Felix is Five

When the Primary sang to Felix a couple of weeks ago, the leader who announced birthdays said, "And you may not believe it, but Felix is going to be five!" Felix very quickly added, "Yeah, you can't believe it because I look like a three-year-old!" Most of his clothes are size 3T, some are still 2T. He still rides in a car seat and isn't even tall enough for a booster. He's just a scrawny guy.

In the last year, Felix got tubes in his ears, 

became a big brother again, and

finished three-year-old preschool and started four-year-old preschool.

Felix loves to be outside, and usually enjoys going on walks in the gardens and going on hikes. This summer while Eric was out of town, Felix frequently took it upon himself to go cut flowers for me and put them in vases (something Eric usually does). He loves hugs and kisses and is a very affectionate child.

He has a great sense of humor and has a terrific belly laugh. He also has a terrific temper and is working on learning to handle his emotions.

 Felix favorites:

• color: golden
• movie: Planes: Fire and Rescue
• food: probably pizza
• places: the dinosaur museum, the Bean Museum
• music: I Am the Tiger (Eye of the Tiger); Lord of the Rings soundtrack; 1812 Overture; Slave March; New World Symphony; Gethsemane

Felix has become quite the social butterfly and constantly wants to play with friends. Although there are many kids his age on our street, he usually asks me if he can play with their older siblings. We frequently have conversations like this:

Felix: Can I play with Justin? [Age 8.]

Me: Don't you want to play with Paul? [Justin's four-year-old brother]

Felix: No, I want to play with Justin.

We do this with other sibling combos including: Ricky (6)/Ella (5); McKenzie (8)/Archie (4); Presley (6)/Bridger (5). I am working on getting him to accept the fact that he is not as old as he'd like to be. But I also understand where he's coming from. I always thought my older brother's friends were just awesome.

Right now, Felix starts many conversations with, "You know what? Guess what." He leaves no room between the question and the statement.

Sometimes he can be really helpful. I usually will not let him go play with friends without first doing some chores, so he'll approach me with, "Mom, what's my job?" When I give him a job, half the time he's okay with it, and about half the time he balks that it's too hard or he can't do it by himself.

With Ike in school all day now (instead of just half days like last year), Felix and Trixie have become better buddies. She still is not very good at playing with other kids, but Felix is becoming more patient with her and learning better how he can play with her without her ruining his schemes.

For Felix's birthday we grabbed a pizza and headed for a picnic near the dinosaur museum. On the way, Eric asked Felix what music he'd like to listen to, and he declared without hesitation, "New World Symphony." His one gift request was for a fidget spinner, and we obliged. When we had our family party for him, he chose rice and lentils for our meal.

One of our family traditions is to go to Cold Stone the Monday after a birthday to get ice cream (using a buy-one-get-one coupon). The birthday person gets to choose one flavor and mix-in, and Eric and I get to choose the other. The kids always want cotton candy ice cream, much to mine and Eric's dismay. This time Eric told Felix that he should try the green cotton candy ice cream (actually pistachio), and Felix said he preferred it to the blue. Eric can outsmart a five-year-old! Now, if only we could teach him that gummy bears are a terrible mix-in for ice cream.

Ike and Felix Speak (But Mostly Felix)

It's been a while since I posted about the funny things my kids have said. It's too bad, because they say funny things a lot.

Me: Felix, on Sunday you will be a Sunbeam and go to Primary with the big kids! Are you glad you are a Sunbeam now?
Felix: Yeah, and I'm a child of God!

Referring to a picture of Stormtroopers.
Felix: Look! It's the white Dark Vaders!

Felix: Mom, are you going the speed lemon?
Me: Yes, I am.
Ike: You have to go the speed limit or else you will go to jail.
Me: Well, I'd get a ticket. You have to do something pretty bad to go to jail.
Ike: Yeah, like destroying the whole world. Mom, if somebody ruined everything in the world, Heavenly Father would have to make a new one.

On a few occasions, when Felix is upset that I'm not letting him what he wants:
Felix: Mom, you are naughty, and Santa isn't going to bring you any toys!

