Gross ...

As I age, even though I am still 21, I am noticing certain "quirks" about myself.  I call them "quirks" because to come right out and call them Obsessive Compulsive Disorder just sounds crazy ... and that's not right.  So, these quirks ... when I turned 30 (even though I am 21), I decided I hated iceburg lettuce, I had always hated iceburg lettuce, and I saw no reason to ever eat it again.  I even questioned why all these years I had eaten iceburg lettuce trying to convince myself I was being healthy.  So, I stopped eating iceburg lettuce.  Another quirk ... public pools.  A number of years ago I watched some 20/20 or Dateline or other new show that talked about public pools.  After their examination of the "oh so clean from the chlorine" water, they came up a bit short.  After all, a poopie diaper is a poopie diaper and no amount of chlorine will kill off that stank ... I wish the chlorine would kill off the parents that stick their kids in the water with said poopie diaper.  A short time later, I see a newscast telling everyone that public pools are sucking kids down into the bottom of the pool through the super filter systems used to suck out said poopie floaters.  So, gross water and possible drowning.  I now look at pools and say, "this thing is full of pee, and I will not swim in a toilet.  "I have a literal visceral response, and have not entered a public pool since .. even a water park ... still full of pee.  Being the mom of three boys, they love the waterparks and I have to admit Jon does more than his fair share of swimming in the pee wter as I sit poolside working on my sunburn. Final (okay there are many more, but I am only focusing on these few) quirk ... germs.  Yes, this quirk does borderline OCD, but I don't like to call it that, becasue, again, that's jut crazy talk.  My fear of germs has led me to hand sanitizing (not like 30 times a day or anything, but it's sitting at the front door for any carrier monkey that enters my home, aka, my children's friends.)  I also love the smell of bleach, it's sick, I know, but it means clean.
A few days ago, our family set off on a 7 hour pilgrimage from Colorado to Utah.  We're celebrating the holidays with my WHOLE family.  The drive is, uh, possibly the most boring drive on the face of the United States.  It's miles and miles of flat land with occasional tumble weeds or juniper bushes.  Occasionally you run into a "town", aptly named town only because it has a gas station and sometimes a restraunt inside gas station where food poisioning is inevitable.  Since the drive is so entertaining, we try to stop as little as possible for as small a time as possible.  We stopped twice this trip.  First, to get food poisioning, second to get gas and do an emergency potty stop.  I'm not even going to attempt to describe the gas station bathroom, because anyone that has ever traveled knows they are a thing of nasty wonder.  I learned long ago the skill of squatting and "hovering" lest my derrier touch the most disgusting toilet seat known to the free world.  I took Bradyn with me into the bathroom, first shift of children.  I squatted and hovered.  I noticed that the back of the toiled was resting next to the toilet bowl, and it was an extra special treat to peer inside the blackness of the BACK of the nasty gast station bathroom toilet.  SO, I squat, I hover, and unlike most who take care of their "business" in a gas station potty, I flushed.  (Side note, flush the damned toilet.  For hell's sake, I don't care where you are, thyat's just lazu to not flush the toilet!)  As I flushed I realized this toilet was not flushing.  I peered into the blackness of the back of the bowl and realized the little chain was not attached to the stopper/valve thingy.  I'm no plumber, but I know that chain has to be attached.  Hmmmm. so in an attempt to be a nice human being, I looked around for something to get the murky black water out of the back of the toilet, to face my fears, and reattach the chain so I could flush the toilet.  Ah, there it was.  An errant giant Mountain Dew cup.  As Bradyn looked at me, I took a deep breath, and took out scoop number one of water.  Okay, managed to not touch murky black water and I dumped it into the sink.  Time for scoop two, I turned around and all hell broke loose.  Okay, not hell, but some little valve or something from the back of the toilet that was possesed by the devil himself and started spewing out pee pee toilet water like a hose with two much water pressure.  Bradyn hovered behind me and in a moment of sheer mother bear protection I put both hands in front of my face and faced the beast (aka, valve/hose thing spraying high powered pee pee water all vover the bathroom).  I managed to wrestle it back into position and then just sort of stood there.  I was soaked in pee pee water, there was no chlorine, and this was the most vile of all bathrooms ... the gas station bathroom.  I started desperately grabbing the brown rough, resembles a cheap thin paper bag towlets and wiping off my face, my hands, my hair, everything.  It was useless.  I looked at Bradyn, said, go to the bathroom!  He dutifully did his thing, and we left the bathroom.  I looked like  drowned rat and explained to the gas station attendant the situation.  Jon walked in at that point and started laughing.  It wasn't funny.  The gas station attendant was trying to be kind, but he soon fell victim to laughing at me as well.  I told them to both bite my ass, and left for the truck.  I think I might have flashbacks for the rest of my life.  I had to pee again in the next 4 hours ... and I held it.  There was no way in hell I was going to enter a gas station bathroom again.  I'm thinking if I cut off all liquids 12 hours before the trip home, I can make the 8 hours until we get home to Colorado.

Eldridge Family Christmas Letter ...

Ah, the family Christmas letter.  I will now regale you with stories of family perfection reserved for this special annual tradition.  If you believe that, then you don't know me very well. LOL!  Exciting, sorrow, gratitude, love, surprise.  These are just a few of the emotions our family has experienced this past year. The boys ...  Mr. Caden.  Caden is referred to as "Pearl" these days, aka Will Ferrell and a foul mouthed little 2 year old in his online skits.  While Caden is not foul mouthed, he is a sassy independant 21 month old.  Being the youngest of three boys, Caden has no trouble keeping up with his older brothers, digging in his little heels, pointing, and shouting jibberish at them in complete disgust.  We're slowly starting to understand what he's saying ... and I have to admit, he's my son.  Caden says goodbye to his brothers every morning and he and I pal around during the days.  His sweet smile melts me every time and his antics are entertaining.  He loves "cars", his brothers, blankie (nigh-nigh), squeels "DADDY!" when Jon walks in the door every evening, and yes, he still loves his bottle (ba-ba) at nigh-nigh time.  I think he will be off the bottle when he's 16.    

Bradyn graduated from kindergarten this year!  He had an absolutely amazing kindergarten teacher (thank you Mrs. Carlson!) and loved school.  Despite the fact we moved to Colorado when there were only three weeks left of school, he made fast friends.  Bradyn continues to be my little social monkey, and I predict politics will be in his future.  Despite his size (he's ENORMOUS!), he's a "gentle giant" with the most tender heart.  He is now in first grade and doing amazingly well.  We predicted community college for him one day, but I think we might have another Harvard applicant on our hands.Bradyn loves his friends, his DS, Bakugan, WII, Club Penguin, and some days even his older brother Drew.

