"We can help, but YOU have to make the call..."

Ahh, kids. Back in the day I would gather up all of my 5, and a couple of other kids, and we'd pile into the minivan and head out for school every morning. I was the Kool-Ade Mom on the block, so I got a lot of kids hanging out at the house both before and after school. I loved that.

This was the day before law required seat belts. Yes there used to be a havoc in the streets and people just threw their offspring haphazardly into the back of whatever vehicle they owned and off they went. Let me tell you, a kid understood the laws of physics much faster back then.

We had the first Caravan off the line! It looked like a small white refrigerator on four wheels. Yeah, we were stylin'! We had bucket seats in front a 3 passenger bench seat in the middle, which did have a baby car seat, and the third row consisted of two folding lawn chairs. Heck, those third seats were EXPENSIVE! Ingenuity! Thor went down to Thrifty's and picked up to lawn chairs for a total of $12. When the kids complained about not having a seat belt, Thor took two of his old belts and wove them between the plastic webbing and TA-DA! seat belts! It was really fun to watch the boys tip over when you took a turn a little fast...they loved that. (You should have seen the face plants when you had to brake fast!)

The morning routine was:
1.Everyone in the neighborhood who needs a ride to school meet at the house.
2. Have neighborhood prayer. (It used to be just family prayer, but the kids began to protest so that circle on the living room floor got rather big.)
3. Everyone pile in the car. Leave the car seat for the youngest; and find a seat, or just stand, whatever... it's only 6 or 7 blocks.
4. Grab my hot chocolate travel mug.
5. DRIVE!
6. Unload everybody and their duck.
7. Drive home.
8. Do this all again in reverse at 2.

One Wednesday, (I know it was Wednesday, because in our house each kid was assigned a day. This part of the story is about #3, and the third day is Wednesday...see how this all works out?) Anywho, #3 is in the front seat crying as we leave. Everything went well until we start to pull out of the drive and she just began crying....hard.

I inquire to her distress and she burst out with, "YOU NEED HELP MOM! I LOVE YOU, BUT YOU NEED HELP!" I am even more curious so I ask why I need help? "BECAUSE YOU DRINK AND DRIVE ---EVERYDAY! AND NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO DRINK AND DRIVE!" I tried (not to laugh) to calm her down and she begins telling me that "there are hot-lines" and that I "am not alone", and that "there are people who can help " me, but that I "have to make the first step". "And while we're talking about it, THE BABY NEEDS HELP TOO! SHE ALSO HAS A DRINKING PROBLEM!" and the crying reaches an almost fever pitch. She is completely undone.

Now, in the back seat and the lawn chairs, other children are beginning to come undone also, only with laughter, which doesn't help the situation up front.

I finish the drive to school and drop off the minions but keep back screaming Mimi. I try to calm her down. She finally gets to a point where she is sounding more and more like Mary Richards, with a very high pitched staccato voice. "The. Ba. AY. BEeeee. Has. A. Drink. Ink. Ing. Prob. Lem!" (Oh Mr. Grant!) "Ev. REeee. Time. She. Drink. Inks. She. E. SPIIILLLLS!"

After a long talk I convince her we'll get the help we need; and resolve to never allow her to watch t.v. again.

I am sad to report, that after all these years, I still drink and drive.

Weird Science!

Over at Mormon Mommy Wars there's a discussion about a lot of random things, and the dreaded Science Fair Project.

This brought back those years in our life when the kids were up to their ears in volcanic anticipation. We were given a huge amount of great information and eventually our kid earned the school, then district, then 2nd in state. He actually did the majority of the work. I, on the other hand did a LOT of testing, driving, and photography. And as you will see later, a lot of talking the kids out of a trip to Disneyworld, which actually was part of the experiment.

Our dilemma was solved via our #1's oncologist, who suggested a "medical" experiment. She asked him a few questions and after a few minutes they decided on the question:

"Can just one cigarette hurt me?"

He made his guess (hypothesis!) -a misguided "no, just one cigarette wouldn't hurt." and we began.