Me: You're a sweet little boy.
Felix: You're a sweet big mom.
Pause.

Felix: No, no, I not a little boy. I'm a big boy. I'm a sweet big boy.

Everything Felix likes is "special."

We had some rice that got some bugs in it, so I'd have to pick the bugs out before I cooked it.
Me: Felix, we need to go make rice.
Felix: Yes! Let's make bug rice! But you can take out the bugs.

Felix cut his finger somehow.
Me: How did you cut your finger?
Felix: Ike was fighting and then he gave me blood. And I don't like the blood.

In general, we still hear a lot of messed up pronunciations and incorrect conjugations from both boys, especially "hitted," "putted" (not what you do in golf), and "hurted."

Felix let go of a balloon in our stairwell, out of my reach.
Felix: Uh oh. The balloon is up there. You can't get it because you don't have wings.

Felix: Can we listen to Primary music?
Me: Sure, what song do you want to hear?
Felix: Songs about Rainbows because I love that song, and it's a special song, and it's my favorite song.
We then listened to Kermit sing "Why Are There So Many Songs About Rainbows" on Spotify.

We lost power for a few hours in early December. It was a good chance to teach the boys about all the things in our house powered by electricity. Felix absolutely sobbed when he learned the Christmas lights on the tree couldn't be on until the power came back. It was incredibly sweet.

Another instance of Felix being sweet - in late December I took Trixie for her 4-month checkup and shots, and Ike for his five-year. Both kids cried when they got shots, and Felix almost cried while watching them.

Pregnancy Brain

I don't feel like I've really had "pregnancy brain" with the first two, but I'm definitely feeling it this time. Generally I think "pregnancy brain" is not a fair description. I think the symptoms are caused more by lack of sleep  than anything else. There's also the general malaise of pregnancy that can make a person lose focus, and the fact that sometimes it is just really challenging to focus on anything besides the things that make you feel ill. With all that said, here are a few instances of my pregnancy brain:

• I sat down for choir practice before church and realized I was wearing slippers. (Good thing we live in Utah and the church is a two-minute drive away.)
• I sent my husband a text message intended for my brother.
• I sat down to write this blog post about my numerous pregnancy brain experiences and now cannot recall any more examples. How fitting.

Toddler Talk

My boy's ability to speak in somewhat coherent sentences really took off in about May. I'm finally getting around to posting some funny things he's said:

After leaving him playing with a cup of water at the bathroom sink:
"Hi Mom! I brush teeth!"
"You brushed your teeth? Oh dear. How much toothpaste did you use?"
"Um... BIG PIECE!!!!!"

After handing me an inflated ball, "Mom, blow it down." (He wanted me to deflate it.)

"Mom, I stand wight here and watch you," (as he pulled a chair up to the island to watch me cook).
"Okay, sweetheart."
"Sweetheart? Heart? Heart? Heart?"

I showed him a pastry knife and asked him if he could remember its name. Then I reminded him it was a pastry knife. "A pastry knife? No, a pastry MEAN!"
(The great thing about this is I'm pretty sure he knows "nice" and "knife" are different words, so he totally created a word-joke out of it.)

"The moon! Hi moon! How are you, moon?"

"Look mom, the sun! Hi sun! Sun so nice, mom!"
I'm not sure why he's so interested in the sun and the moon, but he is.

After Eric did something nice for me, "Thank, you're a gem."
"Jim?"
"No, gem. Like a diamond or a ruby."
"Boobie????"
And then he walked away without an explanation from me. I don't know what he thinks a ruby or a boobie is now. The word "boobie" is not one we use around here.

Bad Apples

I'm not crazy about apples. Actually, I like a really good, juicy, sweet, crispy apple. But it's hard to tell from the outside what kind of apple it's going to be. Usually I only eat an apple if Eric cuts one up and shares it with me. I just hate to bite into one and then be disappointed, you know? Apparently a certain toddler in our household feels the same way.

Virtuous Pet Names.

