There are 10 types of people in this world...

...those who understand binary, and those who don't. -unknown

Don't comment and tell me there are typos in that last sentence.
If you do, I rest my case.

We all know that Cash is an evil genius. When he was 18-months-old he earned himself a nickname, C.A.S.H., a moniker created by his never-cursing father that starts with capital "C" crazy and ends with a donkey and a poo-noggin. I don't want to curse on here for all my posterity to see.

Anyway, I've noticed some interesting drawings popping up around my home.
Like on my white french doors.

And on the basement wall.


I was about to accuse Finn of defiling my home, seeing that the inscriptions are clearly crude ones and zeroes. But then I stumbled upon this...

...in the hands of this...


When I asked him what he was doing he said,"I'm trying to change the world, but I don't have the source code." ;)

I mustache you a question...

...aren't you glad it's Friday?

It was on my fifth birthday that Papa put his hand on my shoulder and said...

...Remember, my son, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm. -Sam Levenson

Finn turned 5.
Pretty big deal in our house; you are kindergarten age, you are out of the oral stage, you can use the microwave.
He can pretty much do every chore on the chore list...I love it!



Finn wanted an "Angry Birds" party. Pappy exposed the boys to the game while Josh and I were in Hawaii. You see, my mother who is usually the boss when we are gone had to make an emergency trip to Arizona, leaving Pappy in charge. He did great, but in a moment of desperation downloaded the game onto his Mac, iPad and iPhone. That way all three boys could have a go. We came home and not only are the boys addicted but Pappy is as well.

Anyway, Finn loves it. I wish you could hear how he says "Angry Birds" it's pretty cute. He got to invite friends, pretty scary for the little boy who only wants to play with his brothers. But in the end he loved it and it was good for him to stretch his friendship making skills.



Oh, and I forgot to mention that it was Finn's golden birthday!








Golden bedroom explosion...check!
5 Golden wrapped birthday presents...check!
Golden Elton John sunglasses...check!
Golden onion ring tower from "The Robin"...check!

Happy Golden Birthday Finnegan!

Divas are not made...

...they're born. -unknown

I haven't been blessed with a little girl.
And no, there was no sarcasm in my voice when I said "blessed."

I always knew I would be a mother of boys. That doesn't mean I would've minded a sweet little girl to temper my rambunctious brood. But, she probably wouldn't have been sweet, she probably would've been a diva. Especially coming at the end of 3 boys. She would have been spoiled, and the worst offender would most definitely have been Josh. So, most of the time I am happy I never had a little girl (and don't say "it's not too late" cause Josh already had the "snip snip" so unless it's immaculate conception, we're done).

And of course...
I have Cash.
Who, you may not know, is aspiring to be a little girl. Just today he said "when I turn into a girl I am going to paint my nails."

I am not concerned...
...maybe I should be.


This is Cash on Valentine's Day. That is Lila's shirt, see her here. Momo bought her a ruffled cap-sleeve sparkly shirt (that's a lot of adjectives.) Cash threw a fit and wanted to wear it.

Which he did...
...to his preschool party.


This is Cash in his cousin's bow. He wore it all day. Even to the playground.

I don't really mind. I figure it's self-expression. I am sure it bothers Josh. He hasn't expressed concern but here's why I think he's a tad bit worried.

There are a lot of fears for first-time parents. You can take anything as long as the baby is healthy. That's the number one concern. Not for Josh. When we were pregnant with Cole his biggest concern was that Cole was going to be born a hermaphrodite and that we would have to choose. He had it worked out that it would be better to have a masculine little girl so she could get lacrosse scholarships.

So maybe he is worried about his feminine little boy.
Except Cash isn't feminine at all.
He is all-boy.

Climbing, jumping, running, spitting, penis-talk, Star Wars, Ninjago, dogs, outdoors...and pink sparkly hearts. Who said pink sparkly hearts were only for little girls? I love that kid.

We have four boxes with which to defend our freedom...

...the soapbox, the ballot box, the jury box and the cartridge box. -(can't find the original source, lots of people take credit for it. This exact version is from a Georgia politician named Larry McDonald.)