Drew, oh Drew.  Yes, he is rolling his eyes at me in this picture and I suspect this trend will continue for most photos until he is at least 18.  Drew is in his "awkward" phase navigating the rigors of 6th grade and Middle School.  He's sort of a cross between Eminem and Napolean Dynamite these days.  Jon and I are navigating having a pre-teen and trying not to cramp his style.  He spends alot of time on the phone with his Uncle Josh.  Thank you Uncle Josh.  Despite it all, he continues to be an amazing student  and has all honors classes. Drew played football again this fall and loved it, as usual.  His Nana even flew in from Utah for a weekend to see him play!  Drew started playing the saxaphone in his school band.  He's AMAZING and I am really impressed.   Drew loves the computer, the military channel, national geographic, and all things history.  He tolerates his parents, but it all evens out with what an amazing big brother he is. He even babysits them for short stints (which I LOVE), and he only filled Caden's sippy cup with Mountain Dew High Voltage once.  Caden fell asleep three days later.

Jon's company transferred him to a new client in May.  We moved from New Hampshire to Colorado in May  We love Colorado and Jon loves his 7 minute commute rather than his 2.5 hour commute to Massachussets every day.  Along with the commute, he loves his new client so no complaints on the job front.  Jon was an assistant coach for Drew's football team this fall and he was in heaven.  Jon has a new vendor that gave him 2 tickets to see his beloved Patriots battle the Broncos at Invesco Field.  Patriots lost, Jon was in mourning, but he survived. Jon is the ward activities committee director (which really means I am), and is happy to say we have had two successful activites ... also the shortest activities in ward history.  Everyone is fed and it's cleaned up in three hours! LOL!

As for me, I was appointed by the mayor and city council to be on the School Board our last six months in New Hampshire, and apparently I didn't get enough.  I volunteered and was elected to be on the School Improvement Team at Bradyn's school in the Fall as one of two parent reps.  In my spare time I'm the delegated "party planner" for Bradyn's first grade classroom, run two carpools a day to the Middle School and Elementary School, and I started teaching voice lessons again (I really missed that and am loving it!).  I'm officially a member of a monthly Bunco group with some great women.  Other than that, I spend my days with "Pearl" aka, Caden and am so grateful I can stay home with my boys.  Well, it's time for "ba-ba" and "nigh-nigh" for Caden, and I'm pretty sure my laundry pile pro-creates if I don't watch it every second, so time to cut this short. 

We miss our family and friends in New England dearly, and are grateful for e-mail and facebook to stay in touch.  There are more blessings in our family this year than I can begin to count.  We hope this holiday season finds your families healthy and happy as you celebrate the birth of our Savior. We love you all!

Jon, Cortney, Drew, Bradyn, Caden, and Caesar (woof!)

My mother grew these HUGE pumpkins this year in her garden. When I say huge, I am talking possible state fair huge. I am really quite proud of her, because I have tried to grow pumpkins, and it is almost impossible .... they are persnickity little buggers that require lots of love ... love I'm not willing to offer produce. Mom lives in Utah, and managed to talk my Uncle (who lives in Colorado Springs and was visiting Utah) to transport one of the enormous pumpkins to our house on his trip back to Colorado (he goes through our town in CO). SO, the pumpkin arrives sometime end of September. Jon and I managed to get it heaved onto the front porch and sitting on a sort of table thing that now has 4 legs that are sort of bowing beneath the enormous pumpkin weight, but I reasoned if the pumpkin was off the ground, it would not rot (at least as fast). Jon was later diagnosed with a hernia (not kidding). SO, the pumpkin received ooohs and aaahs over the Halloween holiday, no we did not atttempt to carve it, it's three times the size of my 20 month-old and in my opinion I think there is something sacreligious about breaking out power tools to carve a pumpkin. SO, it's now November 13. The pumpkin remains, as does Jon's hernia, and I'm not real sure how we are going to dispose of the thing. My sister, Maranda, recently suggested that I offer all three of my boys a hammer and tell them to dispose of said pumpkin and "leave no trace behind". Uh.huh. I told her the following:

"Give them a hammer? Have you met my children? Wait, don't you have three of your own? Can you IMAGINE? Let me play this out for you ... I give the three of them a hammer. It would begin as a pumpkin massacre ... then Drew would wack the damned thing so hard the guts would inevitably bounce onto Bradyn, who would then call Drew a "fag" or "homo" or "stupid head" and then he would try his level best to wack drew, hammer in hand, in the "nards". Caden would be watching the whole thing go down and think that hitting must be okay since he would then be witnessing Drew fall into complete hysterics, yell something about pimps, ho's, and how he's in a gang and is going to get his ak47 and annialate (sp) his brother Bradyn. Of course, since we don't have ak47 assault rifles handy at the house, he would instead try to retaliate and hit Bradyn in the aforementioned "nards" as well. Jon would try to step in, but would be laughing to hard that they were attacking each other's nards to be much of a parental guidance to anyone. I would be screaming about giving the hammers back to me and how they were grounded for the rest of their natural lives. Caden ... well, Caden would be somewhere in the middle of the half beaten pumpkin, which I am sure is rotten as hell at this point, eating it by the mushy handful saying, "ka-ka". No, no. I think pumpkin disposal will involve Jon's work truck, possibly some day laborers, and an illegal drop off late in the night in some unsuspecting local farmers field. After all, it came from the land, back to the land. Dust to dust, right? "
Exactly how long can a giant pumpkin last before it starts to rot and smell. It seems fine now ... is it wierd to glue cotton balls on it for a beard and put a Santa hat on top of it? I think it could work for winter decor? Who needs Santa when you have a giant pumpkin to spread holiday cheer?

A few more pics of Drew's ordination day ...

Mom n Drew

Drew was ordained to be a Deacon last Sunday. Here's a shot of Drew and I before church.

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: 6th Grade YMCA Overnight Trip

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: 6th Grade YMCA Overnight Trip

6th Grade YMCA Overnight Trip

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Bradyn's 7th Birthday Party

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

How to stop the Boys Fighting Constantly?

Today I was surfing in desperation for ways to stop my oldest two boys from killing one another … found this article and have to comment … are you kidding me Mr. Brandenburg? Did you raise children or apes? - Cortney

Sibling Rivalry: Ten Ways to Prevent Kids from Fighting
by Mark Brandenburg, MA, CPCC

Fighting among siblings is as natural as the changing of the seasons. And contrary to what many parents believe, sibling rivalry is a sign of mental health in a family. While there may be times when it's difficult to deal with, there are some simple things you can do to limit fighting and make it tolerable: (IF fighting is a sign of mental health than we are no longer a self proclaimed dysfunctional family, but rather the picture of mental stability.)

1. Ignore Their FightingFighting is often a way for kids to get you to notice them. If you ignore their fighting (unless weapons are involved), there will be less incentive for them to do it. (Are you freaking kidding me? How do you ignore screams of, “he kicked me in the BAAAAAAALS!” While grocery shopping as shoppers stare on waiting for your response. Trust me, I’ve tried to leave them in the aisle and pray someone else takes them home.)