First stop, The American Lung Association. We made an appointment to talk with a representative then drove an hour to get to the nearest office. She gave him numerous pamphlets to read and get information from, and a stack of freebies to add to his display as hand outs. That was genius! The information he got from the pamphlets taught him how the lungs work with the heart and blood stream, and how chemicals from everything we put in our bodies (via food, drink or air) went throughout the entire body. I read them all also and tested him so that he understood what the heck he would be talking about and experimenting for.

She also gave him facts on air intake, lung capacity, and biology of a teen-aged lung. Granted, the "teens" were a few years off, but so was the average age of the first cigarette (back in those days).

The representative told him how the numbers of lung capacity could be converted in to ounces, and how he could make a "lung" from an empty dish soap bottle, plastic fish tank tubing (with the diameter equal to the size of a cigarette so it would fit snuggly inside), and plasticine clay. She gave him the numbers he needed to make a lung, throat, and mouth equal to the size of a 12 -15 year old.

Then we set out to purchase our supplies: the above items and cigarettes. We bought filtered and unfiltered in the most popular brands. He had to do a bunch of leg work to find out the best sellers, but the internet wasn't available then. Things could be easier now!

He emptied out the soap and rinsed the bottle until it was clean. He made a thick rope of plasticine, about the size of your baby finger, and wrapped it around the fish tank filter tubing, attaching it to the neck of the bottle. The tube went through the plasticine and down about an inch into the bottle and up out of the bottle forming the throat and mouth. Another rope of plasticine for the lips and he was done. He made five lungs and labeled them "one cigarette- filtered", "one pack of cigarettes - filtered"; and the same for the unfiltered, plus one to keep "clean" for comparison.

He had to make graphing charts and I took photos to show the before, during, and after shots of the lungs; and of him as he "smoked" the lungs. He placed one cigarette into the outer end of the tubing, and wrapped the plasticine lips securely around the cigarette to make a good seal. Pumping the bottle would make the lung "breathe" and work as the lung "smoked" the cigarette. He wore a mask as he "smoked" to keep as much of the smoke from his lungs as possible. (so did I! gag!)

What he learned was that the chemicals in one cigarette does change blood chemistry, blood pressure and actually do harm you. He also learned the cost of cigarettes was high. Back then if someone smoked one cigarette a day (who does that?) for a year, it would cost the same as our entire family going to Disneyland. If you smoked an entire pack a day for a year, it would cost as much as taking him to Disneyworld, including the flights and hotel!

He made charts for all the info and the 'whys' (vessels constrict thus causing blood pressure to rise, yada yada yada) and also the costs, average age of starting, the stats on how cigarettes were the jump off "drug" for other substances, such as pot, drinking, etc. (Things in this area may have changed by now, but back then usually a kid would try smoking first then the other stuff.) He had his lungs on display along with the clean unused lung to show how much tar and nicotine collected in just the one and one pack...that was dramatic actually. Those, plus the pamphlets, were great in the eyes of the judges.

The thing that put him over the top was that he actually understood the "why's" because of the testing we did and could explain it all clearly to the judges.

Technically it wasn't that hard of a project. He had to read a lot and memorize a lot. But he also learned things that he wouldn't have without the "firsthand" experience. The main work took a couple of hours one Saturday and another hour for him to put it all on his board.

So there you go. Feel free to give it a try. And no, I never got one of the kids to do an experiment entitled: "Will just one shot of whiskey impair my judgment?" dang it, that could have been so much more fun!

A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation

Last week before #5's concert, her dad convinced her that she needed to attend her senior prom. So on Monday we went in search of all things required to ready an 18 year old to have a good time at a schmancy event center in L.A. on Saturday.

Dress was purchased, altered, hemmed and dry cleaned. Flowers purchased for the date. Shoes were had, and also new "unders" of all kinds! Hair was cut and restyled, make up was applied and photos were taken.

We are happy to report the night was "fun". The traffic to the event went quicker than expected so the school kids arrived in L.A. too early. They were allowed to go into the building but had to stay in a specific area until the room was readied. They were on the top floor with a terrific view. #5 said they had a "really good" sit down dinner complete with chocolate strawberries and brownies for dessert. The music started and that was a tad disappointing for her date and she (she's a picky one), so they walked around the room seeing the city from up high and danced when they slow ones came on or it was a song with "decent lyrics". They watched two friends, a brother and sister, "tear it up" on the dance floor off in the corner of the room. "They are amazing!" according to #5. They also enjoyed watching the chaperons "watch us, it was like a spy movie." Her favorite teacher told her she looked "very nice", so she was happy. All in all it was worth the running around to get ready.

