"it's not going to be a big christmas...."

but it sure was a quotable one. following are bits and pieces of dialogue and snapshots of moments heard and seen throughout the last week at the south road homestead.

eric (imitating the monotone Rite-Aid checkout woman): "you would like to try blistex? only $1.99."

*i wonder if that will work* what seth and joanna were thinking as they stood idly by, watching griffin preparing to see if his suctioned tipped nerf arrows would stick to maddox's glasses. after being fired from two inches away.

aaron: "really? you guys were just going to watch?" *aaron breaking up the above mentioned experiment before arrow was launched.*

reese in gray skinny jeans.

cameron, in a tiny fit of anger: "you're not invited to by birthday party!" *note: he was born in may*

maddox in harry potter glasses.

rachel: "...and then the nurse hit the gag reflex and all this stuff came up...." (eric and seth's face turn an ashen color)

mom: "we agreed on no presents!"
dad: "it's not from me! look! austin. and gretchen."
joanna: "wasn't that wrapping paper used on a present we opened last night."
dad (feigning innocence): "i have no idea what you are referring to."

seth (coming up with his own song lyrics): "dear diary, dear diary!!"

tony randall: "THE HIDDEN DOOR!?!"

joanna and rachel: "that was number four." (counting the number of times mom referenced a certain someone to settle down)

all of the baby jesus' in the house wrapped in red poinsettia leaves.

elizabeth: "natalie woke me up at 4 a.m., saying she heard the reindeer bells and couldn't go back to sleep."

mom: "everybody only gets one roll."
eric: "uh oh. roll rations have begun."

ella and natalie both eating four rolls.

avery responding to both her given name and the nickname of "newblett".

barb: "so, is this a christmas movie?"
jenn: "no. i don't think so."
joanna: "we just watch it a lot."
*film referenced: pillow talk*

seth holding the stolen bread above his head christmas morning and yelling in triumph.

griffin shooting dad in the backside with the nerf gun. also shooting the doors, the floor, various backsides and feet of aunts and uncles, and once trying it on his own face.

merry birthday - card from the astorian randalls to mom.

joanna: "happy birthday mom! what is it? 68?"
mom (with a withering look at her beloved 9th child): "I'm 67!!"
*pause*
joanna: "yeah, but remember that one year we all thought grandma was 93 and she was really only 92?!"

random guy at the century theatre: "i love that it's a wonderful life. have you seen that? amazing piece of work. what kills me every time is how much jimmy stewart is sweating and it's snowing. snowing!! those are potato flakes coming down. potato!" *note: see seth or rachel for pitch perfect imitation/reenactment*


merry christmas.


p.s. overheard in the composing of this blog:

dad: "i don't know what you're talking about."
mom: "that's because you weren't listening."

mom: "i smell popcorn!"

dad (in reference to a romance fiction on the couch): "rachel, can i read this book? the pages seem pretty steamy."
rachel: "it's FINE."

mom: "is it too early to go to bed?"


and to all a good night.

the tex

this song goes out to seth, rachel, and dad.

the four o'clock routine

*disclaimer: i understand this routine of mine, upon which this clever author has written a children's book regarding, may cause envy in my siblings who have children who seem to never want to take naps and my one sister who has to make sure sick strangers take their naps*

mom's favorite

we all know who the favorite was in our family. mom, however, was in constant denial, with her quick retort of "i don't have any favorites. i don't love any of you equally."

tough love by the m.g.r.

upon a visit to Elizabeth's house, i stumbled upon what may be evidence of who may be her favorite. or who may be in time out.

*on a side note, mom is making a large stocking for Cameron as we speak*
*on another side note, how come we didn't get TWO stockings at christmas time? think of all those extra peanuts and oranges*

button, button?

who's got a button?

not this kind:

but this kind:

check out that flare! i was on this show as a wee one. anyone else? unfortunately, i never won the "smile camera". 

have you seen this family?

who: family of gnomes

 type: of the garden variety *snort snort*

last seen: various gardens, lawns, orchards, fields

suspects: anyone seen carrying any or all of them under their arm/in a wheelbarrow/perhaps like a sack of potatoes/in a yellow volvo/being pulled by a herd of dachshunds

reward: a handsome payment, as these gnomes are needed as decorations for upcoming holidays, family reunions, weddings, baptisms, baby blessings, a viewing of what's up doc? and/or pillow talk, grandparent visits, and mission farewells.

