Girls go to Mars (to get more candybars)

Kolby was telling me about a story he heard on NPR today.  Something about Venus, and planets, and moons and gas and orbits.  I'm not really sure.  I had a hard time concentrating with the two girls collapsing in fits of giggles every time he said Uranus.  And gas.  Even Venus was funny because it rhymes with something.

My girls are such delicate little flowers.

When it's not so fun to lie to your children

Guest author tonight folks.  Let's all give a warm welcome to Kolby.

(This is actually my brother-in-law Don last Halloween.  But pretend it's Kolby since he wrote this post.)

The other night, we were talking about letting the girls have one of their “Peeps” from Easter. I told Maddie that Jami and I had already eaten all of their precious peeps. She protested that we would have to buy her some more then. To which I absentmindedly replied, “No problem, we already bought you those ones.”

Pause. “No, the Easter® Bunny™ brought those to us.”

Pause. “Right. That’s what I meant.”

Pause. “Is the Easter Bunny real?”

Now, Jami and I have never had to answer this question.

Nor the logical questions that followed:
"Is Santa Claus real? What about the Leprechauns? I want you to tell me the truth."
(Meanwhile, Amelia’s back there saying, “I know da eastow bunny’s rew!”)

Jami ushered Mia to the other room.

“Dad, is the Easter Bunny real? I want to know the truth.” She was dead serious and wouldn’t drop it. “What about Santa Claus?”
“Maddie, I thought we were talking about the Easter Bunny.”

“Okay, is the Easter Bunny real? You have to tell me the truth.”

As someone who never believed in Santa or the Easter Bunny, I’d always romanticized this moment of truth, but it sucked. My little girl was asking for “the truth.”

I shook my head, and said, “No honey the Easter Bunny isn’t real.”

Her face at that point is burned into my brain. She was so sad and let out this sad soft groan. Just as she was looking like she was going to cry, she asked the big one, “What about Santa Claus?”

I delayed and stumbled around trying to get the topic back to the Easter Bunny, but she was on a quest. I couldn’t handle it and I said that Santa was real. She was kind of relieved, but kept talking to me about how we all know that Santa is real. After each bit of proof she offered, she said, “Right dad? Cause Santa’s real, right?”

I finally couldn’t do it anymore. “No honey, Santa’s not real either.”

At this point, Maddie let out a similar soft, sad groan, walked into the other room, and started to sob. I went in with her. We sat on the couch and she begged me to tell her that I was just joking. She repeated this a couple of times-that she wanted me to say that I was just joking.

It was really awful. As she eventually grasped that this didn’t really change anything, we started talking about the kids who didn’t get Christmas every year, since there was no Santa Claus. This hit her pretty hard. She went to her piggy bank that she stores her, “Give Money” in. She found an envelope, and wrote on it, “Sub for Santa” and put all of her give money in it. And we talked about how we were going to bring Christmas to some kids who wouldn’t otherwise get it. She then put it in the freezer, since it would somewhat resemble the North Pole.

So I took her for ice cream. On the way, she was putting other pieces together. “So that’s why Santa is watching all the time, cause you and mom are watching all the time. Now I’m laughing thinking of you in an easter bunny costume every year, and dressed up like a Leprechaun.”

I added that I also put on wings and have a big bag of teeth and dimes so I can collect your teeth and leave money.

Pause.

“oh. So, uh, that’s not… hm.”

Eight going on Eighteen

Remember when I said that Madeline is set on not growing up?  (Refresh your memory here.) This morning she came in, very somber, and told me she had a nightmare last night.  It's actually a fantastic story, and I hope I'll be able to convince her to write about it when she's less traumatized by it.  But the gist of it was, she found a magic camera and took a picture of herself and it fast-forwarded her life two years. She took another picture, trying to get those two years back, but it only bumped her forward another two years.  Next thing she knew she was eighteen years old.  As she's telling me this, her lip is quivering and tears are spilling out of her eyes.   

She's the only kid I know who doesn't add the "half" to her age.  She'll be eight years old until we pin her down and force Nine upon her with the dreaded gifts and cake and singing. 

Trail Run

The trailhead is 1 mile from my front door.  How happy does this make me?

G. Goose

While we were in Utah, we headed to Salem to visit Kolby's grandma, Granny Goose.  She was pretty sick with pneumonia last month, but is back to her old spicy self now.    

Kolby brought his guitar and sang a few songs for her.  The song in the video below is a song Kolby wrote last year for his mom's wedding to Rex, aka Sexy Rexy.   Although it may look like Goose is ignoring him, she really isn't.  She would have told him to shut his damn mouth and get the hell out if she didn't want to hear it.  Apparently she says that often.   (As we all should.)   But he's on the side with her good ear, so she had to keep it pointed at him to hear him.  And my hair looked particularly cute that day, so I'm sure she was admiring me at the same time.

I think it's fitting that her Diet Coke is front and center.  

My Sister's BFSW, Part 2

Kalee's Samoan wedding reception was a par-tay.  There was a huge buffet of Polynesian food, and a program with music and Polynesian dancing.  Kalee had to dance for money at the end.  She did great, but I really think she should have done her old hula-hooping hula routine.   

We made 20 wedding cakes, one for each year of her age.  And Alex's aunt made a groom's cake, which was actually another 8-10 cakes.  

And one more video for now.   Grandma and Jolie sang for the father-daughter dance.  Here it is... 

My Sister's Big Fat Samoan Wedding

More to come, but I know my brother's are anxious for the world to see their lily-white chests, so I'm posting videos.

If you can listen to my dad sing that song to his baby girl without curling up in a ball and crying your eyes out, you are dead inside.

Kolby singing "our" song, The Luckiest, by Ben Folds.  He flew in the night before the wedding, which got him out of performing in the slap dance, but didn't get him off the hook altogether.  Some shitty adorable kids kept walking in front of my camera.

And the much anticipated Naked Brothers.  If anyone has this shot from a different angle, please let me know.  You can't see Don or Payton in mine.