2. Treat Your Kids the Same When it Comes to FightingIf you get into who started things, you may be training your kids to be victims and bullies. Put them in the same boat and don't take sides. (Treat them the same … uh, huh. So when Drew initiates, Bradyn cries at the drop of a hat, and Caden just sort of watches the whole thing go down I lock all three of them in the bathroom and make them sing primary songs?)

3. Give Your Kids Positive Reinforcement when they're Cooperating.Let them know they're doing a wonderful job when they get along. This one's easy to forget, but vitally important. Give them attention when they're behaving the way you want. Continually telling them to stop may actually be creating more fighting! (When does this happen, do they behave when they are 18? Because I am still waiting for a day when my kids behave so I CAN positively reinforce them!)

4. Limit Your Own Fighting and Arguing.Having your kids see occasional arguing and "making up" from you is fine, but your kids will learn how to be peaceful from you. Don't expect them to do it well if you don't show them how. (Uh, no comment.)

5. Create an Environment of Cooperation.Do projects together as a family that involve cooperation. Talk about how important it is for the family to cooperate. Avoid games or activities that promote fighting or excessive competition in your kids. (There is not a game or activity on the ever living planet that will NOT incite my eldest two boys into full on physical altercations usually involving someone getting kicked in the “nads”.)

6. Train Your Kids in Peacemaking when They're Away from Conflict.Talk to your kids about fighting at a time when they're relaxed and open. Ask them about what other options they might have taken rather than to hit their sister. Help them to brainstorm better solutions. (Never relaxed, always blocking their crotch from the next physical altercation.)

7. Try to Avoid Punishing your KidsPunishing kids usually just creates angry kids who are more likely to fight. While some punishment may be inevitable, do your best to give consequences instead. Punishment may bring short term solutions, but will also bring long term problems. (Again, did you raise monkeys or children Mr. Mark? Cetainly it wasn’t children because if it was you would know that sending kids to their room is not for the kids, it is for the parent, so you can count to ten, regroup, and avoid committing homicide or losing it to the point you drool all over yourself making incoherent sentences about stopping hitting your brother.)

8. Control How You React to their Fighting.When you must intervene, make sure you stay calm. If you're angry and shaming, you actually make it more likely that fighting will occur again. (See #7. Go to your room.)

9. Limit the Number of Fighting Opportunities You Give your Kids.Think about what has the potential to start fights. Don't buy a red ball and a blue ball, this may easily result in a fight by your kids. Buy two red balls--no fight. Be familiar with the times in which fighting occurs the most-when they're hungry or tired. Take precautions, like having dinner ready before the "bewitching hour" occurs. (Balls, they kick each other in them, no matter the color. Potential exists EVERYWHERE for fighting. I look wrong at one, they fight. I give one a pen and one a pencil, they fight. I tell one to bring the laundry upstairs and the other to bring it downstairs, suddenly I have mixtures of clean and dirty laundry lining the floor from the upstairs to the downstairs and both of them are crying and screaming. Do you know how hard it is to schedule their daily chores strategically so they will never be in the same room at the same time doing the same chore, because they WILL fight.)

10. Love Your Kids for All They're WorthEvery day tell them you love them, and more importantly--show them. Kids who feel emotionally connected to their parents are the least likely to fight. This won't eliminate it, but the alternative isn't pretty at all. (I do love them all, more than life. I just think right now I LIKE Caden a little better. He’s 18 months, doesn’t talk back, and only fights with the dog.)

Bradyn is in FIRST GRADE!

This is Bradyn. He was/is SOOO cute! What cheeks! Bradyn was about a year old here ... and yes, he loved swwwt potatoes and carrots! Can you tell from his orange nose?! Yesterday at age 6, he entered first grade. There are days like yesterday when I watch my second child entering first grade that I have to hide a tear thinking about how the time flies by far to fast. My mom is always telling me time will fly ... and I am always thinking,"it better fly, or my money's on me being fully insane." Bradyn was borderline coma induced about first grade. Every time I asked if he was excited he simply said, "uh, no, not really" and I think he really didn't care. Is this normal? Since Bradyn is the second and has an older brother, he is all things cool. His school is a few blocks away and the morning was gorgeous so we decided to walk. Caden packed into his "motorcycle" (a tricycle wiht a handle I push while he stands up on it and makes "vrrrooom, vrrrommm, go, go now" sounds) and we were off. Caden chattered the whole way telling me to "go, go now" and Bradyn talked a little bit. As we got closer I figured the kid would be a little nervous, I mean this was first grade, so I offered a hand. He REFUSED! WHAT! I offered again and pointed out that the other mommies were holding their kids hands so this was okay. He again said, "Mooooom, I'm to old for that!" AUGH! He is not to old! I took a moment to contain my emotions at the fact that this poor child was the beneficiary of his elder brother's teenager wisdom. He did let me half heartedly hug him and I snuck in a kiss on the cheek that he promptly responded with, "MOOOOOOM!" Okay, it broke my heart a little. I admit it. But he was not nervous, not even a little, and he stood in the line ready to be called in by his teacher. As he entered the school I thought to myself, "goodbye my sweet little Bradyn, please let the world be kind."

Really Drew, the first day of school?

This is Drew ... about 8 years ago. He was 4 here. So cute. Such a smiler! I have to review old phots often these days ... so I don't kill Drew. Drew is now a teenager, almost 12, anf going on 30. He's ... well, read on ... so yesterday I take Drew to his first day of middle school. Now in Franklin, NH middle school started in the 5th grade, here in Colorado it is normal and starts in the 6th grade. The evening before after football practice he and his teammates looked for their names on the wall with the other kids posting his teacher, where to go to his first class, etc. His name was nowhere to be found. So he was panicked. All I could say to him was, "Drew, you know me, you know that heads will roll first thing in the morning at that middle school. Don't worry." So at the first sign of light Drew and I are out the door and in the middle school parking lot like shoppers waiting for the Kohl's early bird day after Thanksgiving sale. Anyhow, when the doors open we are ready. I march into the office and politely tell them they have their proverbial heads up their behinds and perhaps they should register my son now since I had only been to the Middle School three times over the last 3 months! Interestingly, they cannot find his paperwork ... oh, except the paperwork from the Elementary School he attended for all of three weeks with his teachers recommendation that Drew be in all honors classes. So he obviously EXISTED! We are led in to the guidance counselors office and she is profusely apologetic. I was slow to thaw, but eventual came around to her happy side of the mountain. Drew was nervous initially, but that soon changed. In the seat next to me on the other side of the guidance counselor's desk I see Drew putting both hands behind his head getting all casual. When Drew assumes this pose you always have to wonder, "God, please don't let him embarrass me, please MAKE him keep his mouth shut, even a moment of stunned dumbness would be okay!" God never listens to my pleas where my children are concerned in the embarrassment department. I think it is all about "humbling" me or some other silly thing. Anyhow, like a slow motion movie I see Drew open his mouth I am screaming inside NOOOOOOOO! Suddenly it happens, "So, how's the school lunch here because at the elementary school it was nothing to brag about." I shot him the shut the hell up look, but he didn't take the hint. The guidance counselor fortunately had dealt with his kind before and she chatted away about Dominoes Pizza coming in Monday Wednesday and Friday. Drew responds, "Oh good, because my friend told me the school tried to make their own pizza and not have dominoes come in and the school pizza was a hot mess!" Holy crap. Again, the death stare, which he doesn't seem to even notice or care about. The counselor laughed. Stop laughing silly woman, you are engaging the beast. So, she prattles on about his schedule and teachers and I asked about the gifted and talented program. She told me he would be enrolled and do I recall what specifically he was gifted in? I said a few subjects and she started talking to Drew about teachers. She said the math teacher is great and the science teacher is allot of fun ... and before the woman could finish Drew states, "oh good, I'm glad the science teacher is fun because when I lived in New Hampshire my science teacher, Ms. Norwood, was, well let's just say she had difficulty interacting with her students." Kill me now or let my crawl under a chair. The guidance counselor started to tell Drew he had nothing to worry about and Drew says, "yeah, she was a piece of work, she got all bent out of shape if you were silent reading in her class and it wasn't a science book ..." I finally intervened and cut him off and out loud said, "Drew, time to CLAMP IT!" He looks right at me and says, "what? she was! You know she was!" I responded, "Drew, new state, new school, new teachers. Ms Norwood didn't transfer with you so no worries, okay?" I said this with a bit of an undertone of the death tone. You know, the one where your lips don't move in church as you are telling your kids, "when we get home so help me I am going to lock you in your room and feed you bread and water for three days, STOP touching you brother, NOW!" So, Drew has made an impression already. Heaven help us all.

