Yucaipa Town Street Roller Hockey Derby

... or "why it's important for every American to have healthcare", or, "what shall I call the street hockey equipment wing that needs to be added to my house now that we have 2 tons of stuff?" or "Now is the time to buy stock in BandAid!"

Did I mention Hubby took the kids to an ice hockey game? So, I've been battling the ol' 'can I take ice hockey lessons?' question from various small boy children for quite some time; just a disturbing gnat buzzing around every once and a while. To which I answer - and this is the 21st century momism for small children; the 'I-told-you-so' for this generation - "GOOGLE IT!" So, when the 9 year old went on the ol' Apple and got all those little dots on the map then asked me where Ontario was, I told him Canada, much, much too far to drive for ice hockey lessons. (Is that a sin?)

The question has been irritating enough for me to actually be looking forward to three boys in football four evenings a week starting at the end of July; and about three months worth of six hours jam packed with football games each and every Saturday spread all over various locations in the lovely Inland Empire. Complete with two small children in tow who can't navigate bleachers all that well yet, and really need to eat something besides Pepsi, snickers bars and nachos, the usual snack bar staples.

Then, the brown earth truck arrived (UPS to those who don't know) and instead of the usual 'OldNavyBananaRepublictheGapAthleta' box drop off, (just because I'm homebound with five kids in various stages of maturity doesn't mean I can't look good in the process), they instead left boxes from stores like 'RollerHockeyMonkey' and the like.

First there was the frantic digging in the garage for pads and the stealing of mom's roller blades by the 12 year old and the borrowing of preschool hockey sticks from the neighbor kid.

Then the neighbor dad took it up a notch and went twirling around the neighborhood on his rollerblades; impossibly lithe and graceful for someone who installs gas pipe in commercial buildings for a living.

So, hubby decided to first replace his own rollerblades (his had previously been offered to the moving gods in one of our intercontinental transits from one continent to another). Then he ordered a virtual bouquet of hockey sticks - left handies and right handies, goalie sticks etc,...

So now, instead of watching this in the afternoon:



Now there is this:



Seriously, as if we needed another reason for the neighborhood to not be pleased with us; now we have the cracking of sticks, pucks flying at 35 miles an hour, car drivers having to actually pay attention as they navigate their cars past our elbow of the street, hoots and hollers. It just wasn't enough to have two big dogs and five kids plus their friends ransacking the area.

Just yesterday evening hubby arrived home with 60 feet of PVC pipe and erected what can only be thought of as one of the Wonders of the Engineering World; two of the biggest street hockey goals I have ever laid eyes on. I'd have taken a picture, but they wouldn't fit in the camera frame. I am just waiting for the Discovery Channel vans to pull up and put us on some show about big construction.



Zach is amazed at hubby's prowess on the skates. And that he goes well beyond 7 feet tall with those wheels on. I'd get out of his way if I were you, little 9 year old.





Score!



Is that a tear?



You have much to learn little 7 year old grasshopper,..



So, hubby has all sorts of crazy ideas tumbling around in his head, like me, the old wife, and the B (mini me) donning skates and slicing a few into the ol' goal. To this I say, "HA!"

As hubby was in all honesty carrying the B around the sidewalks while she dangled her skate encased feet over the cement, I told him he was seeing a virtual time capsule: this was me as a child. Absolutely no athletic prowess WHATSOEVER. Don't opposites attract? Well, here you go. Those stories of not being able to walk and chew gum? Tripping while jogging in place? They are NOT EMBELLISHMENTS!

Yes, it's a seriously whiplashing 180 to go from three little boys who could skateboard before they could walk; Jared was riding a two wheeler by the time he was the B's age; the B can't fathom how the peddles on the tricycle work. Why do you think I enjoy horseback riding? Because something else moves for you; you just sit there and keep your heels down, back straight. I can almost handle that.