Stepping on soap box.

I cannot take one more commerical about tax preparation. This has nothing to do with taxes. A post about my feelings on taxes and the 60% of the country that doesn't even pay taxes but has the gall to try and dictate how tax money should be spent...well, that is a post for another time.

This is a post about how STUPID Americans can be. This particular commerical, (I don't generally watch commercials but on hulu+ they force you to watch them and you can't skip them, perhaps a future soap box is needed for that topic) features random people shouting out monetary amounts from their windows and front porches. They are excited about their tax refunds and that pisses me off. Why? Because people think the government is giving them an annual bonus! IT'S YOUR MONEY PEOPLE! You are the idiot that gave the government an interest free loan for a year. And I get it, you like the little surprise cash flow to go on a vacation or buy a flat screen tv. But guess what? Even if you would have put that money aside in a simple savings account earning 1% interest you would be better off! I have friends who like the refund because it their forced savings plan that helps them pay off debt. If you're reading this blog I want you to know that while the government was getting your little 0% interest loan, you were paying 15% on your credit card debt.

So this year, use the withholding calculator and change your deductions. Have some discipline and take that money and either invest it or put it toward debt. Until we as American citizens can exercise fiscal responsibility, why should we ever expect our elected politicians to so?

Stepping off soap box.

A child can ask questions...

...a wise man cannot answer. -Unknown

Seriously, these boys have asked me such profound, enlightening, disturbing and puzzling questions. On one hand, I've looked at the world in a way that one can't unless you are Cole, Finn or Cash. On the other, I've had more discussions about bodily functions and said the word "penis" more times than a urologist.

This week Cole and I were having a not-so-fun discussion about his friend Kyson. Kyson tends to get Cole into trouble, so we've been learning a lot about being a leader versus a follower.

ME: If Kyson wants to make a choice that you know is bad, you can still be his friend by suggesting a better alternative. You can lead Kyson to make better choices. (Notice my superior parenting skill of making Kyson's behavior bad and not making Kyson, the boy, bad. Right now I am feeling like a parental guru.)

COLE:(LONG PAUSE) But mom, doesn't that just make Kyson a follower?

ME: (CHOKING ON MY WATER)

COLE: And Jesus is our leader, aren't we still followers?

ME:(LONGER PAUSE)Just drink your milkshake.


I really have no words.


Cole the parental flummoxing mastermind

Sometimes being a brother...

...is even better than being a superhero. -Unknown

I have a little band of brothers under my conductorship.
So, I hope it's true.

Because some days the insults hurled about are simply soul-crushing. What is it about family? You know where it hurts and you have no shame exploiting those weaknesses. I know it's unmotherly of me but I would rather them fist fight then say such terrible things to each other.

Luckily, I have a superior half in this parental battle and he's adamant that these boys will be best friends. And you know what? Sometimes I think it's working.

Yesterday, I was folding laundry on my bed and I heard Cole come in from the school bus. Finn was waiting for him, as usual, he was so excited to show Cole the DS game he had earned. This is where I marvel at little boys, Finn immediately handed the DS to Cole to play. What did Finn do while Cole played? He watched over his shoulder of course.



They stood like this for 35 minutes. I understand the fun for Cole, but where's the enjoyment for Finn. He was just as excited for Cole. Shouting things like "go up there" or "kick that guy's face off."



I finally suggested the boys go sit down and be comfortable.



I had to step over them about 100 times, but at least Finn's cries of "you are so amazing Cole" filled the home with brotherly love.

Ooo eeee ooo...

...I look just like Buddy Holly. -Weezer

Within each of us, ofttimes...

...there dwells a mighty and raging fury.- "The Incredible Hulk" title card.

Pondering Pappy Part 2:

I dont' know if this perplexing behavior is humorous or ornery.

With four adults in the house and three growing boys, we put away a lot of food.
Thank goodness for Costco and their glorious 12 cup bags of cheese and 2lb bags of carrots. I especially appreciate the resealable ziploc tops. Imagine, if you will, lifting a bag of cheese from the fridge. You grab it from where? The top by the ziploc seal right?

MISTAKE.