BSA - National Racketeering

BSA - National Racketeering

BSA - National Racketeering

BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA -
"Racketeering parents since 1930"

racketeering: (v) An organized conspiracy to commit crimes of extortion or coercion.


I'm a tad bitter and I have had a throbbing headache for over a week now, so you might want to stop reading my incoherent, bitter ramblings. On the other hand, if you have a male child in your home that ever intends to call himself an almighty "Eagle Scout" please read on for warning ...

Scout Oath (or Promise)
On my honor I will do my best To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; To help other people at all times;To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.

Scout Law
A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty,brave, clean, and reverent.

The Scout Oath and Law, as I have clearly posted, pronounces a few things very clearly. A scout is to be "mentally awake ... morally straight ... and thrifty." Let's explore these three items. First, apparently no one told the BSA that these laws also apply to the parent(s) of boy scouters. Why? No "mentally awake, morally straight, thrifty" person can possibly find sense in purchasing anything from the BSA. Even if you have piles of money stuffed under your bedroom mattress for frivolous spending (I know you all have this, don't lie), you can still not profess yourself to be "mentally awake, morally straight, or thrifty" if you purchase the BSA required uniform for your scouter ... and this is just the beginning.
I think BSA is an organization secretly involved in parental racketeering. Clearly, purchasing a single "number" to place on your BSA uniform (and most have at least 3 numbers) for almost $2 is extortion. Did your little darling go to the train station and ride the rails for his "rail riding merit badge" (no, I can't make this crap up, it's for real, I wish I could make it up, truly I do)? Congratulations! You now have to purchase the corresponding merit badge to be sewn (another nightmare) onto the gold encrusted BSA shirt (okay, so I haven't seen the gold encrusting on Drew's shirt, but for the price, I am sure there is gold on or in the damned thing somewhere) for a mere $3-$8 dollars. What the hell?

BSA further commits extortion through coercion convincing the NATION that being an Eagle Scout is the end all be all to eventual manhood. Didn't Obama use that line? That he was an Eagle Scout? Hmmm, hell of alot of good that has done our nation. I guess there isn't a merit badge for anything financial ... oh wait, BSA doesn't want you to know about finances, they just want you to put your credit card "on file". Maybe that's why Obama is putting the nation into financial duress, former BSA days, he's putting America's "card on file". I digress.

Humor me. Let's discuss extortion and coercion for a moment and the whole Eagle Scout idealism. Once upon a time, let's say almost 20 years ago, my little sister and I went on a backpacking trip in the Wind Rivers region with our Dad and an all male all the time group of our cohorts. We were the only females, and as such, deemed unworthy of all things outdoors or manly ... including but not limited to the ability to "make fire". We were, as so emphatically stated amongst our group of males, amongst "Eagle Scouts", after all.

The first evening we arrived in our camp it was cold, wet, and did I mention cold. We were exhausted from our all day drive to the "hiking drop off point" and all I wanted was a vanilla soy latte' and a warm bed. But, alas, I was in the wild surrounded by "Eagle Scouts" and such things were not available. The best I could hope for was an MRE (meal ready to eat, gross by the way, especially when your Dad purchases them from the local military surplus store so I am pretty sure they are circa WWII) packet slightly warmed in boiling water. However, this luxury required fire to boil the water. But, no worries, we were amongst "Eagle Scouts", as my sister and I were AGAIN informed by the masses.

I was to tired and hungry to express my disgust over this male dominated world my sister and I were about to entertain for the next week, so I sat back and kept my comments to myself as I watched the "Eagle Scouts" attempt to make fire. Did I say attempt? Yes, I did. The "Eagle Scouts" tried to make fire in some half-assed backwards nonsensical approach. My sister and I sort of sat and stared at them, for over an hour, as more of the "Eagle Scouts" in our group gathered. It would seem that this "make fire" tasking would take more than 4 Eagle Scouts to complete the job. An hour passed ... no fire. My sister and I looked at each other, not helplessly, but with the "stupid boys" look in our eyes. Linda, our mother, had raised us amongst many other things to know one thing ... in many situations boys are stupid and eventually you just have to do it yourself. I was hungry, and cold. Get out of the way Eagle Scouts.

My sister and I had participated in "church girls camp" since we were 12. I was 18 at the time, so a good 6 years of "church girls camp". Church camp happened annually. There were no merit badges involved, no gathering of levels of manhood (I think Drew is currently trying to get his Ferret or Rodent, or Tender Rat or something) towards Eagledom, nothing. There were "levels", but they went by year, and each year you learned a little more, and each year you bettered your poker game and brought more candy with which to "gamble". Despite my sister and I being certified black jack dealers (6 years girls camp = full certification in Las Vegas style black jack), we had also learned a few survival skills along the road ... once a year mind you ... not gathering Ferrets and Rodents along the way. We COULD make fire.

Maranda (that's the sister) and I bid the Eagle scouts adieu' much to their manly chagrin. I think if we were both wielding machete's to cut off their manhood their faces would have been less disgustingly disfigured than two "non eagle scouts" manifesting "move, we'll make the fire". Maranda and I gathered up our "fire makin' tools", and within about 2 minutes, wala', fire. To this day, I have found little or no need for scouting. Of course, then God blessed (uh-huh) me with 3 boys, who will all inevitably want to be in the BSA. Gross. Eagle Scout? Whatever.