Hubby, do you remember when we lived in Newport Beach? And went to the boardwalk, a mere half a block from our apartment? And rollerbladed? And you pretended you didn't know me when I'd crash and burn? And you dragged me to Huntington Beach, invited by our friend who worked for K2 at the time, to try out new rollerblades and be totally schooled by all those bladers? And you left me clinging for dear life to light poles as I navigated down tiny slopes? Somethings can't be forgiven, even after 16 years of marriage.

Fifi on the other hand,... she's a force of nature. Too bad they don't make skates in infant sizes,...



Don't let the pink bunny helmet, diaper and white flower sandals fool you. She means business.

Happy Friday

I actually stole this from June Cleaver After a Six Pack - yet another Catholic mother with a wicked sense of humor.

First Haircut

Okay, first I admit that I have been a neglectful blogger and I have some serious catch up to do.

Here is the B's first haircut. She's actually been wanting one for a long time. She is a tag-along when the boys are submitted to this sublime torture and thought, since she is a girly-girl, that it actually looked like fun.

So, mom and dad battled on and off for months (dad - NO. mom - it's about time, so she doesn't trip on her golden locks, Mr. Rapunzel) So, we made a nice compromise and let the scissor-wielding stranger hack off a few inches to even it out and get the hair back up to shoulder blade level.

I think this was a Supercuts. Leave it to our family to bring in five of the seven to Supercuts making it a significant financial investment for a 'trim'.

My hair? I need an establishment I can go to 'after hours' and have a nice glass of vino while they stick aluminum foil on top of my head making me look like some sort of electric shock patient. Finding a solid 3 hours of time when I can escape the family to do this is hard to come by, so this only happens a couple times a year. This is where height has it's advantage - no one really notices the roots unless I sit down.

Fifi's hair? Let's just say Crusty the Clown didn't have trouble with tendrils getting into his eyes either. We'll wait a few more years for her hair to actually come in on the top of her head, as opposed to just the sides.

Once I snapped the requisite pics, I left the six of them to their own devices and hightailed it down the nail shop. (when you have five kids you have to squeeze in me time whenever possible). I used to think the whole mani-pedi thing was overkill - why pay someone twenty bucks to do something you should be able to do for mere pennies? But, I'm not much into the whole primping thing - I can barely stand to wash my face at night. I know, awful. I don't deal with manis since most of the time, my nails are mere fragments after all the computer typing, dishwashing, cleaning, double knot breaking, trying to make the stupid dogs heel, that my every day existence entails. Pedis, on the other hand,.. when you have size 12 feet - you need all the help you can get feminizing them.

The nail salon I go to is very nice; most of the women working there attend our Church and know who I am if for no other reason the family I am attached to takes up a lot of area in an enclosed space and we tend to be, how can I put this delicately,... LOUD. The son of one of the women working at the salon attended speech classes with Kyle when he was a preschooler. Her son has since been diagnosed with autism. It's nice to touch base with her and vent about speech and learning issues; ;lus she recently had a little girl as well.

Of course, after 20 minutes in the massage chair, soaking the feet and feeling, gosh, what's the word,.. oh! RELAXED,.. I skip back to Supercuts to find Fifi and the B in some sort of extremely loud keening cat fight over plastic blocks. I swoop them both out to the sidewalk as fast as I can to save the eardrums of people I don't know. Welcome back to reality, mom.



Priming the victim.



Love that the apron was pink!




Ack! The first cut! Supercuts was awesome - they have little cards that they slip that first peice of hair in so other, more responsible mothers, can save it in that Baby Book. I'll do that too, when I find it,...



Beauty salon sissy.




Loving the cut! Then they sprayed glitter spray in and she looked like a little fairy. It's so hard NOT to take her to the nail salon, .. but really? Must we start this whole thing at the tender age of 3? I think not. While I think it's great that other girls get their nails painted and their ears pierced, I stand firmly behind my decision that I want Sabrina to just be Sabrina for as long as possible. I want her to understand that she is perfect just the way she is - she doesn't need a perm, or red nails, or earrings, or,.. gawd forbid, a boob job later in life,.. to look beautiful.

