months old, he was sitting on the grass at a soccer practice when Ren noticed him eyeing a nearby soccer ball. By the end of the practice, he had figured out how to stand up and kick the ball, take a few steps and repeat the process! Surely, that was a fluke! Nope.

At two, Curtis did not say anything. We were actually a little worried about this because all the other kids talked quite early. Our twins were speaking little sentences to each other at 18 months old and Hannah, who potty-trained before she turned two, would hold me hostage in the bathroom happily chatting to me about all her "fliends" while she pooped away. But Curtis was solemnly speechless for an agonizingly long time. A few months later, when he finally decided to speak, it was in full sentences. No one word experiments for him. Iif he was going to do it, he would do it right!

We know now that part of the story here is that Curtis is somewhat of a perfectionist. He doesn't like to make mistakes, so he doesn't usually try anything unless he's pretty sure he'll get it right. He wouldn't ride a bike for the longest time and finally a few months ago I begged him to try it. He was 7 1/2 and I was worried that he'd NEVER learn to ride a bike. He dug in his heels and wouldn't budge until I arranged for a little bribery. If he would learn to ride his bike all the way around the block, I would buy him the Nerf Vulcan Machine Gun. My twins were incensed! "When we learned to ride our bikes, you only paid us $5!" they whined. Well, when you're a desperate mother you're willing to pay much more elaborate bribes -- I know Curty and the bribe had to be as big as his reluctance to try if it was going to push him past the perfectionist wall he'd built around himself. 

Within five minutes of offering him that bribe, he went out, hopped on the bike, coasted down the driveway a few times and then he was off. Within fifteen minutes he had fulfilled his part of the bargain and we were in the car on the way to Costco to perform a cashectomy on my bank account. I couldn't believe it, maybe I should have started a little smaller! I worried that he would never get back on the bike again, but luckily it has become his constant companion. His riding was instrumental in convincing Eli (the wheel riding prodigy) that he should learn to ride too. (see This Post on Eli's Bike Riding Lessons) So, I feel justified by the means and happy with the ends in this particular parenting case (why do I feel like I'm on trial?)

So what about the tooth thing? It's not like his teeth have a psychological issue around falling out the right way. We've been waiting and waiting since he was six, two years ago, for these babies to budge. I noticed a few weeks ago the permanent teeth were growing in and I encouraged Curty to start wiggling. He'd give them a half-hearted nudge every once in a while until finally the first one came out last week, followed a day later by the second. He doesn't even have a gap-toothed grin, but then, for our little perfectionist, this is the perfect smile to flash.

Easter through the Lens of my Canon Rebel

I just thought it would be appropriate to post pictures from Easter. It turns out I was more interested in photographing my gorgeous bouquet of Easter tulips than I was of the Easter baskets or egg hunt, so we just have pictures from the Easter egg dying extravaganza!

Gid had pink eye and was feeling pretty nasty. But once he discovered how much fun the other kids were having with the eggs, he perked up and began his foray into egg art. His septuple dipped eggs were a wonder to behold! (They were also cracked and smooshed beyond all recognition as eggs, but he didn't seem to care.)

Since we had church at 8:30 in the morning the Easter Bunny came after church. Church was especially nice, probably because my cute teenagers sang in a double quartet with three other brother/sister pairs. It was a beautiful song called, "Cast Your Burden on the Lord", I wish I had a videotape. They each sang a solo and followed by the final verse in four part harmony. It made me cry. Their accompanist was also AMAZING! (heh heh, it was me :D )

After church we came home and the Easter bunny had hidden eggs all over the backyard. Gid was an adept egg finder, just like his sister Hannah who was the champion, as usual. Zach got to go with the littles in the first heat because he somehow missed out the egg finding gene. He has always been hilariously inept at egg hunting and even after 16 years, still has a rough time with it. One egg rolled under our inground trampoline and will remain there until some lucky creature finds it. I hope it doesn't start stinking with the heat of summer!

We had a pork roast with roasted potatos, asparagus, broccoli and french bread for dinner and strawberry shortcake for dessert. Here are the pics I have (of the egg dying AND the tulips which are now featured on my blog background.) I hope everyone had as lovely a day as we did.

Jonah proudly displaying his double infinity egg.

Cody was trying to be all cool about the egg dying, he is almost a teenager you know.

Curtis proudly displaying his work.

Eli humoring me with a mellow grin. He had tons of fun and kept asking for more eggs!

Gid just starting out.

Hannah got appointed to be Gid's partner, a messy job she soon abandoned.

Gid going it on his own.

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MY TULIPS! It is so sad that I can't grow tulips in Arizona.

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A Beautiful Easter Message

I cannot express my gratitude enough for my Savior. I can only strive to live worthy of what He did for me. A happy and blessed Easter to all.

