It's Official

Emma is only ever allowed to go on dates with her father, grandfathers, or uncles.

See why?

 

Our church had a Daddy-Daughter dance tonight for the 8 to 11-year old girls, but since Emma's dad is on the wrong side of the planet to be able to take her, Uncle Dave (Kevan's sister's husband) stepped in to be her date. He even brought her a sweet little wrist corsage.

Dave's brother lives in our stake and has a daughter Emma's age (and the two girls are great friends), so they went on a double date to dinner and then the dance.

All ready to go!

 

I have to confess that the main reason I included this particular shot is to show off the great view of the sunset you can see out the back window. Sorry your view isn't as great as ours. (Unless you're one of our neighbors, that is; in which case, wasn't the sunset beautiful tonight?)

See that smile on her face? It's been there ever since Dave came in the door, and I imagine it will be there all night.

Thanks, Dave, for taking such good care of our girl. We are so grateful to have family so close and so willing to help fill some of the holes Kevan's absence leaves.

  

 But seriously, no one but family is ever allowed to take this girl out. She's too pretty for our own good!

The Highlight of My Day

Backstory:
I stayed home from church today with Jess, Megan, and Sam, and this afternoon, I had one of my first chances all day of being alone when I went to get the mail (Yes, I got the mail on Sunday; I forgot yesterday, and it's not like I was making anybody work. It was just sitting there in my box, very righteously).

Back Backstory:
Everyone but Emma and I have been sick with the flu all week. Jessica keeps calling it "swine," because, apparently, that's what the teenagers these days are calling it. Somehow, "I've got swine," sounds cooler than "I have swine flu" or "I seem to have contracted the H1N1 virus"? I don't know. I'm just glad I'm not a teenager these days and leaving it at that. We don't know for sure if it was swine, and I don't really care. All I know is that I've had most of the kids home all. week. long. Jessica cares that it was swine, because, and I promise you I'm not making this up, she wants to tell her grandkids that she survived an epidemic. Always looking ahead, that Jessica.

Back to the Backstory:
I'm on my way out the door to get the mail/be alone/wish the mailbox were farther away than the house next door, and Sam (pictured above from last week, showing me how he "be's dead") comes after me, trying to come with me. No amount of "I'll be right back," or, "I'm just getting the mail," could persuade him that nothing fun was afoot and that he should just leave me be. So I play my trump card: "You don't have any pants on, and you can't go outside without pants." He looks down at his pajama-shirt-and-underwear ensemble (Yes, in the afternoon. He hasn't left the house much either this week. Don't judge me), sees that he's beat, and goes back to whatever robot probe he was building (just a guess, as it's entirely possible he was playing with puppies or tinkertoys or cars).

Now the Story:
Right before the kids went to bed tonight, I realized I was really thirsty, so I went to get some water bottles out of my car (helpful hint: it's easier to go back and forth to your car countless times to get 1 or 2 water bottles at a time than to ever just get around to carrying the whole case in at once), and Sam, sensing I was escaping again, came running to the door, screaming to go with. I was already halfway down the walk, so I stopped, turned around, told him I was just going to the car, I'd be right back, and that he couldn't come, and turned back around and started back on my way.

Pause.

"I HAVE PANTH ON!"

Making the Sleepless Nights Worth It, One Candy Bar at a Time

This is why you have children. And keep them, even though you didn't get more than 43 minutes of sleep cumulative during their first year of life. Not only are they cute all dressed up, but they bring you home piles of candy. (And eventually they go to bed and stop telling you which ones you can't have.)

Megan originally wanted to be an angel, and I was cool with that, but when I got to the fabric store, I got a headache from trying to choose a pattern...and fabrics...and then thinking about sewing it. So I went home, pulled out the Halloween box, and geared myself up for the arduous process of talking Meg into being a witch instead (Emma's costume from 2006). I barely had part of the hat out of the box, and was saying, "How about instead..." and she said, "Ok! I'll be a witch!" Easier than it should have been, but I ain't complaining. Not two minutes later, she asked, "And do I get to wear a wig?" Honey, you just saved me from countless hours of sewing/cussing (they are one and the same for me), you can wear anything on your head that you want!