Our church has bought into the madness of scouting so there is further coercion towards your son becoming an "Eagle Scout" one day. When your son turns 10/11 years of age, the scouting begins ... your parents (that would be me) take out a second mortgage on their home and purchase your BSA outfit and sew (that would be me again) on the accompanying crap for the shirt. My mom said, "make sure you use a big stitch, you'll have to move all of the patches, I hated doing that with your little brothers shirt ... did it for years ...". (At this point mom moved into the corner, curled into the fetal position, and started sucking her thumb reminiscing about moving patches, purchasing patches, "rounds of applause", and cake auctions at blue and gold or white or whatever events to help offset the outrageous cost of the BSA events.) I still haven't sewed on the patches, I'm scared I'll have to move them.

So, the madness begins at 10-11 years of age, patches are moved, your credit card is ablaze from BSA "required" purchases, and what do you get? A party, I think similar to a Jewish Bar mitzvah for a boy coming of age, wherein your "Eagle Scout" wears his "BSA CERTIFIED" badges, and accompanying clothing, looking like a super dork, and everyone gives him a "round of applause" (round of applause: picture your hands going in a circle over your head in a round shape clapping) and then the kid gets to say, "I'm an Eagle Scout" and eventually use it in his successful presidential election... stating he his "mentally straight, morally awake, and thrifty" but he still can't make fire or budget to save his life.

I think parents should unite and stop the madness. Not kidding. The BSA Gods may strike me down, and I might have to have a special meeting with our church hierarchy about my bitter attitude, but I think this is a fight that deserves a good right hook. The BSA is smooth and cunning convincing a whole nation, including Normal Rockwell, that being a scout is all that is American and if you aren't ... perish the thought. I wonder if Normal Rockwell's parents had to purchase all of the scout crap I have to purchase today? I can "make fire" and a "budget" and I don't have a merit badge to prove it. I'm still worthy. My Aunt and Uncle set a RULE in their house that you have to have your Eagle Scout (typically happens when you are 16) before you can get your drivers license. No Eagle, no drive? I only had to learn my times tables to get my ears pierced ... and that only cost mom a set of earrings, no merit badges or banquets.

As I write, I am thinking that perhaps the whole scouting idea is really creating a bunch of wimps. Why do you have to have a banquet to show you tied a knot or rode a train or cooked an egg (all merit badges, again, I can't make this crap up)? Why can't you just learn the skill and move on? At the very least, I think Mr. Eagle Scout President Elect Obama should let parents write purchased scout crap off their taxes. I think Jon and I would enter a new tax bracket if he would allow that... I think its called, "the working poor".

My sister called me the other day (Maranda) to tell me she had been given a new job at church ... Den Leader. She is currently looking for a scout shirt and has considered going to the thrift store. I told her, "do it, go to the thrift store, maybe you can find a shirt with the crap already sewed onto it, but make sure the stitch is loose, you'll have to move them, ask Mom." She doesn't want to look "frumpy", I told her "not possible, you're in BSA dork wear." Let's just hope my little sister can take some of her black-jack toting, fire making girls camp skills and teach my nephew better than an Eagle Scout. Maybe one day he can preserve the family name and make fire? Let's just hope the nation never needs to call on its Eagle Scouts ... I think the Girl Scouts should be on speed dial. Amen.

Valium, Excedrin, and Diet Coke!

Born and raised in Utah I was taught many things ... least of which was the plethora of urban legend some swore as sacred that we don't drink coke products. Hmmmm. I didn't see that one anywhere written down? Hmmmm. While I have never been much of a soda drinker, the whole "coke products" debate never really bothered me, I didn't care, give me a bottle of water, I'm good. So, now I am hearing about a new phenomenon and I think all Mom's should jump on this bandwagon. It's called Excedrin and Diet Coke. Some of you may already know about this underground mommy trend, some of you may be newcomers, I, am a newbie, and not yet sure if a beleiver. The Excedrin and Diet Coke phenomenon involves a mom, her numerous children, oft times mini vans, and the middle of the day. Mom is ripping her hair out, the kids are delirious, and Mom slips into the mini mart for a "fix". What is this "fix"? It's diet coke, yes it is, I swear it. Mom comes back to her mini van, filled with LOUD and OBNOXIOUS children, opens her purse to reveal her Costco sized bottle of Extra Strength Excedrin, and pops a few with a Diet Coke chaser. Suddenly her nerves start to go into slow overload, then a wiff of energy overtakes her, and wa la, mommy can maintain sanity for at least 2 more hours before Daddy manages to get home and Momm can run screaming away from the house.
I don't have Excedrin in my house, and I don't drink soda, so I'm screwed on both rights. But, I think perhaps a new phenomenon should begin. I think Valium should be sold, leglally, at all establishments where a mother/father and multiple children enter at any given time of day. Here is my plan. I have three boys, God has a sense of humor, and while he's rolling around on his heavenly clouds grabbing his sides from fits of laughter at my parenting expense, my children are slowly driving me to a slow and painful grave. My two oldest have taken to the "make him ..." fill in the blank. Then there are the squeels of "leave me ALOOOOONE!", the never ending butt whoops they insist on inflicting on one another, and the noise, the sheer noise of it all ... my head is pounding. Over the past few weeks I have started to make Valium requests at public establishments. For example, I took the boys to Einsteins' Bagels. They love bagels, this should be easy. I get to the counter, the Rheese Monkey (aka Caden) is hanging off of my hip, Bradyn is pulling on the bottom of my shirt saying, "can I, uh, I want, uh, can I, uh, want, uh ..." and Drew is leering my direction. "Drew, what do you want to eat?" Drew, in his special tone only reserved for me scowls my direction and says, "I want NOTHING, do you hear me? NOTHING! I hate this place and I hate being here and ..." I know, I know, you hate me too? He'll have a plain bagel. "Bradyn, what do you want?" Bradyn is still trying to decide on juice flavors. "I want a plain bagel toasted with PLAIN cream cheese, PLAIN okay, and toasted, okay, PLAIN..." yeah, yeah, I got it. Are you getting a drink Drew? "I want NOTHING ... wait, FINE, I'll get this!" and he slams a lemonade down on the counter. Then all hell breaks loose. Bradyn apparently put TWO apple juices on the counter, one for him, one for Caden. Drew ASSUMED Bradyn had the audacity to choose his drink and he hollers, "I am NOT DRINKING THAT!!!" Good, it's for your BABY brother. Yes, again, he scowled. I looked sort of helplessly at the person taking our order and said, "Um, if you have it, I would like the soup and a Valium." I didn't smile, I didn't even act like I was joking. He said, "lady, if there was Valium in this store, I would have already taken all of it. Hmmm, he didn't qualify for said Valium. I saw no Monkeys hanging off of his hip, no scowling surly teenager, no indecisive 6 year-old. Stingy, I think he DID take all the Valium!
Next stop, Walmart. God help us all, yes, after the fiasco at Einsteins, I still had to go to Walmart. I was asked no less than 14000 (not a typo, that is 14 THOUSAND) times, "can I have this, can I have this, can we get this, we don't have this, can we get it?" for really important life altering things like, "gum" and "fruit punch" and lollipops. By the time we get to check out I was visibly losing it. The checker, a young sort of looking guy, starts commenting on what I was purchasing ... I hate that, if you're a checker, don't do that, noone wants your commentary on why I am buying Cranberry juice and if it is for the same thing her sister had than it really works for UTI's ... gross! Anyhow, this checker commented on only one item. My EXTRA STRENGTH TENSION HEADACHE EXCEDRIN. "Huh, I can see why you nee this!" I smiled, sort of, and said, "well, when in Rome" since I am hearing this new Excedrin Diet coke hit is all the rage amongst the mommies. He then tells me, "hey, I get it, I have some Xanax in my pocket right now." What the hell sort of conversation was this leading into? he then proceeds to tell me about how he has panick attacks while working the register at Walmart and so he has Xanax on hand at all occasions because, "you don't want to see me when I get a panic attack around all these people and stuff." I just sort of stared at him, almost in a hypnotic sort of "what the hell did you jsut tell me, I'm a stranger to you" sort of look. Then I said, "do you sale Valium here?"