Curse of the Brown Thumb

Confession: I kill things. It's just fortunate in a case like mine that plants aren't known to haunt their killers. I have nothing against plants. You could say I'm pro-plant as a general philosophy. Perhaps it's just my destiny to save certain plants who have crossed my path from the evils of this world. I am the plant releaser, preparing them for leafy joy in the world to come! Let's stick with that version of the story for now while I build my case.

I have been performing this evil...uh..merciful act since skinny jeans were in, the first time. Back before we had children, my husband and I did a stint of house-sitting for his Dad's long time, best friend. Being the totally self-absorbed newlyweds that we were, I'm fairly certain we didn't even know there were plants in the house. We have been known by Mr. Bartz ever since as "The Plant Killers."

A few years and a couple of kids later I tried a little stint of gardening when we lived in student housing in Rochester, NY. I soon found I was in waaaay over my head with this endeavor. There were plots of land behind the town homes we lived in set aside for gardens. My first trip out to the potential graves of my newest victims revealed a glorious sight before my eyes. Several islands of verdant green, fenced in by natural materials floated in a sea of weedy dirt and wild grass. These were the gardens of the Asian students. Their live-in grandparents worked full-time in these fantastically abundant gardens. They had erected intricate fences of branches and grass six feet high (no doubt with bird's nests still intact) to keep the deer out. Through the lattice-like holes I could see enormous leafy plants resembling those found in the picture book of the Jurassic period my kids begged me to read over and over again. I half-expected a T-rex to pop his head out from behind the freakishly large sugar snap peas at any moment. As I stood there, two, diminutive but age-wisened asian elders walked by with a bucket of ... ewww! My nose tried to place it and I finally made the connection to my bathroom! Human poo poo! Well, no wonder their plants were so happy! Relieved, I determined I had a valid reason to hate them for their lush garden: I would never stoop to potty-based fertilizers.

I shared a plot with my friend Kirsti. Kirsti is one of those high-energy, extremely intelligent women who is quick and creative and full of purpose. She would show up at my house fully-dressed, with her three little boys in hand, ready to start the day and urging us to join her, even in sub-zero temperatures. After stumbling out of bed to answer the door, I would have to tell her to try us again in a few hours after we'd rubbed the sleep out of our eyes. True to form, Kirsti's garden was planted and ready to go that first day. We stumbled along in her wake, getting our seeds in at a snail's pace over the next several days and then promptly forgetting we had a garden.

I would see Kirsti hiking out across the grass to the gardens, a mother duck followed closely by her three awkwardly boyish ducklings and she would holler, "Did you know you have some peas?" On her way back she'd drop off a small bowl of our peas that she'd picked and mention that they'd be much happier if we spent some time weeding. This continued throughout the summer until the weeds took over and finished off our half of the garden in a slow, painful death. I'm sure it was an assault on Kirsti's senses to have to deal with it every day. Kirsti, I apologize for my murderous ways. I'm sure your little plants huddled together in terror when my shadow darkened the garden plot.

I know when to stop tempting fate. That was the last time I tried to grow vegetables. We soon moved to California and fell in love with the abundant bougainvillea that proliferated over all the garden walls. I bought one. I planted it. I killed it. I told my neighbor and she replied, "You can't kill a bougainvillea!" I believed her, surely something or someone else had sent my little bougie to plant heaven. I bought another. I killed it. "I'm a monster!" I thought. Two more have died at my hands since.

"What is your problem?!" I'm sure you're yelling while shaking your head and wagging your snooty, green thumb at me. I DON'T KNOW! Please don't judge me. Perhaps I have become so accustomed to having those in my care bellow their demands in my face or whine them from a vantage point at my knee-caps, that I don't sense the needs of the green, leafy and speechless. I have never yet gone out to my back yard and heard, "I WANT WATER!" or "Mooooooomy, that weed touched me!" I guess I just don't speak the language. So, I'm going to forgive myself.

But now...NOW I'm facing the withered brown demons of plants past. We purchased a small garden box with a watering system and put it in the back yard. I took pictures to document how nicely it started out. I check on it every day. I worry over these little plants. Are they getting enough water? Do they hate it when my two year-old Gideon gets a hold of the hose and waters their brains out? Um...yes, it turns out. It's been a month since we planted them and many of my plants are turning yellow. "Why are you yellow?" I ask. "Do you have an owie? Can I kiss it better?" Silence. I ask some gardening friends of mine what to do. After quizzing me on the amount of water these plants have been getting, then looking at me in horror when I tell them, I am told to STOP watering them so much. Okay, okay! Sheesh! I just don't want them to feel neglected! It has never ocurred to me that just like a mother can smother her children with love, creating mold and decay in their souls, I might be doing the same to my little plants. Where is a good plant psychologist when you need one?

I'm going to forge ahead in my quest for fresh vegetables. I am determined I will atone for my past sins. I will eat the fruits of my labors. Just as soon as I learn to read the body, er leaf language of carrots or the bush beans learn to plead for their lives, they will get the healthy attention they deserve! So let it be written, so let it be done.