My friend got a canary for Mother's Day. When I asked her what she planned to name it, she said she wanted to give it a name that would remind her son to behave. Something like, "Don't Say Potty Words." Or "Be Obedient."

If our family were to get a pet and name it some sort of quasi-virtue name, these would be on our list of possibliities:

• Don't Run Away. (Either that, or Stay By Mom and Dad.)
• No Shouting.
• No Hitting. Or Kicking. Or Biting. (That's a new, really weird thing he's been doing.)
• Take It Easy.
• Don't Stand on Mom's Feet.
• Eat Your Dinner.
• Don't Throw Toys Down the Stairs.
• Put It Back.
• It's Okay. He's Just A Little Baby.

If you were to name a pet some with a name that serves as a reminder to your children, what would it be?

Adventures in a Toddler Bed

A couple of weeks ago I went in to check on Ike and to change his diaper before I went to bed, which is something we do basically every night. I found him stark naked and curled into a ball in his crib. It was hilarious, but only because he had not made any sorts of messes in his naked state.

The next morning I was feeding Felix in my bed when I heard the pitter patter of Ike running down the hall and into a room. He entered with great triumph, arms spread wide and declared, "TA-DA!"

That afternoon we tried to put him down for a nap, and as soon as Eric left the room, Ike followed him. After that, Eric observed Ike as he climbed out of the bed. It was apparent that the crib would no longer contain him. That day the crib morphed into a toddler bed, and we placed a child-lock on the inside handle of Ike's doorknob so he couldn't get out. With great skill he got the child-lock off the doorknob and came darting out of his room again. Clearly, he was quite proud of himself. (The crazy thing about the whole crib situation is that he sleeps on the floor at his babysitter's house, and he stays on the floor in his designated spot without any reminders from his babysitter. Not only that, but even after he wakes up he stays in his spot until she comes to get him.)

That evening Eric outsmarted the toddler by taping up the childlock so Ike couldn't get it off his door. He was trapped in his room.*

Since then, he has fallen asleep on the floor for pretty much every nap and every bedtime. Each night in addition to changing his diaper, we also move him to his bed.

Twice he has fallen out of his bed. On one of those occasions when Eric went to help him he found Ike, disoriented, trying to crawl under his bed. I once came upon him on the floor, after having put him in his bed. His legs were under his bed, and his head was out in the open.

On Sunday night Eric found him sleeping in his laundry basket, with his legs hanging out. That's the best one so far. Since then he learned to use his laundry basket as a stool to enable him to reach his light switch. With the lights on he was free to play in his room endlessly. Obviously the laundry basket has been moved to Felix's room since that occasion.

I imagine that one of these days he'll choose to sleep in his bed, but I'm not counting on it being any time soon.

*Yes, we now regularly lock our child in his room. It is an effective way to get him to go to sleep. If you think this makes us monstrous parents, then you are entitled to that opinion, but I don't need to hear about it.

Language Development

I wish I had taken a class on language development in children while I was in college. I find it so interesting and amusing to watch Ike's language skills advance. Anyone have some book recommendations on the topic?

One of my favorite things about Ike at his current age is the way he talks. Sometimes it's frustrating trying to decipher what he's trying to say, but for the most part I love it. I am amazed at all the things he can say, and I love the way his tones and inflections often mimic the way that Eric and I talk to him.

I also love to work with him on his pronunciation. It usually goes a lot like this:

"Ike, say 'grandpa.'"

"Bampa."

"Say 'gr, gr, gr, grandpa.'"

"Baaaaammmmmmpa."

"Say 'grandma great.'"

"Gr-great."

"Good! Now say 'GRandpa.'"

"Bampa."

"Ike, say 'milk.'"

"Nyope!"

"Say 'mama.'"

"Mama."

"Good, say 'more.'"

"Mur."

"Say 'mouse.'"

"Mose."

"Say 'mess.'"

"Mess."

"Good. Say 'm-m-m-milk.'"

"NNNNNNNNNN-Yope."

"Say 'airplane.'"

