Here comes the sun

I didn't want to shock anyone by posting two days in a row, so I thoughtfully waited until today to share this video with the world. We had a few gorgeous days of sun this week (not bitter that I'm looking out my window to find a dark gray sky today). I'm telling you that there is no better place to be in the world than the Northwest on a sunny day. So beautiful. Who cares that it only happens 5 times a year, it's worth it. Here are my prides and joys (not sure if you can make that plural, but it's my blog, so there it is) whooping it up in the sunshine with our clown fish sprinkler. That sneaky Dad, always stepping on the hose.



Nothing like the belly laugh of a 3 year old. Life is good.

What's going on around here?

Glad you asked. Well, actually I have to be honest. Sometimes I feel like after I haven't posted for a long time the next post has be fantastic. Stupendous. Epic, if you will. This one...not so much. Why? Because I'm not feeling it today. Then why am I posting? Because the longer I wait the more epic it has to be, and the more nervous I get about pulling it off. Nervous Nelly, that's me. Not really. But I definitely don't want to become so. Anyway..........

Now that you're sufficiently bored out of your socks, I can wow you with the stories of our lives. It can only get better from here, right? My point exactly.

Easter Sunday, let's start there. Wow, it has been a while. Hope everybody had a wonderful day celebrating our risen Savior! And eating insane amounts of yummy ham, chocolate bunnies and Peeps. Hold the phone...Peeps? Honestly, if anyone out there over the age of 5 actually likes consuming Peeps could you please raise your hand? No takers? Thought so. Ugh, those things give me the heebie jeebies. Not just because they taste like artificially colored fluffy cardboard, but don't they just look wrong?

Sorry, I have to back up again. I'll start with Easter Saturday when I took the kids to a carnival put on by some local churches, including the one my in-laws go to. What a fun fun fun idea! The kids loved the carnival games, the blow-up toys like the ginormous slide, and (kicking myself for not getting a shot of this one) the caterpillar you climb into the head, through the winding body, and out the other end. Brilliant. There was food too, but we only got a bag of blue cotton candy for the boys to share with each other and any unlucky passersby who brushed up against them. Ty had never had cotton candy before and wasn't sure what to do with it. His first handful he squished up into a ball and looked at Jake for instructions. He quickly got the idea.

Easter Sunday we split time between my parents and Dan's extended fam. Great fun and great food at both. We're so blessed to have family close by!

Which leads me to the highlight of our last few weeks, seeing some of the only close family that lives more than 15 miles away, Dan's sister Jane and baby Bekah. We missed you, Curtis! My oh my how that little girl makes us all smile. (Pictures are on the way, don't you worry.) Her cousins L-O-V-E her. Being her auntie just plain rules. So anytime you guys are done with California, come on up here to stay! We love you! Can't wait to come visit you guys this summer.

Another super fun day we had recently was the fire truck party for our friend Jack's 3rd birthday. Pretty much enough said. Like any boy is not going to be thrilled at a fire truck birthday party. We even got a tour of the fire station. Thanks, Alison for putting on a party for the ages!



Hopefully I'll post again in the next few days. Today is supposed to be marvelously sunny, so I'll break out the camera and get some good pre-summer shots. Until then, adios amigos, I have a date with an iced coffee and our new patio set.

The morning after

I'm pretty sure I was delirious when I scheduled myself to work until 3:30am last night. I can't tell you for sure, because right now I know I'm delirious. Regardless of the delirium, I recall falling into bed this morning at 4:22am and praying with all my soul for the kids to sleep until noon. The Bible did say if you have faith as small as a mustard seed you can move mountains. Evidently you need faith as big as a Mack truck for 3 and 4 year olds to sleep past 7:15.

My first foggy memory of this morning (post sunrise, though I do have some whoppers from the wee hours in the ER) was hearing Jake and Ty stampede down the hall to my bedroom and burst through my door. I'm pretty sure I didn't open my eyes, except to look at my alarm clock--huge red numbers screaming at me "7:17." I told the boys to go downstairs and whip up a gourmet breakfast for themselves and read the encyclopedia...or maybe it was to go get a granola bar from the cupboard and watch TV until next year sometime, I can't quite recall.

From 7:17 on, I woke up approximately every 10 or 11 seconds to various noises. The kids would come in and ask me questions, to which I gave insightful answers such as "mmff" and "huumh." Ty jumped on my bed multiple times. Felix also made himself at home on my bed, dropping a soggy rawhide bone on my face. At one point part of my right ear was folded underneath my head, and I remember being a little angry about that, but not angry enough to roll my head to the other side.

So what was it that pulled me out of bed? Thank goodness it wasn't the ear piercing screams that come before trips back to the ER. It was Jake's comment, "Mom, the granola bars are gone and I'm still hungry." Wait, the granola bars are gone? I just bought granola bars. "Jake, how many did you eat?"