I am waiting anxiously for pictures to come home. Part of last week's situations required me to leave and go out of state to a wedding. More on that in a different post. Thor baby sat the grandbaby and taught him the words to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to mommy's surprise; and that when the sun goes "bye bye" it goes to "China". Trains squish pennies and "run fast", and you have to eat two nuggets before you get fries. There were also lessons on how many sodas one can have when with grampa and just how far you can throw a rock when you are two.

I think that song scorched my omlette...

We got up early this morning to attend a Chamber of Commerce Breakfast and for #5 to receive another $500.00 (THANK YOU! THANK YOU!) towards her collage fund!

It's an interesting thing. All my life I have always thought of civic leaders in a certain light. Suits, straight carriage, moral, etc. Then you eat with them. Kablooey! I should be used to this now, as I have eaten with politicians! Talk about dissolutions! But I digress. I also am surprised at what kids these days1 consider "business attire2". You'd be surprised. This stated, I will promptly back up and announce to the world that I am not an expert and make these same faux pas, however, I am not in a leadership capacity, nor do I represent anyone other than myself.

All in all the morning was quite interesting. The room was filled to capacity and everyone was really warm and friendly, very chatty and inquisitive. Nice really. I did note, however, that when addressing the audience that everyone of the speakers, informal and keynote, referred to the members of the room as "you guys"; which I was always brought up to be a major "no-no" within a social or business frame. Perhaps a more appropriate choice would be: "For those of you in attendance...", or "All who would like to...".

That and the use of gender specific titles, such as: "The girls in my office...". I have been told that one currently should use P.C. terms such as: "The co-workers in my office..." or even better, "My associates...", lest you offend those whom work for you, beside you, or have authority over you.

Credit goes out to the 4th grade children who presented a well planned program, including a power point presentation. They each stood straight and slowly enunciated their names and titles, then took a step back and allowed their class mate to do the same. During the speaking portion of their presentation they spoke distinctly and with factual information pertinent to the presentation.

Another part of the morning was the entertainment. Entertaining it was, although #5 and I were a tad blushed when the story-teller broke into song about "Hot hot Sadie, that brazen baby, that hot little lady they all knew!" The story lady was dressed like most story-tellers are, in bright bold colours and completed her ensemble with the obligatory wash board, kazoo, and bicycle horn. Her song was indicative of the 1800's ragtime, although the lyrics were as scorching as the firemen whom "dated" Ms. Sadie. I don't think any others in the crowd were offended at all. She received an ovation and whoops and whistles. Poor #5 was about to burst into flames.

The events were kept on time and on track by a man with a sledge hammer - seriously! He would bang a contraption similar to those used at the county fair to test your strength -DING!- if you went over your allotted time. Everyone had a good laugh over this "tradition", although for all the newbies in the room, it took us a couple of DING!s before we didn't jump and flinch any more.

So there you have it. The leadership folks in the community right next door, who evidently know how to party on a Wednesday morning! God Bless America!

1 - Yes, I have become my mother, thank you very much. 2. jeans, logo t-shirt and basketball tennish shoes; skin tigh black leggings (I thought those went out inthe 90's) with a very thin skin tight turquois t-shirt and bright yellow sking tight shrug wrapped around Dolly Parton-esque torso, with neon strappy stillettos; or camoflage - um, we can still see you.

Harry Potter's room

Harry Potter's room
Originally uploaded by S'mee.

We had a scare this week. The apartment manager called and told us that there had been a miscommunication within the office and #5's room had already been contracted and signed MONTHS ago and therefore she could not move in.

#5 took the call immediately after returning home from early morning seminarya, so she wasn't as focused as she should have been and kind of had a melt down. She began to think that she would indeed end up having to live as Harry Potter did - under the stairs, in a basement totally devoid of windows). As you can see from the photo the term "room" has been terrible misused. As you look at the photo, the "room" "extends" to the right to the scale of 5' x 4'. (remember how I told you the door hits the end of the bed as you open it? That's the width of this "L" shaped atrocity. Can you picture making this bed every morning? How anyone could live there is beyond me. Needless to say, #5 was freaking.

