The Grammar Lesson – aka The Day My Head Exploded

Pull up a chair and join us, won’t you, around the kitchen table (actually, if I’m gonna get technical, it’s an island, but whatever.  I mean, really, that’s neither here nor there). 

It’s time to work on a little grammar.  It will be fun!  We’re gonna conjugate verbs…in russian*.  Just you, me and the six year old…

Pretend you’re a fly on the wall…or the screen.  Of course, you don’t have to pretend to be anything if you don’t want to.  You can just sit there and read out loud…or to yourself.  It’s up to you.  Sheesh…let’s move on.

“Okay, buddy.  We’re going to learn about verbs tonight.” 

“What’s a verb?” 

“It’s a word that has action.  A word that moves.”

“Words can move?”

“No.  I mean, well…yes.  It’s a word that shows action.”

“What’s action?”

“Action?  Uh, well…action is movement.”

“Oh…” Clear confusion.  He’s not understanding.  It probably doesn’t help that I’m switching back and forth between Russian and English as I try to explain this to him.  I stick with English for a minute because God help me I cannot explain a verb in Russian.

“Okay – run.  That word has action.  When you run you’re moving, right?”

“Right!”

Score one for mommy.  I’m starting to feel good.  I can do this – I can teach this kid to conjugate a verb in a foreign language…oh yes I can.

“Great.  Talk – that’s a word with action.  Play, stand, drive…all these words have actions.  Can you think of a word with action?”

“Telephone!”

*awkward pause and the feeling of unbridled grammatical success from half a second before pffffts out like a stiff balloon.  “Nnnnooo.  A telephone is a noun.”

“What’s a noun?”

Oh geez.

“A noun is a person, a place or a thing.  It’s doesn’t have action.  It doesn’t move-but that’s not what we’re learning. We’re learning verbs today.You can talk on a telephone, right?”

“Right!  Hey – can I call my friend Chris on the phone?”

“Focus, Sloan. Look in my eyes. Okay (here I switch back to Russian) now we’re going to work on verbs in Russian.  Let’s start with Want.  How do you say ‘I Want’ in Russian?”

“Ya Hochu.”

Feeling of success eases back, this time a bit more cautiously.

“Maladyetz! Very good.  Now how do you think you would say ‘You Want’ in Russian?”

*Long pause.  He’s thinking about it.  I see the wheels turning behind his eyes.  I can almost taste victory.  Then he breaks out in a wide grin. 

“You Vant,” he says in English but using a russian accent.

(sigh)  I think I might be in over my head.

*for the record, I didn’t learn to start conjugating verbs until I was in college and truth be told I wasn’t very good at it then and I’m not great at it now.  In Russian, there is a different ending for every verb depending on if it’s plural or singular, present, past or future tense.  And those endings vary based upon the words, meaning that while there’s a basic model to follow, every word is different and you just have to learn how to say the words correctly.

Tonight we worked on the present tense verbs ‘To Want,’ ‘To Whisper,’ ‘To Scream,’ and ‘To Cry.’

Tomorrow we will work on the future tense.

I think my head might explode.

2009 – A “Wordy” Review

I got this idea from C-Jane’s blog. I’m not quite as spunky a writer as she is, but I liked looking through my 2009 posts and remembering the fun and crazy words that composed and marked the past year.  

January

The Inauguration: Thoughts From a Conservative: This was one of my few ventures into politics on my blog. I don’t do it often, but sometimes the urge to comment on the political temperature of our country gets the best of me.  Political posts always lead to interesting comments.  I also ended up on the news during this particular event. 

Boredom Leads to Strange Things: An Epic Battle: In which Sloan and I developed an entire story using his Star Wars figurines and a doll house.

Feburary:

Hoops and Tears: This was one of my more poignant and introspective posts of the year. I don’t often venture into the recesses of my heart on my blog, but this was a decisive moment in my year and it’s a prayer that my heart still whispers for my child.

The Master Cleanse: A Reflection: Perhaps one of the funnier moments of our year. This was the description of mine and Lee’s abismal attempt at the Master Cleanse diet. 

March:

Minivans are HOT!: I got my new site up and running with this post.

Memo to My Husband: My kind (and fecicious) way of asking my husband not to screw the lids of the kids’ sippy cups on so tight.

April:

Sick and Twisted or Just Plain Funny?: If my children ever end up needing professional counseling, this post may contain some explanation as to why.