"Um, four I think." Indeed. "I think Ty had 3." Indeed again. Here were the first things I saw after dragging myself out of bed:



Know what my first thought was? God bless those Quakers for giving me an extra hour and a half of sleep this morning.

Healthy, happy...handfuls

Finally, maybe for the first time in 2009, our entire family is perfectly healthy. No, this statement will not jinx us...I say firmly, and with the utmost confidence. And even if it does, I'm choosing to enjoy my healthy, happy, handfuls while I can. H, H, and H...that's referring to the kids, not the husband. Dan is certainly happy and healthy, but is not his typical handful right now, thanks in part to March Madness. And the fact that I will now let he and the boys talk above a whisper when near me. And that I cooked some mean chicken enchiladas tonight.

So what makes tonight blogworthy? Bathtime. Again, kids, not Dan. Typically people think of bathtime as a chance to get a stinky, sticky child more presentable, but around here it's the time when a mother can get to know the inner workings of her 4 1/2 and 3 year old's minds. I shut the door and pretend like I'm not listening as I'm 2 feet away checking my 6 million friends' statuses (stati?) on Facebook. Here's what I heard tonight: (Oh and if you somehow have the notion that I'm a perfect mother or that my boys are saints, please stop reading right about now.)
Bathtub babble:

While playing a game where one boy has his back to the other and turns around quickly, saying, "Hey, you ___" Examples included, "Hey, you bubble," and "Hey, you faucet head" and my personal favorite that was repeated multiple times by Jake, "Hey, you Miley Cyrus from Hannah Montana." (Just for the record, I don't let my 3 and 4 year old boys watch Hannah Montana, but they do watch some shows on the Disney Channel where Miley Cyrus appears at every commercial break.)

Ty: "Jake, I just want to have some beer and watch Toy Story."











Jake: "I wonder if Syd from Toy Story knows Miley Cyrus from Hannah Montana."

People who think our family is perfect can resume reading now. After Ty hits Jake (wait, stop again) Jake says, "Don't hit, Beebs." Ty replies, "YES, I CAN hit because I'M the boss." Okay, start reading now, Jake states, "Beebs, you're not the boss, because you know who the biggest boss of all is? Jesus."


Thank you, brother Jake. I'll just close us in prayer. "Dear Lord, please don't let either of my sons think Miley Cyrus is cool in any way under any circumstance. Ever. And please keep Ty from falling off the wagon. And remind us daily that you certainly ARE the boss. Amen."

R.I.P. Mustache March

I'm sooooooo sorry to say that although I very much wish to give in and post a picture, Dan's stache is history. Those of you who were ufortunate enough never to see it will have to continue to imagine its greatness. Invision its glory. Are you picking up any sarcasm here? Good.

There's a possibility Dan was feeling bad that I've been so sick the last few days and wanted to cheer me up by shaving, but there's a higher probability that he realized I was making gagging noises every time he kissed me. Side note: I just started antibiotic #3 for 2009, trying to get rid of a brutal sinus infection which is currently threatening to make my head pop right off my neck. Gotta love how this spring break is starting, though there's no way it would ever take over as Worst Spring Break of All Time after last year's doozy.

So, Mustache March was short lived at our house, sniff sniff. I know Dan wanted to make you proud Curtis, but I have to say that I'm thrilled that sentiment didn't last long. And that it was never documented on camera. Just in some beautiful poetry.

Oh, upper lip, upper lip...your fur will not be missed. Upper lip, upper lip, at least now you'll be kissed.

March-stache's and middle schoolers

Well, Curtis, you should be proud. Dan has embraced Mustache March (thankfully he's only been at it for about a week, the whole month would have done me in.) Our brother-in-law Curtis has a pretty wicked stache going on right now, and the creepiness of it all amused Dan so much he thought he'd take a whack at it. Now I will admit that there are plenty of men who look great with a mustache, my father-in-law one of them, but Dan and Curtis...not so much. Dan hadn't shaved in quite a few days, then on Saturday evening when I realized he shaved everything but the mustache I believe my exact words were, "you do NOT have a mustache right now," followed closely by, "you're not actually going out in public looking like that," and subsequently, "you realize you'll be sleeping on the futon until that thing is off your face."

My lack of enthusiasm only spurred Dan on, which I should have realized would be the case, but I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. By the way, I'm deliberately not posting a picture because I'm refusing to look at his face long enough to capture a photo, besides the fact that this is not exactly the type of Kodak moment I'd like to save for all time.