She also liked getting to wear lipstick. Fancy!

Emma originally wanted to be a mobster, like Jake, but again my inability to wrap my head around how to make that happen led me to the dress-up box and Jessica's costume from 2006. It was again a lot easier than it could have been. The thing that sealed the deal was the same thing that convinced Jess to go along with this costume option--the magic words: "I'll let you wear make-up."

This was, however, a tactical error on Emma's part. Now that we know what she looks like in make-up, it will never happen for her in real life. And she's likely to spend the rest of her formative years locked in her room.

Seriously! Who looks good in purple eyeshadow?!? Apparently Emma.

And she owes her Grandpa Lewis a thank you note pronto for passing on the genetics behind those eyelashes.

Jacob took some time settling on a costume, but when he did, he put it together himself really quickly. All I had to do was get him a hat. Thank you for making my life easier, Jake.

I think this was his favorite part:

And Sam. Oh Sam. This poor child has no recollection whatsoever of anything Halloween, so any discussion of the holiday only led to fits. Any and all suggestions for costumes were met with the scream, "I be NOTHING for Halloween!" Even the purchase of a Lightning McQueen treat bucket and the promise of lots of candy did nothing (nor did the threat of no costume = no candy)(who's kid is he, anyway? sooooo not mine). And then last week he told me that he wanted to be his daddy. Hallelujah that worked. (Also hallelujah that my friend across the street already had the uniform, so I didn't have to go buy one!)(Though I would have, and happily, just because he had finally agreed to something!)

So here is Captain Lewis in miniature:

And no, the boy never holds still. In that second picture there, he's saluting, in case you can't tell. Which, I totally couldn't. Jake had to tell me that's what it was. He's also saying "Sir, Yes, Sir!" According to Jake, the salute was Sam's idea, but he taught Sam to say that.

And now Jessica. The thing that kicked this whole costume off was the gift (after hearing that Jess wanted to be an 80s chick) of authentic. electric blue. spandex. stirrup pants from my friend Holly's vintage clothing and accessories shop on Etsy. And then it just snowballed. I may have had a little too much fun with it.

Yes, that hair is all hers. And no, I never wore it like that. I will admit to having some, er, height to my bangs, but I never did succumb to the width.

 

Copping a little 80s attitude. The only discernible difference between that and the '09 attitude is the hair. And the pants. Also the eyeshadow.

 

You should know that the bow came from the underskirt of a Belle costume that I stole out of the dress-up box. I needed something to keep Jess from being overtaken by the hair, and it was a stroke of pure genius. 

 

And here they are all together:

 

You knew Lightning would make an appearance at some point, right?)

Happy Halloween!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARA!

Today marks the annual celebration of the day Sara was born.  I count that day as the beginning of the very best part of my life.  Everyone who knows me knows that Sara is the best part of my life.

Sara, I wish I could be there in person to celebrate with you.  You know how I feel, and that I will be thinking of you all day.  Have a great birthday and know that I love you and miss you!

From Afghanistan with Love,


Kevan

Brainwashing Your Way to a Happy Childhood

A couple of weeks ago on a Wednesday night after we dropped our older kids off at the church for a service project, Andrea and I took our younger kids to the San Clemente Pier so she could help me give my kids the illusion that I'm a fun mom. See, if you let the kids do something on a weeknight that's more than just the usual of homework, chores, and playing somewhere quietly enough so Mom can pretend like she's all alone (in theory, that is; I have absolutely no personal experience with that one), then the kids will think you're super rad. Also, if you take enough pictures of the event and then refer to it often enough, eventually you can crowd out all the memories of the normal weeknights, and your kids will think their childhoods were nothing but non-stop fun. It's a long-term project, but you gotta keep the big picture in mind.

We got to the pier just as the sun was hitting the horizon, so I tried to get some pictures of the children with the sun behind them. Honestly, I'm surprised even one of them stopped when I said, "Turn around and smile!" I love how both Emmas are in full sprint mode.