Blog Plagiarism: Part II

it was my friend m. she mentioned the blog and when the tears of laughter formed at my eyes, i knew i was in for some more cheating.

blog copying.

catalogliving.net

i too await for the first waves of furniture to come upon the shore.

Blog Plagiarism?

is it bad to copy a blog post from another blog post? is that equivalent to copying your neighbor's answers from the math test? or perhaps their short answer as to why kennedy beat nixon in the 1960 election?

either way, here is my post of a post.

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basic-concepts.htm

and i still don't know the cool way to turn a link into a short phrase. like "ta-da!" or "get ready to laugh/ponder/cry/wonderwhatthismeansformyfuture".

The Parental Pause

a few months ago, i happened to have the following conversation with the parent of one of my high school peers:

me: how's adam doing?
father: oh, great! he's in salt lake now ... workin'.

the pause, along with the uplifting lilt on the last word, i realized i had stumbled upon what i now call "the parental pause".

definition: when our parents want to say more about their children but have been told to say less by those very same children. here are some examples - mostly from my own life.


curious-friend-of-my-mother's: so, what is joanna doing these days? (translation: how old is she again? when did she finish college? is she the one that went on a mission? IS SHE MARRIED?)
my mother: oh, great! she's here in portland ... workin'. (translation: she's 27 and though she finished college five years ago AND went on a mission, she's not married. perhaps you know of an eligible young man?)



former-young-woman-leader-upon-running-into-my-parents: wow! haven't seen your family in a long time? how are the twins? what are they up too? (translation: i know you had twins - i just can't remember their names. remember when they babysat my children? DO THEY HAVE KIDS YET? OR A HUSBAND? NOT NECESSARILY IN THAT ORDER?)
my dad: she's staying ... busy. (translation: i know she is working but i can't really describe it. she sure keeps the house clean and organized. i don't like to ask her about her boys.)
my mom: she's also ... workin'. (translation: i also can't really say what she does but i hope it throws her in the path of righteous, wealthy, and available young men. WE STILL ONLY HAVE 21 GRANDCHILDREN.)


note: for further evidence and testimony upon this new literary discovery, please see my sister. or my friends. or even my mother. we have talked about this. she admits. it's true.

In Six Words

I read somewhere someplace that someone asked E. Hemmingway if it were possible to write a story in six words or less. He responded: Baby shoes. For sale. Never worn.

Here is my story in six words or less.

Missing Rachel.

Other half.

Now texting.

For my mother

my life is not interesting. i get up at 5:50 a.m. i literally stumble to the bathroom - i have hit the wall a few times now. i leave for work. i see the same man at the park throwing his ball for his golden retriever and then wish i could take my dogs outside without them running away, barking their noggins off. i drive the same stretch of freeway and have now followed the same car to the same parking lot three days in a row. i have also avoided being stopped by the same bus three days in a row.

eight hours pass.

i drive home, realizing i am driving home when i am about fifteen minutes into my drive. my drive is sixteen minutes long. i think about being productive and reading or running or cleaning or being non-catatonic. and then i stop thinking. and i take a nap.

two hours pass.

i wake up and hear my mother saying: you should update your blog. your sisters have.

so i do.

* the golden retriever i do not have and that i do not throw sticks or other pet paraphernalia for*

Points of View

My niece, Natalie, and her cousin, Jaden, were baptized last Saturday. It was a great occasion, punctuated by antics of children gone wild in their Sunday clothes on a Saturday afternoon.

Here are some thoughts I am sure floated through some of the minds of those who came:

Natalie: "OHMYGOSHTHEWATERISFREEZING. They promised it'd be warmlikeabath."

Elizabeth: "Wow. My daughter is getting baptized. She is so beaut - Cameron will NOT get a cookie if he keeps doing that."

Mom: "Was that LLOYD'S cell phone!?!"

Dad: "Oops. Was that mine?"

Rachel: "I want to hold Ave- whoa. Cameron almost made it over the wall."

Joanna: "I hate waving my arm. People know I know they know I know I have no idea what I'm doing."