I shook my head when Dan went to school on Monday morning, hairy lip and all. Little did I know that my hatred for the stache would be publicized in all of Dan's classes. He came home with 16 handwritten notes from some of his students telling me just how much they loved his new look. I knew he bribed them to write these notes, but I have to admit, some of them were doggone funny. A few had me laughing out loud. I'll share some of the highlights of the middle school passion for Mustache March (and I won't edit any of the spelling/grammar errors because they just add to the comedy):

"Dear Mr Stump's wife,
He looks tight in his mustache. :) It's cool." (a drawing is in the middle of the page, entitled Mr. stump w/his mustache) and then in large letters at the bottom, "It's friggen amazing."

"Hi Mrs. Stump,
You should let Mr. Stump keep his mustash Because when it gets Bigger then you set it on fire and roast marshmellows."

"Dear Mrs. Stump,
Mr. Stump's mustache is so cool & goes so wonderfully with his awesome complexion. You should welcome his mustache warmly."

And my personal favorites:

"Dear Mrs. Stump,
Today in class I realize something special is on Mr. Stump's face. And I notice that it was a lovely mustache on his face. Even though I'm a woman, I want a mustache identical to Mr. Stumps."

"Dear Mrs. Stump,
I can't wate until I go through puberty so I can have such a nice stash as that. I'll be sprouten that lip hair like it's a new pair of shoes...If you think about it, a stash even works as a food source. If you get food stuck in there, later on your hungry, so you use it like a vending machine, your tongue is the claw. "B1, Oh sweet, corn!" But now you see, a moustache has a great amount of advantages. Here's a poem about lip hair, called lip hair:
Lip hair, hip hair, when will you come?
Lip hair, lip hair, you'll never be outdone
Lip hair, lip hair, your just so sweet
I'll curl my lip hair rite down to my feet.
Oh stash, oh stash, you are so yummy,
I even saw a stash on the easter bunny
Although the stash that makes everyone pause,
is obviously the one on Santa Clause
Upper lip, upper lip, you'll soon be warm,
Oh taste buds, oh taste buds, you'll soon taste corn."

It's a shame Dan had to use these budding writers to promote such a cause as Mustache March. I'll give them kudos, but my intense disgust for the stache remains. Sorry Dan. Sorry Curtis. And VERY sorry to you, Jane, who has had to endure 2 more weeks of this than I. Not so "friggen amazing," is it?

Mr. Beebs

Happy birthday Tyler Daniel! My baby is three years old today. Yikes. I say yikes not because I'm looking back tearfully at pictures of my skinny (for approximately one day) newborn (he was 8 days early) or the dimpled cheeked crawler, or the roley poley toddler, missing the good ol days. Sorry, but I'm not mourning the fact he's not waking me up 29 times a night anymore. "Yikes" isn't even because I can't believe how time has flown. "Yikes" is because it's been three years and I still can not get over how much I'm in love with this child in spite of the fact that he can frustrate me more than any human being on this planet.

I reread the post I wrote on Ty's 2nd birthday, and I made a comment similar to this, but it is my blog and if you think I'm being repetitive, then you should probably stop reading these birthday blogs because I'll continue to repeat some of the same sentiments until these kids are 72. Don't count on the run-on sentences stopping anytime soon either. Hopefully there will be a day when I stop writing about Ty painting himself and anything within a 1 mile radius of himself with condiments, but I'm not crossing my fingers. Back to the birthday boy: I love that he genuinely thinks his name is Beebs. Tyler Daniel Beebs Stump. I'm thinking about trying to forge that on our copy of his birth certificate so he won't be devastated some day.

I love that after he got home from getting stitches last week he crawled up on his brothers bed and needed to wake him up to tell him he was alright.

I love that his nap time routine before I close his door is approximately 55 minutes long. Oh wait, honestly most days I hate this, but sometimes I appreciate the cuteness/quirkiness factor. I have to "make a fort" covering his bottom bunk with blankets. Then we play "find me 5 times" where I say "where's Beebs?" and get utterly confused until he pokes his head outside the blanket, ending in hysterical laughter. Then we do "rahrrrr 5 times" where I open the blanket and scare him, again...hysterical laughter. Then I ask him to turn on his music, and he opens the CD player and checks to be sure the correct CD (Veggie Tales Worship) is in there, inspects it thoroughly, makes a horrified face and goes on and on about how scratched the CD is. (EVERY DAY he appears shocked.) Then he gets back into his bed, telling me I have to wait until he lays down before I open the fort and cover him with a blanket. Then I get him water. It must be warm water. Then there's a kiss and a hug, where he tells me I have to "make a funny face when I hug you, like this..." and he gives a wild-eyed open mouthed expression he wants me to repeat during the second hugging process. If I don't do these things in exactly that order, or forget to count (out loud) the "find me"s or "rahrrr"s we have to start the process all over again.

