Last weekend, Dan took Maria, Luke and Jack to Feed My Starving Children for a service project with the Boy Scouts.  (Yes, I know Maria is not a Boy Scout, but she had an invitation and with all our talk about it beforehand, she wanted to participate.)

What an excellent, excellent program!  I wish I had gone, and will definitely go next year.  Dan said everything moved right along, ricky-tick.  The kids were great, the program was first-rate, the kids all learned a lot and they all did well with their assigned jobs.  And, on the way home, the kids decided that they wanted to donate more to FMSC.  So, when they arrived home, Dan helped them set up a savings envelope.

This past weekend was our school’s biggest fundraiser of the year – the auction and dinner dance.  Since I didn’t have to buy a dress this year (thanks, Sis!) and Dan and I were very interested in how a couple of the auction items would do, we attended.  We had a great time, although we didn’t stay out too late… I think my Spanx somehow made the beer I drank go straight to my head.  By 10:30 or so, I was done in and needed my bed.  Sounds like we missed a few antics on the part of some friends, but then we also saved some dough on the babysitter.  And, when you’re paying for FIVE kids, every minute counts, right?

Coming up this weekend is the Pinewood Derby.  Oh, how I dread the Derby.  Not only is my house full of sawdust, paint fumes, graphite, putty and Tungsten weights, but I know what’s (potentially) coming.  The last two years, Jack’s car has done GREAT.  Last year he came in 6th place.  Out of 40.  Pretty good, right?  Well, not good enough and there were tears and howls of frustration.  As there had been the year before, despite trying to prepare him.

This year, I’m determined to avoid all that.  Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m that lucky.  I had a talk with Jack about it recently.  I explained that while he’s working hard on the car and it will look great and probably do well, he may not win.  So, I said, let’s practice.

Me (pretending I had a microphone): Jack, the car looks great, but you didn’t win.  You’re out of the race.

Jack: But… but… but  (bursts into tears).

I figure if he can’t get through the role-play without tears, we’re screwed come Saturday.

Finally, in other news, Andrew has learned a new trick.  I went to check on him when he was supposed to be napping the other day and instead found him standing up in his crib, babbling and completely naked.  Not a stitch on and everything thrown out of his bed.  I guess nothing comes between him and his crib sheet.

I guess I don’t have too many excuses for not posting, except that every time I sit down at the computer to write, I end up reading instead.  And then, POOF!  My time is gone.

Although today is sunny and 43, we have had some snow recently.  And so, we have had sledding and igloos:

Front of Igloo (Built, of course, by Jack)

Back of Igloo.  (Yes, I know it looks like a dog peed all over it, but that is yellow “paint”.  I suggested to Jack he use another color, but I was overruled.  Unfortunately.)

Do you see that look of utter joy?

Nothing better than SNOW!

Lovin’ it.

Looking for Luke?  He was playing hockey at the time these were taken.  And Maria?  She was in her spot, with her Snugi, in front of the TV…

“WAKE UP!!!!!  IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!!”

This was Luke.  Who charged into our room, turned on all the lights and hollered for us to get up.  At 2:43 a.m.

“Luke!” We said in unison, “It’s only 2:43!”

“Oh, I looked at my clock and thought it said FIVE 43.”

Damn digital clocks.  Clearly the hopeful child simply read his 2 backward.  This never would have happened with an analog clock.  (Of course, those don’t come in the shape of a Lego Star Wars storm trooper.)

With only about 3 hours of sleep under our belts, we weren’t about to get up.  We told Luke to climb into our bed (wouldn’t want him tempted by the gifts under the tree on the way back to his room) and told him to go back to sleep.

Very close to the actual 5:43 this morning, we were re-awakened by our oldest boy.  Soon he was joined by all siblings capable of getting themselves out of bed.  There was no going back at that point.

And 30 minutes later?

It was all over.  I didn’t even have time to grab my camera.

No.  Dammit.  Thanks to Pinterest, I’m spending the few precious moments of quiet time I have doing things like this:

Star Wars snowflakes.  I must be out of my mind.

Well, it all actually turned out okay:

But I still don’t want to do it again anytime soon.

I believe, however, that my brain is special.  It DOES remember pain.

How, for instance, could my brain possibly forget this experience? (With this as the follow up.)  Or this one?  How about this one?  Maybe this one? Here’s another (am I a glutton for punishment or what?)  Oh!  Here’s another.

