Who Stole the Cookie?

I am a little behind on things. It has been a very busy April. So let's start with Claire's birthday party.

She invited her friends from her Kindergarten class and these were the invitations:

If you couldn't guess, it was a mystery party where the kids were the detectives, trying to solve the crime of who stole the cookie from the cookie jar. It included a newspaper clipping, a tiny manila envelope with a tiny note inside that can only be read with the magnifying glass, inviting them to be detectives at Claire's party.

And most essential to the party were cookies and cookie jars. Instead of birthday cake, we had a cookie buffet.

Since they were detectives, I thought it only fitting that we use the mustache for the decorations at the party. I even cut out felt mustaches for the kids to put on, but the double sided tape wasn't working, so I had to bag that one. Darn, it would have been cute.

Here is the list of suspects. The kids had a piece of paper with all the suspects pictures on it and then they went through the house finding clues and secret messages that narrowed down the list of suspects until they discovered who the thief was.

Of course, it was Strawberry Shortcake.

It was really fun for Claire, stressful for me (because those kids are wild when they get together!), but really fun to put together. I think the detective, secret message party will be one that we will repeat in the future.

Of course, after the party, my girls had a fun time putting on the mustaches from the cookie buffet. They make for pretty cute detectives.

Easter 2010

Hi. Here is our Easter post, two weeks late.

We enjoyed a lovely day for our easter egg hunt. Morgan is holding up a malt egg. Vomit. Who eats those? It's like eating chocolate covered chalk. She didn't like it either. Last time I send Cody off to the store without a detailed list of acceptable Easter candy. Sheesh.

Speaking of lovely days, I just have to tangent a little to defend my little neck of VA by saying that since I wrote the ranting post about being too hot too early, it has been perfectly 60-70 degree weather since and I haven't had to use my AC since the day it was fixed. Now, I too, can be smug. (also, my jeans stretched so everything is just rosy now. . .until the next time I have to wash them)

oh, and to tangent on my tangent, the reason I put on tight jeans during that hot day, was because I do not have a lot of options (because I am still chubby) and since I was going out into public, I make it a point not to wear my husbands scrub pants when people are going to see me, I had to wear my one and only pair of pants that fit me. That's why we had the crying-mommy-in-a-tight-pair-of-pants-on-a-hot-day episode.


Anyways, back to Easter.

Luke was just a spectator this year. But you can tell by his expression he wanted in on the egg hunting, candy gobbling action.

I told you he was chubby.

6 Years, What?!?

Happy Birthday, Claire. We love you so much.

Layers of Crap

Yesterday was a bad day. A very bad day. It wasn't just one thing, or even two things that were bad. It was layer upon layer of crappy things that built up to make one big crappy pile of a day.

First I would like to clarify that I would normally characterize myself as a happy person, somewhat of an optimist, willing to see the positive in most things. I generally see the cup as half full. Except for when I am hot. Then, everything in the world is so much worse. I am sad, everything seems overwhelming and futile, and I don't care how full the cup is because it doesn't change that fact that I am hot.

Yesterday it was 90 degrees here. Which some of you might think isn't all that hot, but to me 90 is hot, much too hot for April 7. In fact, in the midst of my heat depression, I weather.comed Phoenix to make me feel better. Because, even though those smug tan Arizonians in Phoenix are always bragging about how perfectly 70 degrees it is during the winter time ("oh, it's Christmas and I am outside wearing shorts!"), it just makes me feel better knowing that they have to live in the heat of hell during the summers. Surely it is hotter in Phoenix than it is here. Nope. It was a perfect 72 degrees. Smug Arizonians.

To make the heat worse, like 1000 times worse, our AC is broken, again, for the sixth time this year. Frustrating. . . and hot. Our upstairs was a nice and toasty 85 degrees.

You know what is worse that a hot house? Putting jeans on in a hot house. And you know what is worse than that? Putting freshly laundered jeans on, when they have shrunken down to their actual size, so they are too tight. Too tight because I still am chubby with baby weight and I may or may not have pigged out on cookies the day before (and the day before that). Because it has been hot and I have been in a heat-induced depression so I turn to the only comfort that I have. . . no-bake cookies and Swedish fish.

So there I was, wearing pants that were tight, doing squats to stretch them out, hating the world more and more every constraining step I took (I really hate wearing tight pants)and did I mention I was hot? I was seriously near tears. And it was only ten in the morning.

By eleven I was on the road, kids in tow, on our way to Costco to get some much needed supplies. This is when I get the phone call that puts me in tears, just not right at that moment. I waited until I was standing in the middle of Costco before I randomly burst into tears. The phone call was Cody informing me that the owners of our house had scheduled a showing for that day at four o'clock. Super major bummer. I am not the type that keeps the entire house spotless at any random time. I am the type that has messy closets. So I completed my shopping, hurried home, made a mad sprint-dash clean of the house, shouting at my kids "don't make a mess, don't make a mess" all the while. Plus, it was a very, very hot house. No a/c. So I was a little grouchy.

At one point, I had put random things in a box to be taken upstairs. Claire and Morgan come downstairs and decide to dump the box out and spread all that stuff around again. When I saw it, all the layers of crap came to their culmination and it all hit the fan. I stomped and yelled, threw a major mommy fit, and put those kids squarely in time out. Usually when I put the kids in time out, they whine and cry all the way there. I was so monstrous that I think I scared the crap out of them. They both went and sat in their respective time out without saying a word. Morgan just sat there looking at me with wide eyes, a bit shell-shocked.

Anyways, after four hours of cleaning, mopping, lifting heavy things up into the attic, a very sweaty and grouchy me loaded up the girls and Luke into the van to hang out at McDonald's to wait out the showing. About a half an hour later, Cody calls me to inform me that nobody was coming. They took too long looking at other houses and decided to reschedule our showing. Blech!

I complained about 400 times yesterday that I was hot. Cody finally said to me, "You know, I don't think you could have cut it as a pioneer."

Of course I could have cut it as a pioneer. I just would have complained a lot.

Some things I feel need some clarification:
* I don't think Arizonians are smug. Okay, maybe a little during the winter.

* I don't think it's okay to throw mommy temper tantrums and yell at my kids. I apologized to them for overreacting, but they still had to sit in time out for dumping the box out.

* I don't like being hot.

Hoppy Easter