She took off for school and I tried calling the management back. Ha ha ha ha ha! These people are busy folk! Eventually I retained one of the managers and asked what the situation was (minus the hysterics and panic). The apartment had indeed been under another contract for months. How a business can make this kind of mistake is ridiculous, but what can I do about it now? #5 still had the summer contract but the Aug.-Aug. contract was no more. They could get us in the exact same apartment with the exact same living conditions with the exception of our option was now on the basement floor instead of the street level floor. I'll take it. The arrangements were made; and after talking with the owner, the management procured permission for me to paint the basement room. This is a HUGE thing as the owner doesn't allow anyone to paint - at all- no exceptions! So yippy!

#5 came home to more than good apartment news, she also opened a correspondence that informed her that she had earned 1/2 tuition for 2 semesters with the option of renewal for 4 years dependent on grades! WaHooo!

a. Early morning seminary is a religion class designed to Spiritually educate high school students within the L.D.S. Church Educational System. The curriculum is Old Testiment, New Testiment, Book of Mormon, and Church History - Doctrine and Covenants/Pearl of Great Price; with one of the previous per year of indepth study. Early morning seminary is designated for students outside of Utah and parts of Arizona where participants meet prior to the high school day for the 50 minute program. This means they get up and ready themselves for study which begins as early as 5:30 a.m. in some areas.

Super Models

faux window with birds
Originally uploaded by S'mee.

Sometimes artwork is for the birds. This is an example of faux windows. In a model home, the developer wanted the windowless laundry room to look less claustrophobic, cheery, and someplace pleasant to a chore. I began by chalking out the space and matching the ledge and colours to the existing windows in the house. (This is where my painter's fan deck comes in handy!) I snap some photos for reference (my model of the house features). Next came the painting as desired by the client. Sometimes they want a few plants other times they go for a virtual jungle!

This client, the developer, wanted "subtle vines, very few, but straggling into the room. And birds." So this is what I came up with. We also have a two little birds sitting on one of the door frames unraveling a baby sock.

It's difficult to see in this photo, but the sky is lighter at the horizon line than it is towards the atmosphere. The haze and clouds are done with white, blues and a tad of yellow. The birds were taken from a local ornithology catalog, although they have the benefit of plenty of food! No one wants skinny birds. Most folks think that an artist just has these pictures already in their memory banks and can reproduce them without models. There are some who can, but most cannot. I try to use models as much as possible, so I can get the details correct; such as the higher the sky - the deeper the blue.

Ever really look at things? Most pine trees are more blue than green, dirt is rarely brown and clouds come in so many more colours than white. But our collective memories tell us that clouds are white - all the time, unless they are stormy and then they are always grey. Not so much.

Where would you place eyes on a head? Most people don't realize they are dead center, (about a nostril to nostril width apart) when looking straight on the face, tip of head to tip of chin. Of course there are always exceptions, but again that proves my point on the necessity of models.

Next time you venture to draw, which I hope you do, use a model! Take time to look at your model with seeing eyes, not memory eyes. It will make all the difference! And remember, even Michelangelo had to pick up a brush for the first time.

One Semester (and then some!) in the bank!

It's Tuesday so time for the scholarship report.

My husband always says that his job has always reflected the teaching he learned as a boy and then in his callings via the church. The church has offered us all blessings beyond what we think of on a daily basis. Public speaking. Orgaization of thoughts and life. Being Prepared. Being firm in convictions and standards. Being comfortable conversing with new people who have different ideas and cultures. Making goals and staying focused. Doing the task at hand until it is finished. Knowing that if you have failed there is a lesson to be learned and you can turn it into a positive life lesson, and so on. He says being a business manager is very much the same as his experience in the Bishopric.