Closed

Don't look for me this weekend. This is where I'll be,...

Hope you'll have a great Memorial Day Weekend!

And just like that I was a pre teen mother

You're lucky to get a post at all today, what with my 12 year old all but sending me to my bed with a cold compress this morning. The last straw was the fumes from the 'goof off' (how appropriate a name, surprised I haven't used it before..) that was used to wipe the spray insulation off everything my little boy touched, just like King Midas, but without the big payoff, as it all turned STICKY. My granite counters, my hand made Balinese teak dining table, my good knives, his sister,... All for saving an egg. You see, today is 'drop an egg from the top of the school and pretend we're doing science' at the ol' public school this morning. I'm kidding - I think it's great and for better or worse, hubby got into the act, because it involves engineering. Somehow. I'm not sure if he and his buddies asphalted eggs when they were bored in concrete lab during college or what, but he was fascinated enough to trekk to the hardware store the night before the project was due and grab all sorts of toxic chemicals.

The deal was to protect a raw egg in a sandwich bag with enough material, but being as light as possible, so that it would survive a fall from 12 feet. First they filled the sandwich bag with the egg and the asphalt, balanced it on 2 beer bottles and placed it in front of a fan to dry the foam. I left them at 10pm after learning Glambert didn't win Idol. Whatever,... No go. by 6am the next morning the 12 year old was being shook awake to try again - this time, a huge mound of foam covered plastic wrap spread precariously on my table and covered another egg. It dried just in time for him to hack a piece of foam covered egg, stuff it into a swollen sandwich bag and be whisked to school. It was at that point, as I was pouring goof off on every non-porous surface, gathering snack for preschool and finding my play shoes, since I had to help out that morning in the class, that my migraine blossomed like some sort of evil, dark flower. I'm doing better; I just feel like one eyeball is blown out and I'm nauseated, but I took a nap with the B, so I feel better.I just have to make it through taking care of five kids and schlepping them to the B's open house at school this evening with no hubby.

The other reason I feel like surrendering to a cold, dark place? I had parent orientation at the middle school - I have a kid who is supposedly old enough to pick his own electives. Gads. And I was impressed - he's picking a competitive elective where he has to write an essay. This elective is supposedly for kids who are interested in going to 4 year university - it prepares them. I think he' s just interested because last year the kids went to the Rosebowl. Living in So Cal does have it's perks.

It's True, I'm Alive

Sorry for not posting. I do exist. It's been a fun filled month of activities and some day I'll put up some pictures so you can share too.

We celebrated Easter, the 9 year old's First Communion, my much older Hubby's 41st birthday (I was a child bride) , the 3 year old's first haircut, and the usual field trips, home work completions, work day endings, weekend survivings of every other red blooded American family.

We traded 14 baby rats for one 'Dumbo' rat (they have slightly bigger ears than your average rat) - and this is the reason I probably no longer balance the check book in our household. The new rat's name is Peanut and she is the 7 year old's. (his other rat met an untimely demise playing with Jane, the big dog. Total accident and unfortunately a possibility when you raise both prey and predator in the same household).

We are nearing the end of school which means I'm frantically searching for activities for children.

We are NOT, dear relatives, driving to Washington this summer. Fifi needs about one more year before I will complete another 2 to 3 day trip with her trapped in a confined space. Especially after experiencing Claim Jumper with her during Hubby's birthday celebration - where she whacked her 9 year old brother on the head and made him cry (this boy is a football player,.), bit the heads off crayons like the Ozzy Osborne of the toddler set she seems to be, and refused to eat anything we offered her accept my filet mignon. Of course.

YOU can come visit us. We live near lots of cool things like Disneyland and Vegas. We have a pool. We are a virtual resort in ourselves. The door is open!