I love that he pretty much loves his birthday present more than his own life. If that kid doesn't play the NBA someday, it's not for lack of practice or enthusiasm that's for sure.
I think it's terribly appropriate for him to have a scab on his forehead for his 3 year old pictures.

I think listening to him butcher a joke and roar with laughter at himself is one of my absolute favorite pastimes.

I think that God has amazing plans for this independent, stubborn, thoughtful, passionate, lovable, hilarious child.

I think when he tells me out of the blue, "Mama, I LOVE you," that I'd stop the world to hug him. I LOVE you too baby boy. Happy birthday. And many many many many more.

We have a winner

Ty wins the unspoken contest. I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd have to take one of these boys into the ER. If I'd have been a betting woman, I'd have put my life savings on Ty. Way to come through for me, honey.

Picture the drama: 8pm last night. It was bedtime. So close, and yet...BANG. I hear a loud noise in the bathroom and Ty starts crying immediately. Now I know the whiny cry and the angry cry, and the minor bruise cry, but this was the I-have-seriously-hurt-myself cry. I ran into the bathroom and saw (stop reading here if you're squeamish) blood literally squirting out of Ty's forehead. Blood all over the floor, running down his face, and onto his legs as he looked down at the horror that was our bathroom floor. He had been trying to jump over the step stool, got his feet tangled and bashed his head open on the toilet bowl. Glamorous, huh.

I knew instantly we were headed to the ER. It wasn't that large of a cut, but it was gaping. And gushing. I looked at the fairly new (and light colored) towel hanging on the bar and decided to go for toilet paper instead while I yell for Dan to come help me. Toilet paper is not the best choice for gushing head wounds, just FYI. I got a rag from the hall closet and pushed it on Ty's head which made him a bit upset. I picked him up and calmed him down with the idea that he was going to get a bandaid. He is in love with bandaids. If he had cut his arm off, the thought of a bandaid probably would have made him whoop for joy. And indeed, he did stop crying and I got the blood down to a trickle and pressed the bandaid in place.

Before we left I washed off his legs and feet and got most of the blood off his face, changed the already saturated bandaid, and I drove to my ER (I own it...oh wait, I just work there) while Dan stayed and put Jake to bed. Sweet side-story: Jake doesn't ever remember sleeping in a room by himself. He was climbing up into his top bunk without his bro underneath him, and he stopped half way up and hung his head. Dan said, "are you ok, buddy?" and he shook his head and started bawling. "Beebs hurt his head!" He was so worried about Ty. Such a loving big brother!

We got to the ER at about 8:45, and they put a topical anesthetic on Ty's head and we waited a half hour for that to work. I was preparing myself for the worst. I've held down many a screaming child during the stitching process, so the visions in my head weren't pretty. When they laid him down on the stretcher, I got up there with him, and held his hands while the other nurse (thanks, Julie Cappoen!) was holding his head. The physician assistant is also a friend of mine, and I could tell he wasn't exactly looking forward to the process. Almost 3 year olds are not typically the easiest patients. Ty got a bit of fear in his eyes, but I tried to distract him by telling him we'd get a treat on the way home. He had decided on a chocolate milkshake by stitch number 3. He winced a few times and said, "mommy, that's owie" but never pulled back or screamed or shed a single tear. Can you say PROUD MOTHER?

Oh my sweet baby, I couldn't have asked for a better ER experience with my child. Everyone kept saying how tough and brave and sweet he was. Yes, I know, my son: perfection. (Please don't read any of my previous posts if you think I'm serious.) We left the ER at about 10pm, just over an hour total. For those of you unfamiliar with ER's, that's extraordinarily fast. Thanks to all my co-workers who made it worth the half-hour drive and passing by another hospital!

Ty sipped a two-dollar and forty-nine cent small milkshake (seriously, JackInTheBox, we're in a recession here) all the way home, a huge grin on his face. He was out like a light by 10:45, and he slept in until 8:40 this morning. He's totally fine today, acting like nothing is wrong at all. Huge goose egg and stitches, what?

Now that I know what a great patient Ty is, I'm considering recreating that same bathroom scenario tonight so we can sleep in again tomorrow. Just kidding. There was too much blood on the bathroom floor to clean up. Not worth it.

Rip off

As the title of this post indicates, I'm completely stealing this idea. I have a knack for that sort of thing. I have little/no creativity of my own, so I like to just take other people's ideas and pretend creativity is oozing out of my pores. Hey, at least I'm giving credit where credit is due. Not even a footnote, or an end note, but a before-anything-else note. I stole this idea from my good friend Marla Taviano. I realize I'm already completely butchering this post because guess what it's supposed to be called? "Word sabbath."