Mom and her girls, Kati, Maranda, and Cortney

My little sister Kati took this pic of Maranda and I at my Cousin Emily's wedding.

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: MY MULLET HUNTING FASCINATON ...

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: MY MULLET HUNTING FASCINATON ...

Boys, Boys, Boys ...

Today I took a second to look back at some old posts I had written about my boys, and I realized that parenthood, although a seemingly endless, joyless, and daunting task some days ... is really sort of hysterical. Who else but kids, especially boys, come up with the crap that they come up with on a daily basis. The adage, "you'll laugh about this later" really is true. As I reread some of their "antics" I am laughing. I don't recall laughing when it actually happened ... I believe there was more anger and complete disbelief that I had actually brought creatures onto this planet that could possibly be this stupid? But,I digress. I've said it once and I will say it again, mind you with all love and sincerity, boys ARE stupid and mine prove my theory every single day.

A Day at the Park with the Cousins and Nana

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Cousins at Nana's July 2009

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Cherry Days 2009

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My mom forwarded this to me today. Mom usually sends me funny forwards, so now and then I bite and open them. I'm so glad I opened this one! I'm making my 11 year-old read it right now!
Gooooooooo former "drug" babies!

June 2009 Colorado Adventures

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I (heart) UTAH

Friday afternoon our family made the pilgrimage to Utah. We are planning on spending the week for the 4th July holiday. This morning I read an article in the newspaper that cracked me up ... when July begins Utah spends three weeks celebrating. Celebrating what? Under the guise of patriotism (and I don't doubt there are some sincere feelings of patriotism hidden in all of the festivities), every big and little town celebrates SOMETHING that, provided the local taxes are budgeted correctly, ends in an either "average" or "wow, that was waaaaay better than last year!"fireworks display. One would think that there could not possibly be reasons to celebrate for three straight weeks. One would therefore be wrong, and obviously not privy to the "charm and uniqueness" of all that is Utah.

Despite the obvious patriotic reasons for festive July activities, towns (large and small alike) in Utah deem this particular month as a reason to worship, better yet, idoloze, produce. Produce? Yes, produce. The briefest and easisest explanation of the phenomenon is that towns worship whatever their town grows best. The worship of the produce maye have started out small many years ago (I'm not really sure on that fact), but I know today it has grown into fulls scale madness. Not only are there parades, town celebrations throughotu the day (with overpriced vendor booths, cheap fair rides that my mom lever let us ride because as she said, "they were put together with nuts and bolts in a hurry" and therefore they would most assuredly fall apart while one of her four children happened to be riding one, chintzy entertainment by local American Idol hopefuls that missed the age cutoff date, and culminating fireworks displays. Some towns even have beauty pageants disguised as "scholarship pageants", uh-huh, whatever. Can you imagine your crown being that of "Miss Tomato Days" or Miss Cherry Days", or her royal "Miss Peach Days"?

Honestly, look it up online, I can't make this crap up ... just to name a few: Hooper, UT has "Tomato Days" down south they have "Corn Days", Brigham City, UT has "Peach Days", some town has "Strawberry Days" (according to my mom) and my little town of North Ogden, UT has "Cherry Days". Cherry Days is always celebrated on the 4th of July, so the two holidays sort of were just a merge growing up. You never celebrated the "4th of July", you went to the "Cherry Days Parade", and the "Cherry Days Beauty Pageant", you get the idea. If you grew up in Utah (as I did) you thought the worship of produce was normal ... it was not until years of living AWAY from the great state of Utah that I realized the whole produce idoolization might be a little "off".

So here I sit, home at my Mom's house, in Utah, looking forward to this weeks events and all that is Cherry Days. This year's theme is "Boots, Buckles, and Barrels of Fun!" Even I have nothing that words can properly express wondering what fool (or committee of fools as it may be) came up with that theme for the year. Where do Cherry's fit in with boots, buckles, and barrels of fun? Perhaps this week the mystery will unfold as we immerse ourseles in all that is North Ogden, Utah. My little sister Kati insists that the "mascot" for this year (a mouse in full cowboy garb riding around on a broomstick toy horse) looks like "Speedy Gonzales". I didn't even SEE a Cherry on the mascot logo (maybe Speedy ate the Cherries, and they were delicious, and now he is riding around whooping it up on his toy horse ... how does my mind even go these places, who can tell?), so I don't know WHAT'S UP WITH THAT MASCOT?!?!? I just hope there are souvenir t-shirts I can buy for the whole family to prove we were here. Mom thinks the local grocery story has them. Awesome. More, oh yes many, many more updates to come. Bet you wish you were! p.s. My mom made a homemade cherry pie yesterday ... I think one slice of her pie could bring world peace ... it makes me want to celebrate the Cherry. Go figure.

There are two requirements that face our children from conception ... they must be male, (as is evident from the obvious lack of any females in our little genetic codes) and they must be neurotic with at least ONE thing. Fulfilling these two obligations makes you the child of Jon and Cortney Eldridge.

I have written all to often about the neurotic behaviors of my first two children Drew (the pack leader) and Bradyn (the ultimate middle child). Let me introduce you to neurotic little genetic code #3, Caden. (See left) Notice the sheepish little grin on his face ... don't be fooled, he, like his brothers, is naughty all the way through and if you take your eyes off of him for a second, you're screwed. That wasn't a poetic way of writing, but it's the only definition, you are truly screwed if you leave this child to his own devices for more than 5 seconds.