Easter Blunder: My husband made a man blunder on Easter Sunday of all days. It made for a great memory…and gave me a reason to laugh at him – good naturedly of course.

May:

Can I Just Go Back To Bed?: The Infamous haircut heard ’round the world. It was Sloan’s lone foray into hair maintenance – he was fired, effective immediately and lasting for all of eternity.

The Art of Taking Tea: A friend and I threw a kick-butt tea party.

June:

The Lotus in a Field of Mud: I love yoga – I just don’t understand it…

Why I’m in Turks and Caicos: I got to take the trip of a lifetime with my mom as we travelled to her childhood home in South Caicos. It was amazing.

July: This was a big posting month for me…

Six Years: My baby turned six. *sob*

Then and Now: I took these comparitive shots of Landon on our favorite stretch of beach.

Heavy and Light: In which I go all introspective again.

I’m sorry but it’s all I’ve got today…: My pitiful, yet painfully honest, admition that I would gladly allow Zac Efron to make a Cougar out of me (though since I’ve written this post I’ve been informed that a woman in her thirties is actually referred to as a Puma).

August:

On Immunizations: I ventured into another hot topic and posted our decision to alter and withhold some immunizations for our children.

Missions Week: I hosted my first Missions Week in which I featured missions organizations and missionaries that are near and dear to my heart.  You can read all of the posts by clicking on the link at the top of my page.

September:

The President’s Address to Our Children: I got political again and in doing so stepped in a big pile of *&%!  This particular post ended in me getting an email from Fox and Friends to be interviewed on their morning program.  Unfortunately I was out of town when they needed me and was unable to do the interview.

A Party in the Heavenlies: My son asked Jesus to be his Savior. A momentous day for sure.

October:

Don’t let the door hit you in the –: The one where I admit that sometimes my mothering skills are reduced to clapping my hands.

Pumpkins and Funnel Cakes – A Lovely Combo: I worked on taking and posting better photographs with this post.

November:

I Blame it all on Them: This post found me lamenting my dying brain cells – a phenomena I blame entirely on the children.

Mature Woman my BLEEP: My dermatologist had a severe case of verbal diarrhea. 

December:

The Three Wise Men, The Construction Worker and the Lady Down the Street: This one is pretty self-explanatory. 

The One Where My Mom Claws Come Out: I almost had to take a girl out at the mall. Don’t make mama bear angry!

Whew – It’s been a fun ride, this blogging thing.  I’m so glad I have these stories documented and I’m so grateful to have you guys journey with us.  I know I’m not the most talented writer out there and I don’t always spin the most fascinating stories, but this blog has been a fun release for me and I enjoy your company!

I’m hoping to improve my writing skills in this coming year, while also providing a fun and witty journal for my children to look back at one day.  This is the literary road map of their childhoods.  I just pray that I do them justice.

Happy 2010.

Which, can you believe it’s 2010? I really thought we’d have flying cars by now…and Hoverboards. 

Blast those Hollywood movie makers…

The One Where He Sings Dradle, Dradle, Dradle

This year, our church opened up the Christmas Eve services to anyone who wanted to join and help lead the service.  Since I am so involved with our music department, I decided to take Sloan and have him stand up front with me.  Much to his dismay, I might add.

My sweet six year old will walk up to anyone in the world and strike up a conversation.  He entertains us tirelessly at home and he’s got the sweetest singing voice – but when he gets in front of a group of people that he perceives to be “staring” at him, he clams up completely and turns into someone I don’t know.  So he was not thrilled when I told him he was going to stand up front and sing in big Church.

Once I assured him that he would not have to sing alone into the microphone, though, he was much relieved, though still not thrilled.

Who’s kid is he anyway?!

So, we headed to practice last Wednesday night.  Because there were a lot of people to organize and several songs to go through, the rehearsal was longer than I had expected it to be.  This led the six year old to behave like a, well…six year old.

There was the wallowing on the floor, and the third time I dragged him gently lifted him to his feet, I told him that he was going to make it and he needed to stand up,  to which he replied, “This is the awfullest day of my whole life! Why did you make me do this?”

And somewhere, a group of crickets began singing a mournful tune.  (eyeroll)

Then there was the issue of him having been placed directly in front of the microphone, which, despite his phobia of singing into one proved to be far too great a temptation for his six year old self.  He commenced making gun sounds into the microphone, which required him to jump up and down so that his mouth was closer to the mic as it was set up fairly high.  On occasion, he jumped up and barked out “Hello!” then grinned from ear to ear when he landed back on the floor.