Yes, Marla, I'm taking your idea and running with it. Except maybe I'm just walking, or perhaps crawling because your "word sabbath" posts never have words in them, thus the "word sabbath" title. But I did have to explain myself. You did that in your first word sabbath post, didn't you? Anyway, from time to time I'm just going to post pictures. (Insert laughter here. Like I'm ever going to post anything without a ridiculously long explanation. I'll try to keep the words to a minimum, how about.) FYI "minimum" just may be the world's most difficult word to type. I'd be ashamed to admit how many times I had to use the backspace key to get that one right. Whew, on to the "word sabbath." Enjoy. And give all credit to Marla. Except for the actual picture taking, that was all me.

Alright already, here you go. Word sabbath:

Round two

So...I have strep throat AGAIN. Note that it has not even been one month since I last had this vicious bacteria. This time I'm on Penicillin instead of Amoxicillin, which had better destroy all of this nastiness for longer than 3 weeks, or...I don't know, I'd do something drastic. Like preform a tonsillectomy on myself. That would teach those drug companies to make more effective antibiotics.

Life before the diagnosis had been good. Do you like that I sound as if I've been given 2 weeks to live? Anyway, Ty and I had a fun mommy/son night a few days ago. Dan took Jake to a high school basketball game, and I told Ty we'd do something special. I didn't have a clue what that would be until I asked him 5 minutes before Jake and Dan left. His "special night" request was this: "PLEASE can we paint the house?" He has been asking me for days about the cans of paint in the garage. I told him they were the colors of the walls in our house, in case we ever needed to paint again. He's been asking to paint the house every day since then, and after looking at all the scuff/scratch/toy-mangled missing paint marks on our walls, I agreed. Just FYI almost all of these marks are conspicuously at or below Ty-height; shocker, I know.

For those of you who think I'm crazy for letting my 2 1/2 year old paint our wall (not using washable watercolors) without a drop cloth in sight...that's pretty legit. But I only had about half an inch of off-white paint in a plastic cup and told him I needed to make sure the brush wasn't dripping before he went at the walls, so it didn't turn out too badly. He of course didn't actually paint the spots that needed touching up, so I did that when he wasn't looking. He was thrilled to be doing a "big guy" job.

Other highlights of the Ty/Mom evening were making sugar-free chocolate pudding, watching his favorite TV show Imagination Movers, and maybe the most exciting thing of all: I let him run around wearing nothing but underwear all night long. After looking at this picture, I should rephrase that...underwear and pudding and paint.

Hopefully I'll have some more good stories once these antibiotics have kicked in. Until then, think of me drinking hot tea and composing a scathing letter to the makers of Amoxicillin.

Life as we know it

After the daily struggle of putting Ty down for a nap these days (approximately 30 minutes of crying, whining, pleading, defying) I'm finally ready to blog. About what...I'm not quite sure.

A quick (ha! Me?) update on our lives might include some of the following:

Ty's been milking a whiny nasally voice lately. For instance, "I want breakfast right neeeeow." And asking for his favorite lunch item, "give me heeeam but no cheese and no seeeam-weeich." (Yes, that's just ham. Hand fulls of ham. Buckets of ham.) "I need a sneeeeack." Despite the fact that Ty is single handedly keeping our local pig farm in business, at least the child is willing to eat about anything we put in front of him. As long as it can be dipped in Ranch. (Yes, folks it was not simply a short phase; Ranch is the new ketchup. FYI...our grocery budget has doubled.)

Jake on the other hand is still fighting the fact that he actually can tolerate normal food (normal excludes pb&j, Easy Mac, and Dino chicken). We're making him eat crazy things like lasagna (gasp) and roast beef with mashed potatoes. I know, we're horrible. Worst parents ever. Here's what happens: he'll take a microscopic bite after about 10 minutes of drama, close his eyes, make a few gagging noises, chew, open his eyes, look around, and after swallowing, state matter-of-factly, "I DO like it," and proceed to eat the entire plate.

Dan's been loving not coaching a sport this season. It's been nice to have him home at 3:30 instead of 8 or 9 on game days. He and his BFF Brian (can guys have BFF's? Seems a little fem, don't you think? Dan and Brian are definitely NOT fem, so I'll just scratch that) Dan and his sports-watching-meat-eating-strong-man-competition-watching friend Brian smoked some pork all day for us to eat at our Super Bowl party. Pulled pork sandwiches, homemade bbq sauce, baked beans...holy delicious. I married a rock star in the kitchen.

Me? I'm just hanging out. Eating bon bons and such. Actually, after Gluttony Sunday, I mean Super Bowl Sunday we've decided to get serious about getting skinny. HA! I just thought of either of us EVER being described as skinny. But we're trying to get healthy and lose a few extra pounds. I'm happy to announce that I've worked out the last 3 days in a row and have been eating healthy and drinking 8 times my body weight in H2O. Isn't that what the daily recommended water intake is? I forget.