Chances are, there is a secret hole in the bottom of the bag.



Pappy hates resealable bags. So he rips a hole...
I like to imagine his frustration with the seal looks something like this...



Beware. If you pick up the 12-cup cheese bag from the handy ziploc top, you'll most likely end up with a shredded-cheddar carpet on the floor. Courtesy of the Incredible Hulk-like Pappy.

I love my dad.

Whatever our souls are made of...

...his and mine are the same. -Emily Bronte

Each day, every day, I complete my ensemble with one vital accessory.
Do you know what it is?



A hair tie.
Or two.
On my wrist.
It's a habit.
Even if my hair is already up, I need extra hair ties, just in case.

The other day Josh and I were out, just the two of us. This meant I could have grown-up hair. Long, curly, not in a pony-tail. I felt HOT. Until it was literally hot. Too hot for grown-up hair. Luckily, I had my hair tie wristlet and could sweep my hair off my neck. But alas, the hair tie snapped. Grrr.

"Here," Josh said.
I looked down at his outsretched hand, there in his gorgeous palm was a perfect black hair tie.
I took it gingerly from his rough and callused hand and looked at him quizically.
"Don't worry," he said, "I've an extra if it breaks."
And there, on his wrist was a second hair tie.
I looked up into his beautiful blue eyes and said,
"I love you."

See...soul mates.

All aboard the choo choo train, all aboard the choo choo train...

...all aboard the choo choo train all aboard, all aboard- "Choo Choo Soul" Disney

But we aren't boarding a choo choo train.
Nope.
We're boarding... the tickle train.



I'm not always proud of my mothering abilities. I am proud of my bedtime routine.

Brush teeth (they all share one toothbrush. It's electric. They fight over it. Don't judge, at least they are brushing their teeth).
Pajamas (Cole, puts on workout shorts but then takes them off to sleep only in underwear. Finn sleeps shirtless, even when it's freezing and Cash throws a fit because he doesn't want to change clothes again, so often times he sleeps fully clothed).
Three books (each midget picks one).
Scripture Power (song and then scripture reading).
Family prayers (Cash has said it 7 nights in a row. Why fight it?).
Mommy's one woman show (Three songs. Current playlist: "Ice inside your soul," "Alligator Song," "Hey Jude").

That's it.
Light's out.
But sometimes... they won't simmer down.
So I call everyone to board the tickle train.

The only bummer is that we are a few children short so the train cannot curve back around to reach mommy. So mommy's always the caboose.

Curse you vasectomy.
I needed two more for my tickle train.

Into the great wide open...

...under them skies of blue. -Tom Petty

Did I ever tell you about my first Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers concert?
No?
That's another blog post.


(That's not a cool camera effect, it's me taking a picture through the screen)

The house was quiet and still. As I've told you before, that's a bad thing. It means the kids are doing something NAUGHTY! I went room to room, checking under beds (where I've previously found Cash eating Pappy's Girl Scout cookies), behind sofas (where I've found Cash cutting up $1 bills with safety scissors), and in the food storage room (where I've found Cash unwrapping and licking every sucker in an old Halloween candy bin). Anyway, I was searching and searching and could not find Cash anywhere. I started to panic. I'd looked on the playground and in the sand pit, nada. I walked through Momo's piano room and that's when I spotted him.

Standing quietly on the retaining wall.
Looking far off in the distance at...I don't know what.
His hands were in his pockets.
The wind was rifling his hair.
He looked so small.

Apparently, he was in a contemplative mood because he stood like that for 15 minutes. A very long time in Cash minutes.

I wonder what he was seeing?
I wonder what he was thinking?
I wonder what he was feeling?

I wonder if he knows how much I love his mischievous little face!

Where liberty dwells...

...there is my country. -Benjamin Franklin

I love this country.
So much that it makes me emotional.

I know that people will always remember where they were on 9/11. Will they remember that it was an attack on innocent people NOT on a battlefield of war? Will they remember the men and women who rushed into the burning towers, willing to give their lives for their fellow man? Will they remember how united we stood after an assault on our liberties?