"Bearpane."

"Say 'air.'"

"Air"

"Say 'plane.'"

"Pane."

"Say 'airplane.'"

"Bearpane."

Elf Ear

My baby has an elf ear. Is it not the most adorable abnormality you've ever seen?

Obviously we'll need to dress him up appropriately this Christmas.

Au Natural

About a month ago I was listening to Pandora (Internet radio, for the uninitiated). Pandora is funded by playing ads periodically throughout the music, and generally they try to target the ads based on what you've stated as your geographic location, gender and age. I've been disappointed in the ads that are played most often for me. Generally they are for products or services I'm not remotely interested in, and sadly, there isn't a way for me to tell Pandora that they've pegged me incorrectly. (I really like that Hulu has a little button in the corner where you can indicate whether or not an ad is relevant to you.) The most annoying thing about Pandora ads is the overabundance of McDonald's commercials. I hate McDonald's commercials even more than I hate their food, so these are particularly aggravating to me.

But nothing can quite top the advertisements for a nearby clinic/spa place that features "natural" breast augmentation. My initial thought when these ads started playing for me was to question how "natural" any breast augmentation really is. Let's be realistic. The most natural thing for my breasts to do is to do whatever they do after I breastfeed a few kids for a year a piece. That's natural. Doing anything else to them is not natural. I'm not saying I'm necessarily opposed to women who do choose to have breast augmentation procedures. I just question whether any sort of intentional changes to what the body would actually do if left alone can be called natural. I do not think the two ideas are compatible.

Second, I am bothered by our obsession with natural things. Not everything in nature is good for you body, and yet, when marketing folks use phrases like "all-natural" something in our brains makes us think the product must be good for us. Poison ivy is natural. Rattlesnake venom is natural. Molten lava occurs naturally. And yet, I do not want any of these things in my body.

Fuzzy Memories

A real conversation Eric and I had this morning:

Eric: Hey, Ike is 19 months old today!
Me: Oh, is it the sixth?
Eric: No, it's the seventh. I guess it was yesterday.
Me: I'm sorry I didn't provide you with an easier date to remember. [Referring to the fact that our boy was born one day ahead of the anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor.] I guess I should have let my labor last a few more hours.
Eric: Yeah, like 11 more hours.
Me: What? No, only like 5.
Eric: He was born at like 1 in the afternoon.
Me: No, he wasn't. He was born at like 7 at night.
Eric: Was it really that late? I didn't think it lasted that long.

I then told him that I knew it was pretty late because by the time I was all finished up the kitchen was closed so my dinner consisted of a packed lunch rather than a hot meal. He seemed to not remember that at all. I am glad to think that the day flew by for him. It should be a good sign regarding how he feels about accompanying me through the birth of this next kid.

Salads

One of the things you learn very quickly if you live in Utah is that folks here like Jello. It is frequently referred to as "salad."

I've recently been given a stack of recipe cards that belonged to Eric's maternal grandmother. She died when Eric's mom was just a baby, so whether these were her favorite, tried and true recipes, or simply a stack of cards that were given and exchanged at a women's group and then stored in a kitchen drawer indefinitely, we may never know. (Actually, this is now on my list of questions to ask as soon as I die.)

At any rate, they certainly provide a humorous glimpse at the culinary styles of Utah women in the 1950s. The stack is large and comprised primarily of casseroles (with nearly every casserole being held together with cream of something soup), desserts, and "salads."

I am not a fan of Jello. The texture is totally weird to me, and I avoid eating it when I can. (Twice since my moving to Utah in 2003 I have been served Jello directly on my plate and have been obligated to eat it. Once was on Easter at Janssen's grandparents' house, and the other time was on Thanksgiving at Eric's aunt and uncle's house. I survived both times.)

I couldn't resist perusing the Jello recipes and seeing what kind of cooky concoctions these women liked.

This one caught my eye because it is called Waldorf Salad. Only, it has Jello and bananas in it in addition to the traditional celery, apple, whipped cream and nuts. I suppose it is reasonable as a fruit salad recipe, but it certainly is not a traditional Waldorf salad.