I've actually had a lot of time off of work lately. I only work on-call, and evidently the hospital is losing money during this economic crisis, so they're not filling shifts like they used to. Come on, people, help me out here. I need more diseases and injuries, pronto. Kidding of course. I love being home. But I'd also love to be able to pay for a few vacations this summer, so if you're thinking about doing something dangerous and stupid, and you live in the Portland area...go for it. I've got your back.

Alright, I'll wrap it up with a few recent quotes from the boys. Ty was putting on a winter hat the other day and I told him he didn't need that because it wasn't that cold outside. I thought he said, "Yes I do because we're going to Greg and Judie's." I replied, "Honey, we're not going to Greg and Judie's," and his response was a wild-eyed, clenched-teeth, "Listen...to what... I'm saying... It's SNOWING...at Greg and Judie's." Oh, excuse me. I'll listen better next time.

Today we were driving down our street and there were two dogs...um...getting quite friendly in someones front yard. Jake goes, "Hey Beebs, look at those doggies!" I'm trying to get them to look somewhere, ANYwhere, else and then Ty says, "Yeah! Those doggies like wrestling with each other, like WE do, Jake!" "YEAH! Isn't that funny, Mom?" Funny wasn't the first word to cross my mind. I'm just glad we were in the car and not at a park full of 50 horrified mothers.

One word

I saw this on a friend's facebook page (thanks Julie!) and thought it was interesting. Then I realized I probably couldn't do it. Know why? I have to respond to each question with only ONE WORD. I've been called a lot of things in my life, but "One-Word" Stump is definitely not one of them. Especially when I write. Like this paragraph for instance, I could have just said, "read this, it's interesting" but why would I do that when I love trying to type 75 WPM (with 95 errors, but who's counting?) This is probably one of the hardest things I've done in a long time. And you're about to witness it. Wish me luck. Here I go:

Where is your cell phone? purse
Your hair? new
Your father? dependable
Your favorite thing? family
Your dream last night? chaos
Your favorite drink? coffee
Your dream goal? grandma
The room you are in? office
Your fear? trials
Where do you want to be in 6 years? here
Muffins? poppyseed
One of wish list items? vacation
Where did you grow up? here
The last thing you did? type
What you are wearing? jeans
Your t.v.? large
Your pets? Puggle
Your computer? used
Your life? blessed
Your mood? thoughtful
Missing someone? Lillie's
Your car? necessity
Favorite store? Ross
Your favorite color? green
When is the last time you laughed? just
Last time you cried? weeks
Favorite Show? LOST
In love? Absolutely
Favorite Restaurant? Red Robin
Do you or don't you? Snore? Nope

Are you impressed? It only took me an hour. Longer than it takes me to type my typical 9000 words. Why can I not help being so verbose? (One of my favorite honors English vocab words.) So long-winded? So garrulous and loquacious? Dangit, my spell check just told me that poppyseed is actually two words. I can't win.

Officially jinxed

I know, I know. What in the WORLD came over me when I wrote those words..."seemingly alright...rockin' immune system...probably jinxed myself..." PROBABLY is an understatement. Last Wednesday morning Dan and the kids woke up happy and healthy, and I woke up with an ominous ache in my throat. Dan had told me part of his sickness involved a sore throat, so that's the last time I'm sleeping next to him when he's sick, I thought indignantly. Tangent--do you think I should write all my blogs like I'm in a novel? A novella perhaps? Get back to the story before you lose people, I decided hastily.

Long story short: Thursday was worse, my glands were now swollen enough to resemble a small goiter. At this point I couldn't swallow my saliva so I was spitting in a cup and I decided that if it was not better in the morning I might A. shoot myself in the head, or B. go to the doctor. The doctor was "surprised" I tested positive for strep, and I was "surprised" I didn't shoot HIM in the head for being "surprised," but instead joyfully accepted his prescription for Amoxicillin.

After taking only 3 of the 30 pills I must finish, I felt like a human being again. It took less than 24 hours before I could swallow without distorting my face like I was in a low budget horror movie. I feel sooooo much better.

Die streptococcal pharyngitis. DIE.

On that happy note...here's some incredibly random pictures for your viewing pleasure. I realized I haven't been posting pictures lately, and that I never showed off the boys bunk beds. Or the cute hand painted letters Auntie Becca gave them for Christmas. Only 8 months in the house before the boys room was finished. Not bad.

Not-so-funny funny story

My not-so-funny funny story begins with the fact that my children (and now husband) have been sick for the last few days. Fever, vomiting, higher fever, body aches, cough, sore throat, headache. Pretty much you name it, they've got it. And the mommy who's been coughed/vomited/heavily breathed upon? Exhausted, but seemingly alright. God bless my rockin' immune system...there are benefits to years of working in a disease infested ER. I realize I could be jinxing myself with that statement, but let's move on.