And finally, the icing on the cake…

Many of the songs were very traditional Christmas carols, which I am ashamed to say he doesn’t know.  He can sing Frosty the Snowman, but O Little Town of Bethlehem is an unknown tune.  That will change next year.  So while we rehearsed and practiced the songs, he really had to just stand there because he didn’t know the words and he can’t read well enough to follow the screens.  This resulted in him repeatedly ramming his head backward into my gut, leaving me with bruises.

And I began to seriously question my bringing him along.

Then I heard him singing softly in his sweet little tenor.  So I leaned forward to give him encouragement.  And this is what I heard…

“Dradle, Dradle, Dradle, I made it out of clay…”

That made me laugh.  Only my kid would think to start singing the Dradle song while at church rehearsing for the Christmas Eve service.  So I did what any self respecting parent would do.  I leaned down and taught him how to mouth the word Watermelon to the beat of the song.  He thought this was all the hilarious and embraced it whole heartily.

I am pleased to report that during the actual service he did very well.  He sang when he knew the words.  He didn’t once make a gun noise into the mic, he stayed on his feet and he mouthed Watermelon with pride.  The only hiccup came during a particularly powerful moment in the service when Lee, who was sitting about four rows in front of us, raised his hands in praise as he sang.  This caused Sloan a great deal of consternation and he began motioning vigorously to his dad to put his hands down, the whole time stage whispering, “Dad. No! Dad!  Get your hands down now, Dad! NOW DAD!”

Hilarious.

Despite it being the “awfullest” night of his whole life, he did very well and even admitted at the end that he had fun.

Score one for Mommy.

What goes around comes around…or comes up in our case.

Take a trip with me will you.  It’s a trip down memory lane.  Pull up a chair, grab a cup of bubbling hot tea and head back to 1984.

I’m six years old and we are preparing to move from the LA area to Wisconsin.  Before we leave, we (and by “we” I clearly mean my parents since they called the shots back then) decide to visit a few sites in LA that we missed in the couple years that we lived there.

One of those sites is a tour of the Queen Mary, a retired ocean liner that’s famous for something or other.  I honestly have no idea what it’s famous for.  I was six.  I didn’t pay attention to the tour guide.

Before we boarded the Queen Mary, however, we got a big pancake breakfast.  As we headed to the ship, I felt a distinct and uncomfortable rumbling in my stomach.  When I mentioned it to my parents they gave me a highly unsympathetic, “Sorry babe.  You’ll be alright.”

As we ascended an escalator somewhere inside the Queen Mary, my stomach began to flip upside down.  Again I mentioned the issue to my parents.  They were behind me and even though I couldn’t see them, I heard their eyes roll back in their heads.

“Kelli,” my mom said, “You always have a stomach ache.  You’re going to be fine.”

Hmph.  It wasn’t my fault that I was scrawny and gassy.  I kept my mouth shut.  And the tour commenced.

Just as we reached the main deck, the tour guide took us to a railed off section that looked down into the engine room.  The famous engine upon the famous Queen Mary that’s famous for…something.

As I looked down at the massive engine and listened to the tour guide drone on and on about the inner workings of the old ship my stomach flipped again and as it did so, it propelled the food I had eaten earlier up and out of my mouth with vicious force.

What happened next is a bit of a blur.  I remember running across the main deck of the ship spewing this way and that, my mom’s hand over my mouth trying to contain some of the wreckage. 

I remember my dad running behind us, dragging my brother along and yelling, “Take your hand off her mouth, she’s gonna choke!” 

I remember some strange man running next to my mom, yelling and pointing her to the nearest bathroom.

And that my friends is the story of the day I desecrated The Queen Mary.  I think I was in college before I was able to eat pancakes again.

Now, fast forward 25 years to last night at a birthday party for a friend.  Tia was complaining of a tummy ache.  But given the fact that she ate massive amounts of candy and cookies at her class Christmas party yesterday, I held out hopes that it was simply an upset tummy.

She can’t help it that she’s scrawny and gassy.

When we arrived at the bounce house, she jumped all of two minutes and then came and sat down, still complaining of a tummy ache.  An hour into the party, my fears were confirmed when Tia clamped her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened. 