I did get them to stop long enough to get this pic, but barely. Their expressions just kill me though.

...And they're off!

So I tried to get a picture of the sun/what was left of the sun. Kevan, I am not. And in case I haven't mentioned it before, be aware that the picture quality is going to go waaay down for another 6 months or so. Sorry. You're just lucky I'm not using my phone to take these.

My cute girlies:

Maggie and Not-My-Emma:

They whole way down the pier, the kids would climb up on the railing, look down at the water...

...and then take off running again. This is Sam, trying to catch up:

So if you're ever interested in taking a picture of Sam, here's a hint: instead of telling him to say, "Cheese," have him say, "Lightning McQueen!" It has about the same effect, smile-wise, but makes him a whole lot happier. See? (No guarantee it will make him look at the camera though.)

Another shot of all of them. Like herding cats, I tell you.

Sam, peering through the slats.

And my sweet Emma Grace with the pier and San Clemente behind her.

There's this little statue guy there, advertising fishing pole rentals (I don't quite get the Italian-guy-chef-deal connection to fishing poles, but whatevah), and Spencer (who, for those of you who have never met him, is Sam's doppelganger; sometimes Andrea and I have to check their faces to make sure we don't leave with the wrong boy) thought he was pretty darn great.

I imagine it will be no surprise to anyone who has even a passing acquaintance with Maggie that this was her reaction to the fishing pole man:

I promise you, Kevan did not take this next picture. Even I get lucky sometimes and get the perfect shot. These girls have known each other since they were toddlers, so you can imagine how much fun they have together. I'm a little proud of myself for capturing the moment so well. Never mind that I was hanging half off the pier. Totally worth the risk of death.

Down at the end, there were several fishermen, and the kids were fascinated with them. As a side note, you should know that one of them totally looked exactly like the Gorton's Fisherman (I hear you should trust him), and Andrea and I really wanted to get his picture, but it seems that in America it's not all that normal to whip out your camera and take pictures of anything that amuses me. Go figure. I even tried to use our old Egypt standby of having someone stand near what I want to take a picture and make it look like I'm taking a picture of them when in fact I'm getting the funny thing behind them, but alas, again with the kids and the running off and the not coming back. So just try to use your imagination. He was awesome. Anyway. Like I said, the kids, they liked them the fishermen. Megan even offered to watch some of their lines for them. She's generous like that.

This next series is pretty bad photography, but it cracks me up, so you get to see it. I was asking Sam who his best buddy is, and he was answering, "Spencer" (or "Thpenthew," as a more accurate representation of his pronunciation would be), not realizing that Spence was right behind him, mugging it up.

And here he had caught on that Spencer was back there, and was motioning backwards and saying, "Him!"

And then...he turned around and shoved him out of the way. Best buddies for sure.

This is my attempt at being artsy-fartsy. If I ever get around to reading the manual, I might find that there's actually a setting for that.

And Mags, next to one of her beloved fishing poles.

Pity Blogging

So apparently all it takes to get me to get back around to blogging now and then is to have my husband ship off to Afghanistan. I'm sure if you had known that, you would have tried to persuade the Marine Corps to send him off months ago.

With him gone and not seeing the kids every day like I am, I figured I'd maybe put up some pictures and stories every now and then so that he can get an idea of what's going on with our lives.

He hasn't been gone all that long yet, and we haven't really done much of anything, but I do have two things to share.

First, I will give you a picture without a story, other than to tell you it's from the morning he left:

And now I'll leave you with a story without a picture:

Tonight as he was getting ready for bed, Sam came out of the bathroom in his all-together, singing (to the tune of Beyonce's Single Ladies)(and remember, he has a lisp), "All da naked Thammieth, all da naked Thammieth..."

Addendum

I found this picture of the actual hand-shaking on Jessie's friend's Facebook page.
Jess has no recollection of it, but I'm pretty sure he's telling her to work hard in school and always obey her parents (and there may have been mention of bringing her mother bon-bons and fanning her with palm fronds, but I could be wrong).