Caden's neurotic behaviors range from a little wierd to truly absurd. Recently Caden has realized that he is an upwardly mobile creature, and no longer victim to crawling his way about town. I think the whole walking thing really took off when he spent some time outside crawling on the sidewalk with bare knees. He was fine at first, then I noticed he was doing some wierd army sort of Mowgli (think Jungle Book) monkey crawl. His feet were on the ground, and his palms were on the ground, and his rear was higher than his head. It saved his knees, but I think his palms got sore, because suddenly he was moving slowly into a more upward position, and wala! Now, he walks ... everywhere.

To most, walking is like breathing, you just do it. To Caden, walking is like ... being the most powerful superhero in the WORLD! He walks from room to room with his rounded little belly shoved forward, strutting his little toddler strut, very proud that he is now upward and now longer at level with the dog ... which has solidified Caden's place in the dog versus baby world that Caden is now the ALPHA and Caesar has jsut given up on life all together. Occasionally Caden will establish his obvious dominance over his older brothers as well. He enters a room, (okay, struts in the room in only a diaper) sticks his little arm up and finger out right at his brothers and says, "Wababatagagbaabay!!!" I have no idea what that means, but it is apparently very important judging from Caden's tone of voice. I think he is telling his brothers to bow to his obvious dominance. They don't, they laugh, and Caden leaves the room, head down, mumbling what I can loosely translate to be, "bite my ass."

Since Caden is "walking", he now also assumes everything is a sort of "riding" device. anything not nailed down is Caden's "skateboard" including my giant glass serving dish. One foot on the dish, and one foot on the ceramic tile floor, and that thing moves like a skateboard. Who knew? He has mastered the phrase, "uh-oh!"and when things truly get ridiculous with his brothers he hollers, "mamamammamamaaaaaaa!" Already tattling. Great. His worst trait, he bites. But he's not a mean biter and he never does it in retaliation or as a cage fighting maneuver, he does it because he "loves you". But, have you ever had your inner thigh clenched down on by the chompers of a 15 month old who thinks he is "loving you" as your cooking dinner? It's a sort of burning, seething pain that makes you think two things, "if I have enough loose thigh skin down there that the kid can chomp down, it's time for some more squats at the gym, don't yell, don't flinch, he thinks he's loving you!"

Caden's favorite toys are "little people". He got a truckload of "little people" and accessories for his birthday from Kristin and Ryan, Mark Sr. Jr. and Donna Magoon. I would like to thank them for the little people. I would like to thank them at 3 a.m. when I wake up to go to the bathroom and step on an ill placed "little people" and/or prop for the little people. Little people now cover my house ... and if I ever "lose" Caden, I just follow the trail of "little people", it's like breadcrumbs, and at the end there is always a Caden.

But, my all time favorite neurotic behavior of Caden's is his love of all things "soft and snuggly". He loves his "boon" from his Grandma Fish ... but I am afraid as of late the "boon" has taken a back seat to a new love ... Mommy's silk pajama bottoms. Caden stole them from my dresser drawer one night, wrapped them around his head, and proceeded to strut around grinning and then fell to the floor and "nuzzled" his head into my pajama bottoms. Since he's the third child and we don't question, but rather honor all things neurotic our children do, we went ahead and let him sleep with the said pajama bottoms. That was 3 weeks ago. He still sleeps with the pajama bottoms ... my little sister Kati said her husband was worried about their little one "suffocating" because when he sleeps he buries his head in his "boon" ... I told my sister that Caden sleeps with pajama legs wrapped around his neck, and he's okay, so Juan should simmer down, Emerson will be fine. Hey, my pajama bottoms, they are soft, I sort of miss wearing them!

There is more, so much more, but I just saw a "little people" whiz past my head ... which means Caden is soon to follow. Again, thanks for the little people Gelinas and Magoon families! = )

Dinosaur Park Utah 2009

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Children's Museum Ogden, Utah 2009

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Boys Graduate School in Colorado

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Colorado, Colorado ... the thin state

I think everyone here is thin. I mean it. I find myself purposfully looking for people who are fat. And there are a few, I mean a blessed few, who I think can appreciate a good piece of cheesecake ala' mode. But those few cheesecake officianados are hard to find, and I think are perhaps illegally out and about during daylight hours with the rest of the thin and athletic looking types. I think it is a state law or something.

I don't own a bike, and this fact alone might become a problem if I expect to make any new friends in Colorado. I tried to take a "spin" class with my little sister, Maranda, when I lived in Las Vegas. I hated it. Not because I was tired or worn out ... I was in great shape ... but it hurt my butt, I mean alot, even with the special padded but cushion the instructor let me borrow. I tried it, twice, I still avoid it. Every gym here offers it as a class, at least 4 times a day. Gross. Our city, in particular, has main roads with huge lanes (which a car could easily fit into) dedicated to "bike lanes". God help you if you try and maneuver your SUV into a bike lane. Bike helmets are a fashion yes, yes! Everyone seems to either have a helmet on their head, or hanging off of their person somewhere.

The carpool lane has disinegrated from SUV lane (where I feel very comfortable in my gas guzzling Expedition) to "bike and haul behind trailer" lane. I don't like it, it's wierd, and I don't like the looks I get because I don't have a bike and subsequent haul behind trailer holding my 14 month old with his own personalized bike helmet. Sure, we only live about 5 blocks from the school, but it's hot here. I mean, it's like 85 degrees and sunny. I made the mistake of walking to the school one sunny afternoon to pick up the boys. Drew's response, "where's the truck?" I told him I walked. Drew's response, "what's wrong with you?!" Yes, he's a charmer that one. Bradyn's response, "I'm going to DIIIIIIIIIEEE if I have to walk all the way hoooooooooome!" Noone died, but I think we resembled more of a death march than a happy sporty family walking home from school. The kids bitched, I yelled, and the dog sort of whimpered.

Shorts are in, as are tank tops ... all of which only magnify the fact that we have been living in the frozen tundra (New England) for the past four years and never saw sunlight. Myself and the kids look like Albinos ... not kidding, pasty Albinos.

So in an attempt to assuage this situation about not feeling fit enough to live in Colorado, I took a break from unpacking, packed up Caden (the 14 month old), and GPS'd my way to a few local gyms. Let me assure you, that here in the thin state, there are about 5 gyms within a 1-2 mile radius of my house, and if I was a true Coloradoite, I would have attached the GPS to my bike and accompanying haul behind kid trailer and rode to said gyms to check them out. I think there are at least 40 or so in our town. Not kidding. Anyhow, I toured, and chatted, and talked, and finally signed up.

Now, let's be clear. The last year has not been fantastic for me in terms of physical or mental health for that matter. The physical and the mental being this ongoing circle. In a nutshell, I had a baby, had some health issues, the kids got busy, and I started working full time ... all this and I quit teaching aerobics for about 7 months. This means the 30 lbs of baby fat are still happily sitting on my behind, which has affectionately become an "office ass" over the tenure of working full time and sitting at a desk all day. So, now that I am in the thin state, no longer working full time, and have regained some sanity in my life, me and my "office ass", are on a mission of health both mental and physical. It is this attitude I took to the gym with me the next morning to take my first aerobics class in 7 months.

