Prime Time

So, last week I turned... are you ready? 31. Yep. I am OVER 30. I actually had a great birthday. For the first time, my boys spontaneously decorated for my birthday. It was super cute.

The streamers with hearts hanging on them made the living room a little bit difficult to negotiate. I loved the adorable asymmetrical stars by the shelves in the back.

Elijah left me this sweet note. In case you can't decode his "doctor handwriting like Daddy" here is a transcript: Happy Birthday Mom, Here's a Very Very Happy Birthday, *heart* Elijah Ricks *smiley face* Hug, Very Happy Birthday, *heart heart heart heart heart* Elijah Ricks

Gabe clipped this darling Happy Birthday sign onto the blind strings which he tied to a rocking chair as "decoration". In addition to the decorations, this was the first year where I actually felt that my boys were more well-behaved for my birthday than on an average day. I'm not sure if, in previous years, I just had some ridiculous idea that your birthday should be a good day and therefore I expected too much from my kids but the last couple of birthdays had been pretty lousy boy-behavior days. In fact, I think they made me cry on my birthday for the last three years. Since 31 marks my prime (I know I previously stated it was 29, but c'mon, wisdom comes with age, right? My prime is definitely 31.) maybe the boys could sense the gravity of the situation. Maybe they were tuned into the cosmic vibrations of the planets aligning in my favor and responded appropriately by not fighting with each other. I mean, according to my horoscope the planets Mercury and Uranus can get along on my birthday and they are literally not even in the same orbit, so brother getting along should be easy. Of course, my horoscope also claims that I am a health fanatic with a gift for sports.... so yeah.

For my birthday I really wanted a pair of real cowgirl boots. So our wonderful next-door neighbor watched our kids while Marc and I went out boot shopping and then headed over to a friend's house for games and dessert.

THESE boots are made for walkin'.

Here I am with my dear friend Alisha who made quite possibly the most amazing birthday dessert that has ever existed in the whole of time and space. It involves made-from-scratch brownies, fresh strawberries, cream and some sort of forbidden magic. It tasted even better than it looks if that is possible. I also want to point out my awesome birthday t-shirt which proves that I am a nerd. I think almost no one loves it as much as I do, but in case you are a weirdo like me you can buy one here. Anyway, it has a picture of a monocled and top-hatted culture in a petri dish who is saying "Quite." (He is saying it with a British accent. I'm not sure one can utter the word "quite" without a British accent and anyway, who would want to?) The caption below the picture reads; "Figure A: A Cultured Culture". I think one reason I love it so much is that it reminds me of my friend Molly who is both cultured and super science-nerdy.
Besides the amazing boots and shirt, I also asked for Marc to play "Just Dance" as a gift to me. Marc, as a rule, does not "just dance". He will slow dance with me, he may even attempt a little swing but free-form fast dances? Forget-about-it. The problem is, he can't see how down-right adorable he is when he is dancing. Maybe I am a mean wife for asking for something which he finds terribly embarrassing, but I think even he will tell you that he had a great time. He totally rocked a guitar solo dance part. That's my man.

We returned home far later than we should have to relieve our next-door-neighbor. He is a delight and regaled us with his harrowing tale of little boy wrestling, rustling and eventually hushing. He said he would be willing to babysit again and he knows we are Mormon and everything but next time he will need a bottle of Jack Daniels in the fridge to help him recover after putting everyone to bed. I know how he feels, or at least I would if I hadn't just hit my prime. I no longer feel fatigue. After I'm done writing this I plan to *yawn* go run *big yawn*   t e n       m              i                      l                  ezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

My Boys Rock

So we decided to grow a vegetable garden this year. I'm not sure if we will actually get anything out of it because I have a black thumb, but we thought we'd give it a shot. The only problem was that our house had no ground prepared for a vegetable garden. The boys and I spent many hours outside tearing out bushes and tilling the soil. The boys loved using the hoes and rakes although I had to constantly remind them that gardening implements are not weapons, unless you are waging war on the weeds.

The garden beds on the side of the house posed a bigger problem- they were filled with lava rocks. We don't own a wheelbarrow, and I doubt my boys could wield one anyway. So, how to move 32 cubic feet of rock? Ricks Boy Bucket Brigade of course!

I had grouped the buckets together to take a picture but Elijah said, "Wait Mom! I will make it look like something special." He then preceded to put the unsightly non-matching buckets off to the side and made a pleasing pattern of the blue and red buckets. Yeah, he's definitely an aesthete.

That's right, we shifted all those rocks by hand. We loaded the buckets by hand, hauled them to the flower beds that could use some more rocks and dumped them out until those garden beds were rock-free.

Now that's what I call getting your hands dirty.

It was extremely satisfying uncovering and tilling all that earth. I loved walking on it in my bare feet. There is something intoxicating about working with your hands, preparing a home for your little plants and then watching them grow. Maybe if I didn't have a black thumb we'd actually be getting some produce by now, but for this year I'll count it a success if anything stays alive until the first frost in the fall. Next year, maybe I'll have the Ricks Boy Bucket Brigade hauling fertilizer. My hard-working boys rock.

MAY I be excused?

So, my blog is in a sorry state of affairs. It has been almost two, TWO months since I posted! I am planning to catch up and predate a bunch of posts because, c'mon, it just looks better in my blog book that way. So if there are a bunch of posts between April 16th and this one, the dates are all LIES. Nope, don't believe it. I have been a total slacker. I mean, May was crazy, just crazy! However, not crazy enough to justify this long of an absence. As a punishment for my inexcusable blog neglect, I forced myself to watch the music video of Milli Vanilli's "Blame It on the Rain" and then write the following parody. If you would like to punish yourself for some misdeed, you can watch it on youtube and sing along using my new awesome lyrics.

"Blame It on the Train"

I really meant to write this
Oh so long ago
But the words, they weren't coming
Writer's block, you know?
Now I wish I would have blogged
And I'm feeling so un-cool
I let time get away
Now I'm writing tons today!
Gotta blame it on somethin'
Gotta blame it on somethin'

Blame it on the train that was whistlin'
Blame it on the kids that did cry at night
Eleven PM, here comes the train again
Blame it on the train, yeah, yeah
You can blame it on the train

Should've gone to bed much earlier
So I wouldn't be tired
'Cause all the kids will be up
At five-thirty and be wired!
If I hadn't been so busy
I would be all up to date
I'm gonna write again,
But it just won't be the same!
Gotta blame it on somethin'
Gotta blame it on somethin'

Blame it on the train that was whistlin'
Blame it on the kids that did cry at night
Eleven PM, here comes the train again
Blame it on the train, yeah, yeah

You can blame it on the train
'Cause the train don't mind
And the train don't care
You can't sleep when it's comin'
Blame it on the train that was whistlin'
Blame it on the kids that did cry at night
Eleven PM, here comes the train again
Blame it on the train, yeah yeah

Okay, dear readers, have I suffered sufficiently for my sins? May I be excused for my horrific blog performance in May? I hope you'll say "yes" and that you will stick with me despite my inconsistencies. After all, it wasn't really my fault. I really had writer's block, and a lack of time and a lack of sleep, and I think we can trace all of it back to those dastardly Dickinson nocturnal trains. Blame it on the train. Yeah. Yeah.