The most classic crazy Jello recipe stories usually involve carrots. This one has shredded carrots and pineapple. This is of course not something that really appeals to me, but I suppose I can see how some might find it appealing.

This next one is a strange mixture of sweet and savory. Who wouldn't want to eat finely chopped cucumber and celery mixed with lime Jello prepared with pineapple juice?

But of course, things are getting weirder. Make lemon Jello with hot chicken soup or chicken gumbo soup. Then add diced celery, chopped nuts and flaked tuna. Yum!

If tuna isn't your protein of choice, you can always try a variation that uses lemon Jello, made with (I assume beef) broth, celery, bell pepper, onion and corned beef. I do not make this up, folks. It is for real.

 

Next time I'm asked to bring a salad to a pot-luck sort of function, it will be hard to know which one to choose. I can assure you that whichever one I do choose, I'll take a picture so you can pin it on Pinterest and add it to your "Looks SOOOOOO YuMmY!!!111!!!" board.

Two March Madness Tidbits

The First:

A bona fide email exchange I had this week with RA (Shared without permission - hope it's okay!), following my comment on her post about March Madness:

Me: [. . .] I do not know what possessed me to pick Wichita to go to the Final Four. Yes I do, it was a comment I heard on NPR. But I was only half-listening so it's entirely possible the guy was kidding about them. [. . .]

RA:  Oh, dear, if we heard the same thing on NPR, it was that Wichita State's mascot is a stalk of wheat... :(

Me: Now that you mention it, it was definitely that. Dumbdumbdumb. Then again, I have Ohio State as my champ in my work bracket, and their mascot is a buckeye. 

 I think this is the first time ever that NPR has gotten me into trouble.

The Second:

At our weekly operations meeting at work on Tuesday a few of us were discussing our in-office bracket contest, of which I was at that time tied for first place. I explained to my colleagues that I mostly go by the numbers and choose a few upsets based on whether or not I know people who attended those schools. I couldn't even remember anything about my work bracket besides the fact that I had selected Ohio State as the ultimate victor. Really, I just like to do well in March Madness because I enjoy being right. There's not much more to it.

Then a new fellow chimed in asking if March Madness was something our office did every year. We said that last year was really the first year that we started. Then he asked something to the effect of, "So what are you guessing?" And then a colleague explained to him what March Madness was, and he had never heard of it before. I was dumbfounded. And then the meeting started and I totally forgot to talk to my other co-workers about how that one new guy didn't know what March Madness was. I'll have to put that at the top of my list for the next time I'm in the office.

(Non-Americans, it is okay if you don't know what March Madness is. It's the American college basketball single-elimination tournament that starts with 64 teams and eventually ends in one. It happens in March. It is fun to participate because any nimrod can fill out a bracket.)

Mix-up

I've spent a few days trying to decide the best way to write this post. I think no matter how I tell it it will be funny, but I'm sure there would be one way that would make it the most funny. In any event, here you go:

Back in 2008 when we lived in New Zealand, I got an idea that I thought was both clever and hilarious. I opened up Eric's email account and sent an email to myself. (We used the same computer, and generally we just operated different browsers so neither one of us would ever have to log out of our email or other accounts. We are lazy like that.) The email said something like, "I love it when you tickle me. Love, Eric." Then, I went into my email and replied to the email that Eric had sent me. (Of course, he didn't send the email at all.) So, Eric received my reply, and of course was a little confused about when he had ever sent the first email. But he's no dummy, and he figured things out pretty quickly. Still, it gave me the opportunity to tickle him and tell him and that I didn't understand why he wouldn't want me to tickle him after his email had said how much he liked it. (Eric's very ticklish. In case you hadn't figured that out.)

Fast forward to last Sunday.