Up at 6:30, drive an hour and a half, avoid a jam on the freeway by accessing alternate routes. Having an ATM machine eat my card. Showing up early - who knew? We grab name tags and brochures, find our places and ready ourselves for the opening introductions. It is brought to our attention that today's competition began with teachers and administrators hand picking eligible students who showed academic and civic achievement. That pool was narrowed down determined by the highest scores to a field of 350 -375 in each of California's 10 districts. The 350 or so were pared down to a group of 32. Those 32 kids were divided up into 4 groups and sent to today's competition. Applied Arts, Liberal Arts, Fine Arts, and Math & Science. My #5 was in the math and science group of 8.

Going into the competition she was calm albeit full of trepidation due to her perceived lack of math and science skills. She feels her strong suit is English, grammar, and writing. The competition was 3 part. #1 They were given 30 minutes to prepare a statement (that would not be judged nor even read) to help them gather their thoughts on the topic. #2 One by one they would present a 2 minute presentation of their thoughts on the topic. (This part would be judged by a panel of four assorted community business persons) #3 As a group, the 8 contestants would panel discuss the pros and cons of each contestants idea and could be spontaneously asked questions by anyone on the panel and the judges. (also judged) Scores would be tallied and then a lunch with awards after a keynote speaker.

When #5 was "released" for the 20 minute break between competition and lunch, she looked sick. I could tell she felt she had failed. "I was the only one who took a different view point and then everyone attacked it. The judges were asking all the other kids questions and smiling at them and then whenever I made a point someone else would shoot it down. One kid even tried to gain sympathy by relating his siblings disability to the related topic... but he couldn't state for a fact, but he just stood there all weepy and everyone was sad for him. UHG!" She was very sure they were impressed more by the other kids because they kept more queries for them instead of her. She got a few questions but not rebuttals from the judges like the other kids. While she expressed her disappointment in herself, she was at least smiling and trying to enjoy the event. She introduced herself to most of the kids and about half of the adults and asked who was going where and what their majors would be and tried to fill the time chatting.

Lunch. Rubber chicken with rice. o.k. Not much to write home about. In the introduction the host reassured everyone they were "truly winners just for being here!" Yeah, yeah, o.k., but I want her to win. It sounded nice, but pretty cheesy even for the mom sitting there very proud of the gal who got through the eliminations. The added bonus is for everyone who showed up - just for being there - they would receive a pretty good chunk of change. So, hey, at least we go home with that! S'mee was satisfied.

Of course because it makes a good blog entry and the fates were against us, her category was presented last. All through the day Dad kept text messaging me asking for updates as he couldn't attend. During the 2nd category awards I got his 6th message wanting more news. A "She's already won in my opinion, tell her I love her." was passed via the phone under the table for view. She smiled.

Her friend's category was up. She had the same experience as #5, lone wolf crying in a desert of penguins with all the judges throwing fish. She too felt she would lose, although she felt justified and confident and that the judges in her category would most likely give the high award to a certain boy, whom she admitted graciously deserved it, and to a girl who did not. She was right and she received her prize money, smiled like a beauty queen and was quite the gracious little gal. I was proud of her attitude.

#5's group. 5 honourable mentions, then 3, 2, and #1. It was torture. There was a particularly rude gentleman whose name was called first. I admit I was glad he wasn't in the top ranking and that his name had been called before #5's -"even though in the 5 there were no particular order of importance or rank". WHEW! o.k. I am ready for you to call her name. Another name and another and then another. I was all "OH MY HECK!" then I remembered that there was one more in the bottom 5. Not her name! She's in the top three! HOLY HANNAH! I am screaming on the inside. Third place, Second place and then there was #5! She actually received number one! I was jumping up and down inside and my heart was pounding as she walked up to the podium to receive her scholarship money. BIG money. I was thrilled!

On the ride home we talked about what happened in the competition. After hearing her rendition of the proceedings in detail, I noticed that the reason she more than likely won was due to her learning and experiences in the church. She's just like her dad.

Most people go this time of year for the cherry blossoms.