Cameron: "Where is my cookie!?"

Mom: "I just want to talk and get it over with."

Andrew: "Natalie getting baptized. Makes me feel ol - what is Cameron doing!? Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh."

Seth: "Cameron is a riot! I wonder where we'll go for dinner afterward. NOT Olive Garden. They just slop it dow - was that Dad's cell phone?"

Ella: "What is Aunt Joanna doing? This is not how it is done in Primary. I want my cookie."

Eric: "I'm so proud of Natalie. I'll just sit right here beside her. I'm sure Elizabeth can enjoy the other childr- was that Cameron running down the hall?"

Mom: "Why are there so many people here!? I just want to talk and get it over with."

Natalie: "Um. Was I supposed to hug Grandpa?"

Maddox: "If I breath on the glass, it fogs up."

Evan: "Maybe on the drive home, Dad will take us to one of the FOUR Dairy Queen's between here and home."

Cameron: "Just grab the top and then - where is my cookie?!"

Rachel: "I'll just keep giving away my orange mints to Maddox."

Elizabeth: "Why is he taking Ave - I sure hope she's clean."

Mom: "I hate talking in public. Just focus on Natalie and Jaden. Don't look at the girls or Seth."

Joanna: "Oh no. The closing song. THREE verses."

Pianist: "Wow. She was right. She really does not know what she's doing."

Kellan: "I can get right in front. Why is Cameron trying to get in? He has to be eight."

Eric: "Phew. Confirmation done."

Cameron, Ella, Maddox, Kellan: "Where is MY cookie!?"

Congratulations Natalie. 

August 29, 1964

Happy Anniversary 

Mom and Dad. Mary and Lloyd. Sister and Elder. Grandma and Grandpa. 

"Mom, who is your best friend?"

"Your dad."

"I thought it was Patti."

"No. I married my best friend."

a different kind of mission

two years ago, i (with sobs and heavy feet carrying a heavy heart) left this:

*no, not a cultural hall - my mission*

and i came (still sobbing) to this:

*no, not Haystack Rock - the Pacific NW*

i said good-bye to sisters like them:

and i said hello to sisters like them:

i said goodbye to children like these little ruffians:

and i now chase around the affectionally named "Portland Monkeys":

i had to stop trying to be cool around teenagers like these:

and i had to learn to be the effortlessly cool aunt to teenagers like these:

i could no longer wear clothes like this:

but i am now expected to put something like this on:

i said good-bye to some pets:

but i was greeted with joyful barking and uncontrollable peeing by pets like these:

i ended my mission with a birthday like this:

and i ended two years home with a birthday like this:

happy anniversary. 

For Rachel

After celebrating 27 birthdays together, my twin and I have settled into a routine regarding birthday salutations and gifts. For example, around August 5th, we usually have the following conversation:

Me: So...what do you want for your birthday? *translation: It's in three days and because of my lack of money/imagination/time/sentimentality, I haven't purchased anything for you yet*
Rachel: Um, I don't know. What do you want? *translation: I can't think of what to get you, much less what I want.*
Me: I'll think of something. *translation: You think of something for me to get you and then I'll have an idea of what I want*
Rachel: Yeah. I'll think of something. *translation: I see what you're doing. YOU pick something first, THEN I'll pick something.*

At this point, the conversation usually meanders to other topics and the birthday present issue isn't addressed until the day of. When other family members/friends are handing in their gifts.

Me (looking up from a recently unwrapped present): Hey, I haven't bought yours yet. *translation: You never told me what you wanted. This happens every year.*
Rachel (pausing in unwrapping a gift): Yeah, I didn't get yours either. Yet. *translation: Well, you never told me either. It is just as much your birthday/responsibility as it is mine.*
Me and Rachel (in unison): Let's go to Target/Barnes and Noble/Borders/any close and inexpensive store and buy each other's presents tomorrow. *translation: Let's spend our own money on what we want and call it presents from each other.*

Happy Birthday Rachel Lucinda Randall. The best twin/sister/friend/accomplice in teasing Mom and Dad/co-babysitter for our 21 nieces and nephews/roommate/shopping partner/running inspiration/and birthday sharer anyone could have.