Our camera cord has been missing for a year, so we use Eric's work laptop, which he brings home periodically, to get the pictures off our camera card. I was working on the desktop in our office, and he was working on his laptop, also in the office. For some reason he wasn't able to get his computer to read the SD card, so he handed me his laptop. I was able to get it to work, and I pulled off the few photos that were on the card. Eric's email account was open, so I attached the pictures to an email to send to myself. I included with the photos a message that said, "Feel free to tickle me any time." I rather mindlessly typed the first couple of letters of my name into the "to" field, hit the down arrow to select my name and then hit send.

I handed Eric his computer and said, "You should look at your sent mail." About 10 seconds later he said, "No, I think you should look at my sent mail."

I had not selected my own name in the "to" field. I had selected my sister-in-law, Shalissa's name. (She is married to Eric's brother, so our last names are the same.) So, Eric's brother's wife received an email with pictures of our child (not too odd) and a message that said, "Feel free to tickle me any time." (Very odd.)

We laughed so hard that I cried. Then I quickly jotted off a little email to Shalissa letting her in on the little joke and revoking any permission Eric may have ever given her to tickle him.

Backhanded Compliment

There is somebody I work with who does not work in my office. She used to work in another local office but then got transferred within the company to a location out of state. When she still worked in the state she would spend one or two days per week in our office. She was transferred around April, which was right around the time that I went from working full-time to working part-time. It was also around the time that Ike got laid off.

So, we hadn't seen much of each other for a few months. As I said in my post about Ike's lay-off, going from full-time to part-time was a good change for me. It created a much better balance in my life. One of the effects was that I started consistently trying to look nice at work - a thing I'd pretty much given up on at the end of my pregnancy and in Ike's early months when I was too tired and too rushed to really make attempts at doing my hair and make-up. Those were the months when this colleague had most recently been around me consistently, and I'm sure those images of me were the ones that were clearest in her mind because they were the freshest.

That was all the back-story. Here is the story:

This colleague was holding a training meeting that everyone in my office needed to attend. For some reason I was late to the training meeting, so I popped in about 10 minutes after it had started and took a seat toward the back - maybe about 20 feet away from the front of the room.

After the meeting the colleague said to me, "You look really good! I didn't even recognize you when you first came in."

I was a little taken aback. I said, "Wow, I must have looked really bad those first few post-baby months." Admittedly, this was not the best way for me to respond to my colleague's compliment. Then again, her compliment was not very tactful.

She then realized how badly her compliment came off, and we both kind of laughed it off and she gave me more compliments on losing baby weight and we chatted about life after having a baby and other things.

This exchange has left me thinking a lot about things that come out of our mouths in ways we did not intend at all. Anyone willing to share some examples?

Football Clothes

Eric has been playing flag football with the guys in the ward. (And by "has been" I mean that he played once early in the season and didn't play again until last week.) Today they have a game, and depending on the results of that game, they may play in the championships. (These guys mean business, apparently.)

As Eric busied himself getting ready this morning, he couldn't find a pair of matching gloves. We have countless gloves in the house, but they seemed to be spread among several places, and I haven't gotten our winter wear organized yet this year. I managed to find him a matching set, then I went off to do my own thing. (Make a Christmas, gift, actually. One day I'll post about it.)

A few minutes later I saw Eric all decked out his in warm active wear with a hat. He doesn't wear winter hats too often. I think it's because his head is kind of big, but I'm not sure really. I commented to him that his hat looked kind of silly, and maybe it was because his head is so large. (This is something I tease him about fairly often. And teasing is just part and and parcel to being married to me.) He was looking for his gloves - the ones I had handed to him only a few minutes prior. He kept muttering, "Where are those gloves?" I told him I didn't know where they were and maybe he should replace his hat because it seriously was looking really odd and pointy at the top.

He meandered into the hallway still looking around for those gloves, took his hat off, and said, "Oh, they were in my hat. That's why my hat looked funny."

How to Survive a Bad Day

Twice in the last week or so people have blogged about topics that I plan on blogging about. I will not be deterred. I will blog these same topics too!

