Ginger Unplugged

I was called a Mormon Baptist the the other day. I wasn't sure if that would be upsetting to Mormons or Baptists but I was assured it was a compliment. Apparently I have an energetic teaching style. Can I hear an "Amen?" And would you like to hear more?

Yes, I'm revisiting Thanksgiving in March because I keep thinking that I have to blog this. First of all, I was very proud of myself for making an entire Thanksgiving meal on November 25th (the day BEFORE Thanksgiving). It had cranberries, mashed potatoes, a token salad, an ice cream pie with pumpkin pie spices in it and this exact turkey: Feeling very satisfied with myself, I took a call from my mother. "Can you bring the rolls tomorrow?" Now this is a very stressful question. Every Sunday of my growing up years we went to dinner at my "Grandma Red's" (my mom's mom) where my dad would say that the rolls weren't as good as his mother's. Unfortunately, this was probably true. Nearly all the comments made at his mother's funeral were about her cooking. In fact, I distinctly remember an aunt tearing up as she said, "And her rolls...they were like eating a cloud!" My mom who has a competitive cooking streak once asked her mother...

You know how toll free numbers sometimes use letters? Like 1-800-BUY-STUF would mean you have to dial 1-800-289-7883. Well, Butterfly kindly discovered that the numbers for MOM on the phone are 666. Coincidence or the sign of the beast? She's having a great deal of fun with this.

I have been dreading Valentine's season for several weeks now. Besides the fact that my kids' school classes are always just a few students' more than the number of valentines in the average box, Princess and Crash are obsessed with making the most complicated Valentine's Day boxes on the planet. This year I was prepared with relatively simple ideas I found online. See? But Crash approached me sooner than I expected. Crash: MOM! I have the best idea for a Valentine's Day box! Me: Uhhhh (frantically reaching for my computer to show him the picture). Crash: Well, I actually have two ideas. Maybe I can make them both. One is super easy. Me: Really? (He knows what I want to hear.) Crash: Yeah the first one has like a spring release to shoot the valentines into my box. Me: Oh yeah? Great. What's the easy one? Crash: That IS the easy one! The hard one is cooler though. You get a blow dryer and...hey, do we have any clear pipe? At this point I show...

Crash had to make a safety notebook for cub scouting. Apparently this is some kind of binder or stapled papers they put together with emergency phone numbers on it. His says: Safety notebook Fire, ambulance, police 911 That's it. At least he's efficient.

Butterfly had a school assignment that told her to "Circle the compound word. Then write its meaning on the line." For snowflake she wrote "fluff of ice."

Our house is currently covered in balloons--well, at least the floor of our house. Monkey has taken to setting them over the heater vent to see them float, which is pretty impressive I have to admit. He is also enjoying playing with a brand spankin' new Thomas the Train bouncy ball. For whatever reason, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to teach him the science of "Heavy and Light." Me: Hey Monkey, those balloons look so cool, do you think your ball will float? Monkey: Yep. Me: Let's try it. (The ball doesn't float.) Me: Why do you think it doesn't float? Monkey: I don't know. Me: Is it heavier than the balloons? Monkey: Yep, it's heavier. Me: The balloons are lighter. Monkey: Oh yeah. We don't have dark balloons. Me: No, I mean the ball is heavy, not light. The balloons are light, not heavy. Monkey: Right, the ball isn't light like the Sun. Me: Well, true. But it's heavy. That's why it doesn...

This is Monkey's art which he calls Mad Cat. He is obviously very good at capturing emotion with nothing but a green dry erase marker. "Why is the cat mad?" I asked. "His parents left him with a babysitter." Nice.

You will notice that this is not me climbing. I am starting slowly--plus they won't let Crash belay me until he's 16 or certifies at age 12. Still, here is why I should be a rock climber. 1. I love rocks. 2. I love heights. 3. I love to climb. Ask my youth leaders who hiked to a waterfall with me. This other boy and I climbed way up the cliff face and the adults started to organize a rescue team. Even though the poor guy was panicking, I got him down after a bit with no problem. I'm not sure if this means I have raw talent or not enough fear but hey, it's a start. 4. The Music: Our local indoor climbing facility is the only place I've been where they can play a whole Cat Stevens album and people either pretend to like it or sing along. 5. Maybe it was the rocks, the heights or the Cat Stevens but I felt totally at home among the bearded harness-wearing peeps at the rock climbing place. Of course, my 5 children might be the best reasons NOT to climb. St...

As I put Monkey to bed tonight he said, "Mom, I don't want to pray." Just when I was about to come up with some brilliant two-year-old logic as to why he should, he looked at the wall and said, "Wait, maybe it will help. Heavenly Father, we thank thee for this day. Please bless the monsters won't come out of the walls tonight. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen." He then looked over at the wall and said, "See! They're not coming." I wasn't quite sure what to say to that but hey, whatever works.

I can't help wondering who did this and why, but I'm pretty sure it has to do with some ancient calendrical system brought to my neighborhood by aliens.