The health of my family should give you a better insight into my state of mind as I finally made it to Winco to buy much needed groceries yesterday. The kids were still feverish, but we needed crackers and chicken noodle soup and children's ibuprofen, so I bundled them up and prayed the checkout lines wouldn't be 7 miles long. After pulling out of our driveway, I realized I should get the mail that's been piling up in our mailbox. (Our mailbox, along with 16 of our neighbors', is down the street half a block, which makes parking on the street very convenient and getting our mail every day...not so convenient.) ANYWAY, our mailbox was stuffed with 98% junk mail and 2% bills and at the red lights on the way to the grocery store I was sorting through what should be dumped in the recycling bin and what I needed to keep.

We finally made it through Winco and home with a typical amount of grocery store drama, I proceeded to dump a ridiculous stack of worthless mail into the recycling can. It took me 3 trips to haul in all the groceries as the kids fought over which color cup they wanted their chocolate milk (grocery store bribe) to be poured into at lunch time.

I'll get to the point of the story, which was the not-funny part. This morning Jake got to go to preschool which he missed yesterday. He didn't have a fever, and frankly I needed Sir Whiny Pants out of the house for a few hours. After the drama of getting the two kids ready to leave the house, I grabbed my purse and went down the stairs in the garage to buckle them in their carseats. Hmm, I thought as I looked through my purse. Where are my keys? I went back into the house and turned everything upside down. No keys. And I'm seriously hearing ear-piercing screams from the garage, which is wide open to the neighbors who are probably seconds from calling 911. The screams were related to which kid got to hold the balloon we got at a birthday party the other day. I searched the car. No keys. Perfect. I've lost my keys and my mind. I did have a key to our other car, and miracle of miracles...Dan got a ride to work this morning. So even though we were already late, I switched out 2 carseats and 2 whiny children, and drove recklessly to preschool.

I dreaded going home after dropping Jake off. I knew I'd searched EVERYwhere for my keys, and both kids were swearing they'd never touched them. I was going to have to tear the house apart. Then Ty and I pulled in to the driveway and I saw it...the big blue recycling can. Thank you God that it had just been emptied, because that thing is a monstrosity. I picked through the milk carton and flattened cereal boxes I had dropped in there last night, and got to the pile of junk mail. Underneath that...TAH DAH! My keys.

Just one more reason to despise junk mail.

WHAT??

We have major news here at the Stump house. We're talking serious business. Ground breaking. Earth shattering. Potentially life-changing information you all should be aware of. Are you ready?

Ty has ended an addiction. He has said "no" to ketchup 3 days in a row. Those of you who have been over for dinner (or any meal including breakfast), have had us over for a meal, or have read virtually any one of our blog posts know that ketchup has been a monumental part of Ty's existence since before he could say the word. In fact, I looked back on an old blog that refers to Ty's favorite new sentence, "no teh-tup head, daddy pank a bah-bahm." Which, translated means "No rubbing ketchup on my head, or daddy will spank my bottom." He was 1 1/2. We've had to lay the law down multiple times that ketchup is not for putting on pancakes, in soup, or by itself for a pre-dinner snack.

I was surprised that he didn't ask for ketchup a few days ago when I gave him some Mexican casserole for dinner. I was in shock when he asked for Ranch dressing instead of ketchup for his Dino chicken nuggets 2 nights ago. And last night I just about fainted when he scraped off the ketchup on his hot dog and insisted on dipping it in Ranch.

Does anyone know if Costco will exchange industrial sized bottles of ketchup for cases of Ranch dressing? I'm thinking I may need that information ASAP.

A year in review

Two thousand and eight, wasn't it great? I know this is late, but it could just be fate. Some things I really just have to state. I might write them on slate. Or in ketchup left on Ty's plate.

Ok, so I'm no Dr. Seuss. The rhymes are getting ridiculous. Like Ty would leave any trace of ketchup on his plate...or any plate within 2 miles for that matter.

I did this last year for 2007, so I guess I have to do it again. I mean GET to do it again. Here's the highlights, lowlights...and any other light that was mildly interesting to the Stump family in 2008:

Cleanest moment of 2008: Wood Village house on the market
Worst spring break of all time: vomit-fest '08
Biggest change of 2008: moving in to our awesome new house
Worst (surprisingly) Ty injury of 2008: the king of goose eggs
Best list of kid quotes: summer one-liners (or 2 paragraphers)
The blog I'm most proud of: 7 years with my dude
Favorite extended Stump family moment: Rebekah Jane Lillie makes her appearance
Jake's biggest change of 2008: starting preschool
Biggest life changing weekend for this wife and mommy: a heart revived
Worst near death experience for Ang: sinusitis vs. spontaneous head explosion
Most accurate portrayal of our every day life: a post about nothing

There you have it. 2008. The laughs, the tears, the hurts and the joys. A window into our world. Hope you've enjoyed my stories as much as I've enjoyed telling them. And living them.