If you don't read Miss Nemesis, you should. If you do read her but were too lazy to watch the Guy On A Buffalo YouTube videos that she linked to last week, you need to get with it. (Or maybe you didn't think they would be particularly funny. You were wrong. See, second opinion that they are hilarious. Actually, they were sent to me and Eric by our brother-in-law, so there's your third opinion. And Eric makes four. Just watch them, already.) Look, I've even embedded them:

And just to reiterate, I had planned on blogging about the hilarity of these videos before Miss Nem. She's just a less lazy blogger than I am, so she beat me to the punch.

Also, these videos were the only thing that got Ike and me through The First Tooth. It was a beast.

Eric Humor

We get a lot of door-to-door salesman in our neighborhood. I'm kind of ready for winter so they will go away. One time Eric answered the door to somebody selling lawn care services. Eric told the girl that we didn't need any, thanks. She looked at our yard and then looked back at Eric and said, "Are you sure?" That was pretty rude. (Although our yard isn't really top notch.)

Tonight somebody came by, and I listened to a conversation that went like this:

Salesman: Hello, are you the man of the house?
Eric: Yes.
Salesman: Okay, I'm with Suchandsuch Pest Control, and...
Eric: I'm just going to go ahead and stop you right there. We're really not interested, but thanks for coming by.
Salesman: Okay, so do you already have pest control services you are working with?
Eric: No, we just like bugs.
Salesman: Okay, have a great night!

I thought I was going to die of laughter. But the thing is some of our neighbors have told us that they've seen black widows and brown recluses around their homes. I've also noticed a number of spiders in our garden as I've watered and weeded. I mentioned this to Eric, and he replied, "We can't afford to not get bitten by spiders."

Then, later we watched Man On Wire, a documentary about a French dude who tight-rope walked/danced/partied between the twin towers in the 1970s. It's a moderately interesting story, but the French people were just so obnoxious. We could barely stand to listen to them, particularly the main guy. When the movie was over, Eric said, "I wish Germany would invade France again."

So there you go. My husband is funny.

Bad Witness

Last week, this happened:That's not our car, but that is our driveway. The car is our neighbor's, and the fire started spontaneously. Somehow as the fire started the car began rolling slowly forward and continued until the front tire exploded. Nobody was injured, but the car was totaled (obviously). We only knew about the fire because the boom from the tire explosion was so loud Eric had me pause the movie we were watching to find out what was going on. Then he shouted at me to get the camera.

But this post isn't really about the car on fire. It's about what a terrible witness I would be. Here's the thing, as we went outside, we saw many other neighbors gathering on the sidewalk to watch the spectacle. At that point, we didn't know whose car it was. Since it was right next to our house, people assumed it was ours, but we told them it wasn't. People then asked if it belonged to the Cook* family who live immediately to the north of us. I told people that I didn't think it was theirs. In fact I said, "Well, the Cooks have a similar car, but theirs is a two-door, and that one's a four-door, so I don't know whose that is."

You're thinking, "Hey, Sherry, don't sweat it. The Cooks park their car in the garage every day, and you spend most your time in your house anyway. You aren't expected to know the make and model of all your neighbors' cars." Only, the thing is, the Cooks DON'T park that car in the garage every day. They park it in the street along the curb. I work from home three days a week. The office faces the street. Therefore, I had stared at the car countless times while spending time in the office. And I still didn't recognize it as the neighbor's car when it was on fire.

And that is why I would make a terrible eye-witness.

*Name has been changed.

Facebook Tagging

I have been told that Ike looks just like me about as often as I have been told he looks just like Eric. Usually the people who tell me he looks just like Eric are more firm in their opinions than the people who say he looks just like me. A handful of people tell me that he is a healthy mix.

Last week I uploaded a handful of photos of Ike to Facebook. If you aren't aware, Facebook now will attempt to identify and tag the people in your photos for you so you don't have to do it manually. Sometimes Facebook gets it right - sometimes Facebook gets it wrong.

I was pleased to see this suggestion when the tagging stage began:
Of course, there was also a photo of Ike that Facebook suggested I tag as my friend, Jennifer. So maybe Facebook isn't all-knowing after all.