We were as far away from the bathroom as we could possibly be, we were surrounded by other children, and standing on a carpeted floor next to a giant blow up bounce house that I knew would not be easy to clean.

So I grabbed her hand, clamped my other hand over her mouth and we took off.

We almost made it.  We made it at least to the hallway, which was mercifully tiled, before the dam broke.

And that was the day Tia desecrated BounceU.  It’s not nearly as bad as puking all over a historical landmark, but the circumstances were similar nonetheless.

And as I cleaned up the poor girl in the bathroom, I wondered if perhaps this was one of those things that fell under the umbrella of my mom’s prayer that someday I have a child that was just like me.

Not cool, mom.  Not cool.

Mature Woman My *BLEEP*

I went to the dermatologist the other because I’m having this little problem with my skin.  The problem?

My skin is breaking out worse than a prepubescent teen!  That younger looking skin we’re all looking for?  Yeah, I have it…but not in a good way.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never had breakouts like this before – ever.  And I have bad skin.  I’m chalking it up to severe hormonal imbalances.  Here is my completely unsubstantiated, non-scientific reasoning:

In the last ten years, I have either been on birth control pills or I have been pregnant.  In the nearly two years since I’ve had Landon, my body has had to figure out how to regulate itself.  And it’s failing miserably.

Actually, I hate being on birth control.  It makes me into a crazy lady.  I took the Pill for only 18 months after Lee and I got married, then stopped because I felt like a nut on it.  And eight months later, I had a baby in my belly.

After Sloan was born I didn’t take the pill again and 19 months after he came, I was pregnant again.  I got pregnant for a third time only 13 months after Tia was born.

And here I am, two years out of having my third child and my face is all wacked out, my stomach is acting weird and a whole host of other hormonal related issues are taking place. 

Awesome.

So I went to the dermatologist and I asked him for voodoo medicine that would make me all better.  Do you know what he told me?  Do you KNOW what he told me?!

“It’s your age,” he said, his eyes inches from my face.  “Generally the more mature woman has issues with breakouts along her jawline.”

I’m sorry…did you just say the more mature woman?!  The more maTURE WOMAN?

I am far too young to be described as the “more mature woman!”  No sir.  The more mature woman is in her sixties.  And that’s what I told him.  And he laughed, then shrugged and said maybe.

And then he saw that I wasn’t laughing – I was serious.  And he laughed again, but it was a more nervous laugh.  Then he said, “You know…it’s just a common problem I see for women in their thirties.”

Hmph…more mature woman.  Clearly he doesn’t know that I’m only 29 plus a couple of years.  Poor man.

Then he gave me my voodoo cream and out I went, my near two year old on my hip, to buy a miniskirt and a crop top, which the more mature woman would not wear but a young woman would!

Okay, I didn’t buy a miniskirt or a crop top, because I’m a wise YOUNG woman.  I merely took myself home and slathered on the aformentioned cream and waited for it to work it’s magic, while repeating to myself over and over:

You’re young, you’re young, you’re young, you’re young…

More mature woman my *BLEEP*

Incidentally, I really like my dermatologist.  He’s a very nice man.  Clearly a little misinformed, but nice nonetheless. 

I blame it all on them

When I was a kid, I ruled at MEMORY.  Seriously, I was untouchable.  You picked up the shoe?  Oh I’ll remember where it is.  Ten minutes could pass and I’d still remember where that shoe sat, patiently waiting for me to find it’s match.  Oh yes, my friends – I was hardcore.

I remember vividly sitting on the floor in my bedroom, my Walkman firmly placed over my ears, Leslie Gore’s greatest hits blaring (I was only allowed to listen to Christian songs or Oldies so I tended to rock out to Leslie Gore with all the fervor that my scrawny little body allowed).  I was usually bundled up against the frigid Wisconsin chill that seemed to permeate the air 10 out of 12 months every year.

I was usually seated on the floor next to my black and white bed with the hot pink and torquoise accent pillows.  They matched, of course, the black, white, turqouise and hot pink wallpaper border  in the cream colored room.  Ah, the eighties were grand weren’t they?

I would spread those memory cards out and play against myself, all the while belting out “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry if I Want To,” at the top of my lungs.  Sometimes my parents or my brother would join me, perhaps in an effort to get me to stop singing…

Huh…

Whatever the case, I welcomed their company because it gave me a chance to show them who was MEMORY boss.  Oh yes – I was an unstopable force.