I worry the lessons we could have learned from such a horrendous act may have been lost on many in our great nation. I worry that liberty is fleeting, people are willing to give it up as long as their creature comforts are not forsaken. I worry so much that it makes my stomach sick and I lie awake scared for my children's futures.

It is then I remember to return to my knees. Fervent in prayer, begging my Heavenly Father to protect our nation and the people who crave liberty. I thank my God for blessing me, allowing me to grow up in this incredible country. I ask him to bless my children with the courage to stand for what they know is truth.

I hope you all have had an amazing Patriot's Day. I spent it with my family. Which is exactly what patriots have fought and died for, our families.



These are pictures from our Independence Day 2011. I've been saving them for today. People for whom I'd rush into a burning tower.

A diamond is a chunk of coal...

...made good under pressure. -Henry Kissinger

My Cole is a diamond.
I actually call him our "golden boy" because he just gets it.
And, he can do better/more push ups than most of the men in my aquaintance.
With the exception of his father, which is obviously where he gets it from!





We were on Pearl Street in Boulder after hiking on Labor Day. Pearl Street is famous for their street performers aka hippies that don't want to get jobs or pay taxes but want to tell everyone else who has a job and pays taxes how to spend their money, but I digress. Cole crawled forward to get a front row seat. Seconds later the performer "Peter" pulled Cole from the audience because he liked Cole's faux-hawk. Cole told me afterward that his tummy was full of butterflies. I assured him that everyone feels that way in front of a crowd. He said, "I liked it."

Uh-oh... ...another hippy is born.

Whipped cream isn't whipped cream at all if it hasn't been whipped with whips...

...just like poached eggs isn't poached eggs unless it's been stolen in the dead of the night." —Willy Wonka (Roald Dahl's "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory")

Who doesn't like whipped cream?
My parents' dog, Zeke, loves it.
In fact, our shared fridge can be entirely empty except for 3 cans of Costco-sized whipped cream, exclusively-used for Zeke's 10:00pm snack.

In case you didn't know, we live with my parents. Well... we live together. Last year we bought a home on 13 acres together. It has always been our dream to live on land and doing it in tandem with the folks made that dream a reality. Actually, it's still a dream. It has been amazing having their love and support 24/7. You'll have to ask them if they feel the same way.

Anyway, living together with roommates exposes you to all kinds of new experiences. In fact, the things I've witnessed my parents doing (GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER) have been weird, funny, and heart-warming. I have such a journal of odd behavior, specifically relating to my dad (AKA PAPPY), that I've decided to start a series of post entitled "PONDERING PAPPY." I'll run the series as long as there is material to run.

PONDERING PAPPY: PART 1

Don't you hate when you wake up and pour yourself a bowl of cereal only to realize you're out of milk? I usually pour my cereal back into the box and have eggs or a protein shake.

Not Pappy.
Lack of milk will not stop him from enjoying his cereal.



Yes, that's whipped cream squirted on top of his cereal. He then adds water to thin down the whipped cream.

GROSS OR GENIUS?
I don't know. But you should know this is not the first time I've witnessed Pappy substituting whipped cream in a recipe. I've also seen him using whipped cream as a replacement for Miracle Whip in...wait for it...tuna salad.

Now you all might shiver and think my dad is nuts.
But you know what I think?
I think my dad is teaching me to...

Be creative. Don't knock it till you try it. Think outside the box. Don't let anything stand in your way. Improvise.

Mainly he's taught me...

...who cares what other people think?

The miracle isn't that I finished...

...the miracle is that I had the courage to start. -John Bingham (Completed over 40 Marathons)

It's a miracle that I am a runner.
I never thought I'd be a runner.
Moreso, I never thought I'd feel this terrible when the ability to run was taken away from me.

I did not participate in traditional athletic activities as a youth. I danced. 5 days a week, 2-3 hours a night. That was enough for me to be long and lean. But three children later, I'm soft. Not just mushy fat but soft in determination and discipline. When I turned 30 I realized that I had spent my 20's being pregnant, bearing children and nursing said children. My body was not my own. I want to be strong. I want to be fearless. I think that's what runners are. Strong because they know their sport requires immense preparation. Fearless because they set out at the beginning of a race and know they are going to finish it.