Next week hubby goes to D.C. on a business trip. I usually save up plane fare and go along. This time I am staying home so that I can attend a scholarship contest with my #5. (more on that Tuesday)

I enjoy D.C. It's so different from where I live and there is a definite sense of anxiety there. All kinds! For instance the idea of the traffic. Everyone has a car, but there isn't one parking space in the tri-state area, and they drive like maniacs. They race from signal to signal and honk horns like no where I have ever been. I always feel like I am in a movie there. The pedestrians are lords of this jungle, dressed to the nines in heels and brief cases, and when they get the chance they just cut into traffic and dare bones to break. (hence a major part of the honking) People are everywhere, tons of them and they all have someplace extremely important to go. I am fascinated by the numbers of junior high kids who spew out of buildings and museums on an hourly rotation like the children of Zeus. Most of them wearing F.B.I. shirts. This causes me to wonder how one distinguishes the real F.B.I. from the junior high kids during a riot.

The last time I was there I was in a women's restroom at the subway station. A group of F.B. I. agents came through the door, one with an incredibly swollen tongue, another with great wisdom. "Haa Mahhhm" "No girl you got to get that thing working in yo mouth better than that or you gonna get yoself killed." "HAA MAHM" "I said talk better not louder. You gonna get killed." "Do. You. Thin. Ma. Mahm. Wi. Ril-eh. No-tith?" (replies with just a hard look) "Well at least it looks cool. I wish I got mine done. Man! I am SO stupid!" "Ah Wi dusth kep pwactithee uh ti I thoun goouh" "Yeah girl, she never gonna fine out! By the time we get off the plane, you be all done swellin'." I was in the stall and even I knew what had happened. Unless mom is completely deaf, that girl gonna get huhsef killed.

I love how everyone there looks important. You just know that chick on the subway with the briefcase is a spy, or at least hoping to be one. Then the total republican clean cut Mr. Armani suit with Italian leather shoes - what the heck? #1 he's on the subway going the wrong direction for that suit. #2 he's probably from some communist country and is a spy! There's the crazy person who is mumbling to herself and checking the chain count in her cable knit sweater. Definitely a spy! The whole time I am there I have Peter Gunn going in my head.

I walked home from the subway to the hotel. What was I thinking? It was like 5 city blocks and I thought to myself "why not? It's silly to pay for a cab for just 5 blocks!" Well, it was about 10:30 at night and raining. Raining hard. I had on my new suede leather coat. I replayed the Sienfeld when Jerry turns his coat inside out and then decides not to and ruins his coat to walk home in the rain with Elaine's dad. I kept rationalizing the cost of the cab to the rain and the walk. "Cows don't shrink in the rain. Cows still look the same after it rains. I am not paying for a cab!" So I head out and my coat got completely soaked. I felt like a drown rat by the time I got home, but it was the experience of it. After about a block I noticed that the street lamps no longer were there and that the streets became dark, narrow and full of dark alleys. "Brilliant S'mee! Girl, you gonna get yosef killed!" Too late to turn back now I walked faster until I could catch up with a couple of women I saw about 1/2 block ahead of me. I approached them and asked if I could join them in their walk.

The thing about D.C. is that it is a very international city. These women couldn't speak English and they thought I was some crazed person. They look scared and took off like you can't believe. "This is reassuring! Perhaps if the bad guys come I can just mumble to myself and begin counting the ribs in my now soaking cuffs. They'll think I am nuts and move on!" So I walk faster and faster and eventually get to a place where I can see the hotel. By the time I get inside and up to our room I am completely drenched, dripping like I stepped out of a pool and my once camel coloured suede leather bomber is a nice chocolate brown. "Don't they make chamois out of suede?" Maybe not. ugh. "Man! I am SO stupid!" Hubby walks in almost right behind me, in plenty of time to see me peeling dead cow off my now cold (but alive!) body. I explain everything to him and I get a pretty good reprimand on the dangers of D.C. at night in our neighborhood and after I dry off and take a warm shower he is there waiting to give my legs a good rub down. That's a good guy!

Moral of the story: Next time you get an opportunity to visit D.C. enjoy the anxiety, the people, the crazy drivers. Catch a few spies on the subway, covertly listen to the F.B.I. agents who run from place to place and pierce their parentally unattended tongues, and enjoy a walk in the rain with your favorite cow. After all of that, go home and retell the adventure to your more than generous spouse. Know that however long the plane ride home, by the time you get off - you be all done swellin. And you will be glad that you lead a dull life in the SoCAL desert.