Fast forward 25 years to today as I sat with my kids and played MEMORY.  We also were fighting off a November chill, though it was decidedly less dramatic than the Wisconsin chill in my past.  Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits blared through the MP3 player (my musical standards are significantly lower than my parents were.  Although I guess for my kids, Michal Jackson falls under the umbrella of Oldies.  That’s depressing…)

And I got my butt kicked today.  By Tia, then by Sloan.

Even though I cheated and peeked at some of the cards as we were setting the game up, I still lost by a rather significant margin.

I blame it on the kids.  My mind was like a vault before I had kids.  I nearly had a photographic memory, which came in handy in college.  I never needed a calendar or a day planner because I could remember dates and events without a reminder.  Studying?  I was a master crammer.  I could visualize words on a page and regurgitate them on a test (as long, of course, as that test was in written form.  If numbers or equations were involved I was totally screwed.)

These days I’m happy if I remember to take off my slippers and put on real shoes before I leave the house.

I think pregnancy kills brain cells.  Then there’s the pushing, in which whole sections of the brain simply die.  And the parts of the brain that were still firing on full capacity?  Those areas are severely handicapped by the lack of sleep.  Thus leaving you with only half a brain that’s only half functioning.  So clearly us moms are at a severe disadvantage!

 And then there are the hours and hours of kids songs, cartoons, Veggie Tales, Elmo and a whole variety of images and sounds the seems to stimulate our children yet drive us deeper into a semi-comatose state where we can no longer remember if today is Tuesday or Wednesday and what time does the bus come and when is that pizza party that I volunteered to help with?

Yeah, I blame it on them.  That’s why my memory is completely shot.  But I won’t tell them that.  Oh no.  I’ll let them think that they won simply because mommy was being nice.  There’s no need for them to think any different.

Right?

I hear this 100 times a day…

Sloan thinks this commercial is hysterical:

And it is. We laugh every time it comes on. And Sloan has long since memorized it, which means 100 times a day I hear this:

I love that kid…

The Truth in Blogging

My friend, Nicole, has a great post today about keepin’ it real in blogging.  The idea is that many times us blogger mama’s tend to keep things positive and not really show the messy in life. 

It can be very deceptive and even discouraging when it seems that these people you read and grow to love are perfect mothers who always prepare fresh, organic fare for their children, have a hot meal on the table when their husbands get home and smell of roses when they sweat.

In general I think I have a pretty good balance on this here blog.  I’ve let you know the times when my heart has been heavy, I told you I clap my hands at my kids, and who can forget this little escapade?  But, for the most part, I like to keep things light on my blog.  I don’t record every single thing we are doing in our lives here – first because that would be incredibly boring and second – because the world doesn’t need to know everything.

So today, in an effort to keep it real, I share with you some of the bad/funny moments in my home.

– My youngest child woke up in the middle of the night last night and wouldn’t go back to to sleep so I finally put him in his crib where he cried loud and hard for an hour and a half.  And I put the pillow over my head and attempted to go back to sleep.

– When his loud crying woke up Tia, I plopped her back in bed and when she started crying I shushed her sternly, threatening to throw away her Halloween candy if she woke Sloan up. (I did apologize for being so harsh this morning.  In my defense it was 4:30 am and I’d already been awake for an hour and a half.)

– While I know that I should be working with Sloan every day on his English reading and his russian homework, I often times talk myself out of it simply because I’m lazy and don’t feel like it.  I’m working on being more diligent so that I can pass that on to my children.  It’s hard.

– I am over committed this holiday season.  It’s almost feeling out of hand and all I can think is that I just need to get through the next 6 weeks and it will all get better. 

– I suffer from mommy guilt a lot.  I am constantly thinking about how I could have/should have done something better in my parenting (a post about how we are learning to parent intentionally is coming tomorrow).  I have to work hard not to get bogged down in that attitude.

– I spend too much time on the computer.  I’m working really hard at limiting my internet time so that I’m focusing more on my kids and my house.  Is there a 12 – step program for that?

– My third born is a terrible eater.  And I’ve never had a terrible eater before so I don’t know what to do with him.  So many times I just let him drink his meals.  This morning he had a cup of Emergen-C and a cup of diluted antioxidant water and two bites of pancakes.  He just refuses to eat.  It’s insane!

– I’m not very good at grocery shopping.  I always spend a ton of money yet never seem to have anything for dinner.  I know, I know – I should plan out my meals in advance so I get the right ingredients and save money…

– I’m not overly organized – see above.