To be clear, I AM a certified aerobics instructor. I taught for years, I taught REALLY hard classes, people moaned and complained and we worked harder and I relished in the pain. SO, I was thinking to myself, how hard could this REALLY be? 2 issues at hand. First, the sedentary 7 months and the three 10 lb sacks of potatoes I carry on my frame now. Second, I lived at SEA LEVEL in New Hampshire. I mean the OCEAN was right at my front door. Then we moved within 30 minutes of a town lovingly referred to as the "mile high" city. Why? Because it's a @*$%$(*@ mile ABOVE sea level. What does all this mean to those of you not familiar with air terms? It means at sea level the air is THICK and aerobic activity wherein you utilize extra oxygen is AVAILABLE to use! Here in Colorado, the air is THIN, THIN, THIN, and the oxygen you need to, oh, I don't know, BREATHE, is not really there.

So, I started the class fairly strong and 5 minutes in I was thinking, "I want to die now, what's wrong with me?" Then I started to think, "now Cortney, you know answer, your body will fight the activity for the first 10 minutes and then it will resolve that you aren't going to quit!" (at least that is what I told my students!) ... so I watch the clock ... okay, 10 minutes, we ARE doing this ... really? Really, I am doing this? I then started a mental battle in my head that fortunately lasted until the end of the hour and a half aerobics class. By the time my body had given in that I was not quitting the class was over. The instructor knew I was from New Hampshrie and she said something about elevation killing me. Huh? Oh, yeah. Duh.

I'm proud to say I soldiered on and got through the lack of oxygen deprivation, shin splints, and general anxiety about going to the bathroom because it hurt my thighs to "sit" down on the potty. The soreness is going away, I am adjusting to the "mile high" status, and I think I am ready to run a marathon now ... at sea level, of course. Most important, I am really enjoying the every day classes, and getting back to myself ... which I think I lost a portion of in the last year.

Now, that's not to say that I have gone to "fitness town". I did notice a group of 3-4 ladies (around my age) who seem rather die hard . I thought I might want to be their friend when I first met them, they seemed the epitomy of the thin Coloradoite, but then I overheard them after class on Monday talking about how it was "weigh in" time. What? Excuse me? I listened in a little more and realized these crazy broads all "weighed in" once a week at the gym and then compared numbers! It goes against every portion of my being as a person or as an instructor to even THINK about doing something like that! AUGH! Do my pants fit? Yes. Okay, I'm good. Doesn't matter what the scale says, and I certainly am not going to SHARE ... unless of course I am 120 lbs on my 5'11" frame, then I share with the world ... who would already assume I weighed 120 lbs because I would look like Lindsey Lohan ... gross.

So, I guess they won't be my new friends. Maybe the chubby kid in the back of the room. She looks like she needs a friend. Just wait until I start teaching the step class in the Fall, ladies. There will be a "no weigh in policy" instituted! hahaha! Ho hum, today I did have a moment of remiss looking round the room and missing my classes in New Hampshire. I made so many great friends teaching ... friends that I will cherish forever. And I have NEVER had as much fun as I did teaching aerobics in New Hampshire ... people here are way to serious. Feel the burn, but enjoy the journey to the burn!

For now ...

AND WE'RE ON THE MOVE AGAIN ...

If you're here now, congrats. You transferred from the face book page. It's officially late here and my charm and wit are limited with exhaustion, so I will give you the readers digst version fo our latest escapades ... and here we go ... try and keep up, I know I am still trying to catch up!
Let's see ... alright, the final week of April two things happened, Jon left for Denver, Colorado to help with a new client transition with his company JLL. This was Wednesday. Late Thursday afternoon my mom called to inform me my grandfather was dying. The kids and I hopped a plane to Utah from New Hampshire, and Jon rerouted and met us in Utah Friday evening. First words from Jon's mouth ... "so how do you feel about Colorado?" We tabled the discussion until Monday everning AFTER Grandpa's funeral proceedings. Tuesday we fretted and stewed. We were fully invested in out little NEw Hampshire town. I was on the school board, jon was on the city zining board, we were both on the little league board, we had friends we loved, etc. etc. BUT, the offer was one of those "too good to be true" sort of deals and Jon's firm made it difficult to say no ... on;y one trick. Jon ahd to be there April 27th ... it was April 23 th day the company fedexed hiscontract to my my Mom's house in UTAH, he signed, and we started planning. Late Sunday evening we came home from Utah. Movers arrived at our house Wednesday and Thursday, and by Saturday morning the whole family (d0g included) boarded a plane headed for Colorado. The house went on the market the day after we left, and there you have it. SO, we managed to check the kidso ut of school, I quit my job, resigned from theschool board after one final meetng Monday evening, boht of us resigned from little league, and Jon resigned from the xzoning board ... all in two days. We said good bye to friends we could "catch " in the whilrwind before weleft I kept saying, this is like ripping a band aid off with no warning!
We landed in Colorado on Saturday evening, Jon left for work Monday morning, and the kids and I hosue hunted on Monday. By Monday afternoon we found our home, did a quick transaction, and moved in on Saturday when the moving trucks arrived (yes, keep up here, in one week). The kids registered for school. started monday, and seem to like what they have seen so far. The weather has been nice, my hair stays straight (yeah, NO HUMIDITY!) and my Mom even lives close enough she flew in for a couple days to help us start to unbury the moving boxes. We are aout 75% of the way moved in, but still settling. Jon loves his new client (he stayed with the same firm) and I love that I can finally quit my job since we won't be paying exorbitant heating oil prices and property taxes of NEw England! I am officially, yet again. a stay at home Mom, and actually enjoying the monotony. Look forward to me writing more. I can't wait.

The last year has been a litte hell our family with Jon's 2 hour commute (each way!) daily, and me working full time, and both of us being so involbed in community stuff. We are looking forward to a rest, and I am looking forward to making cupcakes and other assorted clue and pipe cleaner projects at the elementary school and ;earning all of the new sesame street characters. Yes, actually looking forward to it. Schools here are phenomenal, and we could 't ask for better. We're still in the honeymoon phase, but so far, so good. Now maybe I can remove the 30lbs of post-pregnancy office ass that have seemed to find me in the past year. Already on the prowl looking for a gym with childcare ... oh, and tanning. We are a bit pasty compared to our cohorts here in Colorado. THey actually see the sun 320 days a year ... despite all that is good, we miss NH and out dear friends. Take care of one another and please keep in touch. We have a hug hosue that is begging for visitors! Love to all!

Cortney, Jon and the Boys

p.s. witty banter and pictures to follow as soon as I can locate my silly camera and sense of humor. they are both buried in boxes somewhere!