I didn’t forget.  Not one painful second.  So, I must just be incredibly stupid to have made an appointment with the local photographer to have family pictures done.

During last year’s online school auction, I bid on and won a session and portrait with a local photography studio.  (I must have been drinking heavily at the computer that night and found myself in a bidding war or something.)  I later collected my prize (in the form of a gift certificate) and set it aside.  Every once in a while, I’d come across it, think about the nightmare it would be, and set it aside again.  The last time I came across it, however, I noticed the expiration date.  December 31, 2011.  Less than two months away, and it’s holiday-picture-taking season.  It could be hard to get an appointment.  Shit.

So, I called, but they weren’t open.  Whew!  I set it aside for another week.  But, I’d be damned if I was going to waste the money I spent last February.  So, I called again.  And set an appointment.  I set it for Saturday morning at 10 a.m.  The best possible time.  No one had to get up early.  There was plenty of time to get ready.  No one should be hungry.  Things should go swimmingly.

On Friday afternoon, with less than 24 hours until our appointment, I realized that Luke had his first hockey practice on Saturday morning.  At 10 a.m.  Damn.

I called the studio and asked to reschedule.  But, I said, I really needed a Saturday.  Sure!  The lady said.  Come in at 4.  Stupidly, I agreed.

And so it started.

At 2:50 p.m., Dan took the oldest boys to distribute fliers for Good Turn Sunday.  I gave Dan strict instructions to sign in with the scout leader, grab some fliers, get them out and get back home.  Once home, they would all need to change their shirts, comb their hair and we’d all have to get to the studio.

At 3:17 p.m., while they were still gone, Andrew woke from his nap.  With flushed cheeks and a 103° temperature.

At 3:32 p.m., Maria kicked Sam in the mouth and gave him a bloody lip.

At 3:45 p.m., I’m panicking because the boys are not home.  I poured myself a glass of wine.

At 3:52 p.m., Dan and the boys are STILL NOT HOME.  I take another swig of my wine.

Minutes later, Dan pulls up.  I grab the bloodied Sam, the feverish Andrew, the kick boxer, the boys’ shirts and my f-ing gift certificate and head out the door.

Unbelievably, Dan is in a jovial mood.  (Clearly, men cannot remember pain.)

We pulled up to the place 7 minutes late.  Bad, but not too bad.

After introductions, the photographer ushered us through her storefront, passed her office and into her studio.

It was – predictably – a complete disaster.  The photographer was very nice, and had some great, silly tricks for getting Andrew to look toward the camera and smile.  The other kids, however, all thought the silliness was for them, too.  Instead of staying put, looking forward and smiling at the camera while the photographer worked with Andrew, Jack, Maria, Luke and Sam all laughed (with very wide-open mouths) at her antics, cracked up at Andrew, and grabbed for him when he attempted multiple escapes.  We tried sitting, kneeling and standing.  We tried sitting on stools and on the floor.  We put Andrew on a stump, on his brothers’ backs and in a toy car.

It got to the point where we were threatening the older kids.  I told Jack he would have to pay me a dollar for every bad take (and there were LOTS of them) if he didn’t shape up.  I told Maria she could never wear a dress again, as she kept flashing the camera.  Andrew would NOT stay put no matter what.  Luke was good, but wouldn’t smile (it’s not cool).  And, Sam began to stomp his feet and wield his fists because it was all taking SO LONG!!!

At 4:53 we gave up.  The photographer said she had one “good” family picture and one “good” picture of the children.  (Good being defined as all looking in the general direction of the camera.)

Dan scooped up the baby (but not before he could knock something down) and herded everyone to the van.  I stayed behind to schedule an appointment to go over the proofs.

As soon as we got home, we sent all the kids to their rooms for hard labor (they couldn’t come out until their rooms were sparkling) and cracked open a couple of beers.

We couldn’t get them down fast enough.

Pretty cool!

Yum?  Maybe.

It was fun to try, but I doubt I’ll go through the trouble again.  Maria pulled hers apart and only ate the spaghetti.  Sam ate two small “pieces” and Luke about the same.  Andrew played with his and then shared with the dog.  Jack devoured his (nice to see that skinny boy eat) but, again, it was probably not worth the effort.

I think Sarah had MUCH more success.l