– Sometimes I don’t start dinner until 5:00, which means we eat a lot of pasta and other quick and easy meals.  Again, see above.

– Sometimes I drop my kids off in child care at the gym, then I go sit in the hot tub instead of working out.

Okay, that’s enough confessing for now.  What about you all?  Do any of you have any confessions you’d like to make?  Do share.

Oh, and I do smell like roses when I sweat so I’ve got that going for me…

My shy little goofball

Today Tia got to wear her costume to school.  She’s Princess Leia.

She has been so excited about it all week.

This morning, she put on her costume an hour before we had to leave and asked that I take her picture:

Halloween '09 046

She was most excited about her “for weal” Princess Leia hair.

Halloween '09 044

“Thsee mom?  I wook just wike Pintheth Yay-ya,” she said.

When we got in the car to go to school she asked me 100 times if I remembered her Princess Leia hair.

When we arrived, I secured it to her adorable little head and in we marched.

Then…

Someone laughed and told her she looked adorable…

And someone else told her she looked just like her older brother in that wig…

And someone else clutched her chest and grinned as she walked past…

And before we even made it to her room, Tia yanked the wig off her head and thrust it at me.

“I not want to wear it anymore,” she said.

And no amount of assurances that people were only smiling because they thought she looked cute would convince her to put it back on.

So I fashioned her hair into two pigtails and sent her on her way sans wig.  Then I went to the lobby to wait for her class to return and show off their costumes and sing us a few songs.

Halloween '09 047

Apparently she went to the bathroom before coming out to sing because her dress was tucked into her pants.

Halloween '09 049

And instead of singing the songs that she’s been so boldly performing for us at home, she sucked on her finger.

Halloween '09 051

And then she got tired and sat down.

The End.

My Minivan is cooler than your Lexus!

Due to several car trips in the last few months, our minivan has taken a bit of a beating.  Covered in dead bugs, splattered with mud and sporting the drop marks accrued during our deluge of rain last week, her sleek black exterior has lost a little bit of it’s luster.

It’s not often that one reads the words “sleek” and “luster” in the context of a minivan, I know.

So yesterday afternoon, I took my rockin’ hot minivan through a specialty car wash.  You know, one of those car washes where actual humans scrub your car?

After pulling her loveliness into line, I got out and shopped around the convenience store for a few minutes before heading out to watch them remove the layers of dirt that had been holding her back all these weeks.  And what did I find when I came out?

I found my minivan sandwiched between two Lexus’s (is the plural Lexi?) who were also being scrubbed to shiney perfection.  Then a third Lexus pulled up, followed by a BMW and a fourth Lexus.

And finally, the Créme de la Créme – a gorgeous (and I’m not a car person) sports car pulled up and parked nose to nose with my van.  I have no idea what brand it was, but it was somthin’ fancy, let me tell ya!

And guys, I kid you not, my van blushed and giggled when that thing parked in front of her.

And so, there I stood, the girl who brought her hoopty van to a class act party.  I was the like the stray dog at a country club.  The sore thumb.  The minivan surrounded by Lexi!

I tried to play it all cool like this was only my day car, but you should see what I drive at night.  But my mom garb didn’t help the situation – that being my unwashed hair, jeans, tennis shoes and puffer vest.

Oh, then there was the fact that I forgot to bring cash to tip the boys washing my car and had to scrounge for enough change to make it worth their while.  I, my friends, am nothing if not classy.

The best part of the whole process, though, was watching the boys attempt to work my tricked out van.  What she lacks in style she makes up in sheer awesomeness!  I mean, hello!  She has an automatic back hatch and one automatic side door, which I have child proofed, so the poor guys kept getting stuck inside the car when vacuuming because they couldn’t figure out how to open the door and got confused as to which was automatic and which was manual.

Good times.

And then, of course, there are the multiple – and I mean mul.ti.ple – scratches on the car from the kids running their bikes down the sides.  Yep – that’s how I roll.

So when the guys finally finished her up and handed me the keys, I climbed inside my now sleek and lusterous minivan and started her up.  Next to the purring sports car, she sounded like some sort mammoth as she roared to life.

And with that I held my head high, looked down upon the lowly sports car and I pulled out of Lexusland, driving her hotness off into the horizen.  I hope everyone watching wasn’t too jealous…