I'm confident 2009 is going to be another great year. Oops, can't use the word great because that's clearly supposed to be used with 2008. Hmm, anybody have a word that rhymes with 9? I guess I have a year to think about it. Stay tuned.

Oops

So for some reason that last blog post didn't include the rest of my thoughts. I thought I had saved that instead of published it, but since I've been able to get out of the house the last few days, I've been ignoring blogger completely and enjoying the Oregon rain as it melts away the last bits of snow.

Anyway, I was going to say something like, "we had a nice Christmas even though half of our gifts never made it here because we couldn't get out of our driveway to pick them up, or UPS couldn't get into our driveway." We're hoping to remedy that today. We're off to pick up the bunk beds that I had to show the picture of to my kiddos on Christmas morning.

Bunk beds...nothing cooler for a 4 year old named Jake. Nothing more life-threatening for an almost 3 year old named Ty. I'll keep you posted on all the late night fun, and all the head injuries to come.

Scratch that

I just looked at my last post. Snow? Beautiful? Maybe the first few hours. Few days at the most. 2 weeks and almost 2 feet later the snow has gotten a bit old. I'm downplaying it. It's gotten REAL old. We're talking older than most stories in the Bible. In fact, the way the local news has been covering it, Portland's "Arctic Blast '08" is the biggest weather news since Noah's flood.

A few cute pictures is what I could take away from this. Years from now I'll be looking back and remembering the sweet moments of cuddling with the kids, hot chocolate and marshmallows, folks dressed up like Eskimos.

Jack Frost nipping at our nose(s)

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! Isn't it beautiful? My parents braved the 2 blocks and brought over a sled for the kids to bring them back to their house for Sunday night football. We had such a great time attempting snowball fights (snow was too dry, bummer) and wiping snot off little faces. Loving it. Dan had school cancelled on Monday, a 2 hour delay today, and hopefully the extra inches that are supposed to fall tonight will mean he'll be home until after Christmas! This teaching gig is pretty nice. Anyway, snow pictures and 1st Christmas in our new house pictures, for your viewing delight:

Dan and his Dad ventured out in the snow to cut us down a beautiful 10 dollar steal of a tree. You can't quite see it well, but the kids helped me decorate it. The bottom left part of the tree was sagging with ornaments, and the right got shafted until I suggested those branches were looking a little lonely.

"Tiny tots, with their eyes all aglow..."

That's what we witnessed last night. Christmas spirit through the eyes of a child. It was Jake's preschool Christmas program, and he could not have been more excited. Or more of a handsome dude in his new tie. If you've never been to a preschool Christmas program, or if it's been a while, I'll give you a brief synopsis of how things work: You must arrive forty minutes early, not only to drop your child off in his classroom, but to find a remotely decent seat. If you are going to save seats for relatives, you must come ready for an intense battle of passive-aggressive facial gestures that imply "we're in a church so I'm not going to physically harm you, but you can't seriously be thinking that you're going to be able to sit directly on top of my coat and purse that are saving a spot for grandma and grandpa."

Then comes about six or seven false starts where the lights go down and people get quiet only to realize that half the kids aren't in line to come into the auditorium because they are either in the bathroom, or have run back to their classroom to retrieve something vital like a chewed up pencil they're planning on showing great Aunt Bertha after the show. Then as the first class walks down the aisle every child stops when they get to mom and dad for the ever important cheesy-grinned photo op. Sorry, my child definitely slowed things down with this one...of course we didn't end up with a good picture, but oh well.

Next is the 3-5 minute period where the teachers attempt to get the kids lined up in their assigned rows which no doubt is the same spot they've been practicing in since the beginning of September. Another 2 minutes to get everyone to stop wildly waving at mom and dad and shouting, "I'm right here, guys!"

Then the music starts and you cannot help but laugh until your stomach aches and tears are streaming down your face. They've obviously been told to sing loudly, which clearly means scream at the top of your lungs even when you don't know the words. Hysterical. Here's some great (and very short, don't worry) examples, the first one from cousin Matty's class:

This continues for about an hour, and then there's a cookie and punch reception that is the highlight of any preschooler's young life. Exhaustion takes over, for every child and parent and anyone within a ten mile radius of the building, and though the car ride home may include some whining and tears, the Christmas season feels officially kicked off. Happy Birthday, Jesus! We can't wait for more celebrations of your birth.