The "Newblett"

Before she is fed/or after someone puts her down/or if her favorite aunt j.g.r. has to leave/or when someone is holding her but SITTING down/or before she is fed again/or when she senses her mommy will put her down/or if her sisters aren't making her laugh/or if her daddy is working too hard/or if her brother isn't making her tiny tufts of hair into a faux hawk.....

we see this:

But after her tummy is full/or her sisters are by her side/or her brother is grabbing the crisco to style her hair/or her mother is holding her and resolving to never let her go, even if she has to weed, clean, paint, drive, and run/or her daddy is kicking back with some mt. dew/or her favorite aunt j.g.r. is walking through the door to pick her up.....

we see this:

                           

Lily of the Randall Field

*c'mon - we all knew that pun was coming*

Congratulations to my brother and siser-in-law, N. and H., for the (early) arrival of their girl. I think I know why she came so early. Her parents will love her. Her "siblings" will throw their white and hairy paws on the ground in worship of her. Her cousins up the lane will babysit. Her cousins all over the country are praying for her. Her grandparents will dote on her (and buy more presents than for their own little girls....cough cough). Her father will teach her the finer points of TV remote control handling. Her mother will instill upon her all her fashion and workplace wisdom.

Lily knows her family is forever. And she wanted to start as soon as possible.

Thirty Minute Pillow Fight

Ever had one for that long? With two boys, under the age of six? Who seemed to be pumped up on soda and sugar? And the knowledge they can overpower their helpless, caffeine deficient aunt?

*notice the Impact jujitsu shirt. some moves learned during class were incorporated into the pillow fight.*

And performing the role as referee, this princess graciously put down her milk bottle (when she knew I was not looking), and intervened. By pulling out all the Wii games of their cases. And the DVD's. And the advertisement inserts. The boys ran to protect their precious technological paraphernalia. The pillows (and my arms) got a break.

* Thank you. I owe you all the cheese crackers in the world.*

The only member in the audience was too worried where his master was to care who won the pillow fight. His long legs could have helped me throw the pillow. I could have ridden him away to safety. His bark would have provided me with a much needed battle cry. But nope. He sat. And watched. And worried.

"Psst. Angus. ANGUS" *poke poke* No response except a furrowed brow and a small whimper for A.R.

Number Twenty

My incredible older sister, E., gave birth to her fourth child this past week. FOUR. As in she has three other ones at home. Under the age of seven. Who have boundless energy - even at six a.m. Who can jump on the trampoline in fifty degree weather, with the threat of rain, for hours on end. Who can rewatch the same Taylor Swift video on YouTube over and over and over again.

And who I babysat for two days while E. brought another one into the world. And I absolutely cannot wait to watch her grow up. I love this new baby. I love her siblings. And I love my sister.

*Avery N. and me. Please focus on the former subject.*

Alles Gute zum Geburtstag

Congratulations on a wonderful childhood.

Congratulations on making it to the teenage years. 

Congratulations on keeping those older brothers in line.

Congratulations on being a great older sister to your younger siblings.

And congratulations on babysitting all my future children.....

I love you.

Happy Birthday A.

Bibliophiles

The other day, during my babysitting jaunt up in A., I witnessed the following dramatic scene between my niece and her younger brother:

Niece: Oh no!
Brother: Uh oh.
Niece (running over to her book with concern written all over her forehead): Where is it? Where is it?
Brother (looking confused): Uh oh.
Niece (carefully opening the book, scanning the pages): Um.....
Brother (now looking at his fee): Uh oh.

*Tense Moment*

Niece (shooting up her hand in a victory punch): YES! It is still here.
Brother: Um.
Niece (proudly producing a small, ratted piece of paper): My bookmark. I thought it had fallen out.
Brother (attention span now expired): Hey, let's play Wii.
Niece (looking frustrated, looks at me): Hey.
Me (addressing the whole room in my twelve-foot voice): What is the worst thing that could happen to a reader?
Niece, Nephew #1 and #2 (in unison): LOOSE YOUR BOOKMARK!
Me: Exactly.

I love that they read. I love that they read everything. Cereal boxes during breakfast, comics during lunch, and Harry Potter everywhere in between.

Except for "the brother". He's schooling me in the Wii. Still a win.