Okay, we all know that it's been alleged that I can't cook. I refuse to believe it and my family plays along because they'd rather not starve (Crash is right now reading over my shoulder and vehemently protesting my lack of skills). Anyway, Husband usually makes fudge for the neighborhood for Christmas but I found this "much easier" recipe in a magazine I accidentally lifted from the Instacare (but that's another blog). It's called Festive Fudge . I thought Husband (by the way, Crash is also vehemently protesting "Husband's" blog nickname. He would like to change it to The Baldinator). Anyway, I thought HUSBAND was going to take this article and do the fudge. He apparently thought I was taking over the fudge making. Consequently it was a fudge madhouse around here the weekend before Christmas. Mistake number one is probably stealing the magazine in the first place. Don't do that. Heaven will not be on your side. No matter how many ti...

One of my current joys in life is carpooling for one and a half hours every school day. This is due to Princess getting out of middle school, then Crash and Butterfly getting out of elementary school, then Princess needing to be to swimming. Monkey and Sleestack have miraculously learned to deal with it gracefully (this is where angels sing the Hallelujah chorus). We also pick up two other kids after elementary school--let's call them Adorable I and Adorable II. They are THE BEST sports. Especially when Crash is in charge of the backseat games. Or someone hit and runs me and I chase them down. Or when someone has a messy diaper. I'm thinking if their mom reads this, their carpooling days may be over. Anyway, they all like to play a variety of games in the backseat, including mind games created on the spot by Crash. Crash: Okay, pig is to bacon as cow is to what? One, two... (Adorable I has three seconds to answer.) Adorable I: WHAT!? Crash: Wrong. The answer is hamburge...

Out and about the other day an adorable little girl came up to me. "Excuse me, Ma'am. Ma'am? Excuse me. But your baby looks like a hippopotamus."

We've long known that Sleestack was special--her awe inspiring eyes, perfect smile and cuteness that makes my neighbor say, "Hey, I even have a baby and YOUR baby is the cutest baby I have ever seen." Her list of talents includes making delightful cooing noises, giggling more than any other 7 month old on the planet, being happy nearly 24/7 and now, eating everything she comes across. Everything. I've decided this is much more advanced behavior than it seems. Because, you know, first she has to see stuff. Little pink bead stuck between the carpet and the wall? No problem. Small bit of white Styrofoam on white carpet? Check, check. That inch of fishing line on the bottom of the baby swing? She hones in on it with laser sharp precision. Next, she has to grasp it. You know I have a lot of kids, right? Well none of them were able to pick up carpet fibers at the age of seven months. Sleestack was born for this task apparently. I've been vacuuming twice a day. Do...

I parked in "Author Only" parking today even though I'm pretty sure the parking people didn't mean me. Hey, in this profession I gotta take all the perks I can get. And as a side note, Monkey was stolen by giant frogs. I'm sure they'll bring him home soon.

Okay, remember way back when? Like maybe a year ago? And I said, "My friend has written this awesome book and it will come out in 2010 and you all need to buy it--it's THAT good." Well I lied. It came out in 2009 (October 13th to be exact). And it debuted at #10 on the NYT bestseller list. And is NOW #7 (unless it went up again.) So go buy yourself a copy!! It's called Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick. It's a paranormal young adult thriller/romance. Yes, like Twilight I guess, but BETTER. BETTER!!! Plus, the cover is coooool. That's a real model on a trampoline. It's worth the price for the cover alone, don't you think? AND also worth a few bucks for the acknowledgments wherein you'll find MY name. Yes, you heard it here, my name is on a bestselling book. Someday maybe it will be on the COVER of a bestselling book. But for now, I'll take any bragging rights I can get. Becca was really too nice on that one. Go buy it. You'll like.

Besides the obvious similarities between our baby and a sleestack, what you don't see is that she constantly practices unique sounds of the hissing variety. No lie.

1. My dad making sugar cookies for us all on the special holiday plate. They are THE BEST cookies. For those of you who love "Smart Cookies," he calls these "Genius Cookies." (He is not very humble about his sugar cookie skills.) 2. My mom bringing homemade socks. They are THE BEST socks. I never where any others if I can help it. 3. Crash making Halloween balloon shapes for kids if they gave him two pieces of candy. He specializes in snakes, pumpkins, bats and ghosts. Want one? 4. The realization that I will never make seven costumes in one month again. Ever. I won't. Don't ask me. 5. Talking to mom on the couch for an hour or two. 6. My dear friend making me a yummy dessert out of the kindness of her heart. 7. The show some of my favorite neighbor boys put on when trick or treating...there is still fake blood all over the porch. Very aesthetic. 8. The almost full moon. 9. The extra hour of sleep tonight. Sometimes daylight savings is a good...

because I just can't take it! All those medals won in swim meets across the nation should be given straight to the parents of those swimmers. Those kids just had to swim. Do you know what their families had to do? First of all there are those practices every single weekday (and weekends for older swimmers). And it's not like you can stay with them while your little ones play at the park like with soccer or baseball. It's just a heck of a lot of driving. Now I've just attended my first swim meet--what a madhouse. These are my top seven most hideous moments. 1. Being told to go through the women's dressing room to get to the pool. "All of us?" I asked with my 5 children, including 10-year-old Crash in tow. "It's the only way," I was told. That's a direct quote. Well somewhere along the line Crash got kicked out or something because when we emerged through the maze of benches, lockers and teeny-tiny tiles--no Crash. I put three childre...