It took me 5 months to train for my first race. It was suppose to take 3. At the beginning I could only run for 30 second intervals spaced 3 minutes apart. Before my first race I hadn't actually ran 3 miles straight. I was up to 2.75. I decided it was now or never. I decided to run in whatever race was next. Being the dead of winter, choices were slim. I picked the "Love'em or Leave 'em 5k." I recruited my husband, his brother Morgan and a great friend to come be my witnesses. Like the proverbial "tree falls in the forrest"...if no one sees Erika run, did it actually happen? I was not extraordinary. I ran a 12.5 min mile. But my goal was to run the entire time. I didn't want to walk even one second of the race. People passed me. But guess what? I passed people. Other friends I saw there ended up walking, which was great for them, but I needed to run.

And you know what? I did it.

With the help of my husband and his hand pressed on the small of my back, I did what I set out to do. My dear friend Jacqui pulled into the parking lot just in time to see me cross the finish line. She jumped out of the bushes a mere 15 feet from the end and screamed "GO ERIKA! GO ERIKA!" It was incredible and I literally balled as I crossed the finish line. I am balling now remembering how badly I wanted to quit and how much it meant for Jacqui to come see me run my first race.



The week before I broke toe I logged 19 miles running. And I mean full running. No walking when I felt tired. I was training for my first half-marathon in January 2012 (why I like to run in winter is beyond me). My first 10k was suppose to be in October. I was devestated when I broke my toe. How can something so small cause such searing pain? I've been unable to wear closed-toe shoes for 5 weeks. For those who know how I feel about flip flops at church, you know how hard it was for me to not be able to wear my beautiful heels and strappy sandles. But the shoes I've been saddest to neglect are my running shoes.



Hello girls.
Today, I ran again.

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes...

...but in having new eyes. -Marcel Proust

I like the idea of looking at life differently.
Apparently, so does Cole.
Here's how I caught him practicing the piano.




Hey, whatever it takes to get him to practice, right?

Only he that has traveled the road...

...knows where the holes are deep. -Chinese Proverb (Supposedly)

The tree planting continues.
We've got a lot of holes.
They're fun, and a little dangerous.

Did you think we were digging 6-foot-deep holes with a shovel? Hahahahahaha. Nope, tree planting is an excuse for the big boys to rent big toys.



The excavator came first so the big boys decided to dig the holes plotted out on the design. You can imagine what that meant for the little boys.



Hours of enjoyment.

Wednesday morning Josh and I were taking out the trash. Not as simple as it sounds. We have to load the garbage cans into the truck and drive them down the driveway, out the gate, and to the main road. We were trying to be proactive and decided to load some debris that was left by the shed. We backed the truck in, hauled up the trash, and jumped back in to get to "the curb." Josh cranked the wheel and rolled forward...right into a hole. WHAM!



I was in the passenger seat.
I wasn't wearing my seat belt.
I got whiplash from our 4-foot drop.

Luckily it was a smaller hole dug to access an electrical box. Double luckily (yes I just said that), we still had the Bobcat so Josh was able to tow the truck from the hole with ease. "El Jefe" was present, as always, to supervise.

It isn't what you have in your pocket that makes you thankful...

...but what you have in your heart. -unknown

This little man is in my heart,
because of what is in his pocket.



You long-time readers, aka my mom, might remember this post. I got such a kick out of Cole's treasures, I still wonder where the tiny light bulb came from! Anyway, it was equally heart-warming this morning when I uncovered Finn's pocket of sunshine.



INVENTORY OF FINN'S POCKET TREASURE:

1 Blue Bakugan
1 Plastic fire bomb for Medieval catapult
1 Female Lego head (just the head)
1 Bamboo shoot wrapped with duct tape(?)
9 One dollar bills (more money than I have)

What possesses a 4-year-old to pocket such a modge podge of items? What is the bamboo/duct tape stick, some kind of weapon? Nine dollars? Who's been to the house and is now $9 lighter?

I love this kid. I love his imagination and the machinations of his little brain. It's tiny glimpses of their unique spirits, like pocket treasure, that make it all worth while!