MY MULLET HUNTING FASCINATON ...

I'm not really sure where the whole fascination with Mullets began for me ... I think it started when my little sister, Kati, introduced me to the "phenomenon" that I just knew as a haircut sported by every football player/cowboy etc. in my school during the late 80's early 90's time frame. My younger sister (10 years younger) informed me that this coif' was not just a way to do one's hair, but a lifestyle with dedicated followers AND hunters. So began my fascination with the mullet, it's mullet counterparts, and all things mullet. Here in New Hampshire, the mullets roam free across their natural terrain,

NH MULLET AS SEEN IN THE WILD ... HUNTED UNDER DURESS

(I think the state logo,"Live Free or Die" should be changed to "Sport Mullet ..or Die".) A NH mullet is often seen in any type of store that sales bait and hot dogs in the same locale. In NH, there is usually also a handmade sign that states, "WICKED GOOD WHOOPIE PIES HERE!".

I have, unfortuantely, witnessed the child abuse of mini-mullet coifs at school functions where the little abuse victims have no idea their mullet (matching mommies AND daddies mullet) is really an indicator that your family loves pork rinds and RC Colas, or whooppie pies and fluffernutters (another blog for another day ... yes, fluffernutters are a food, and yes, only a Yankee could have invented such a foul concoction), as in Yankee land.

I have not hunted the mullet in quite some time, Jon tells me it has something to do with me being a mom now and maybe going to jail and setting an example or something like that. Kati (little sister) has carried on the torch and she and I occasionally will call one another via camera phone to show a particularly stunning mullet worthy of hunt status, roaming free in the wild. Recently, I came across a NH mullet that insisted it was a "shag". The mullet was so obviously NOT a shag and so very stunning that I had to revisit my love/fascination of the mullet via the web to make sure my mullet sighting skills had not been depleted after years of being mullet hunting free. Yes, this mullet was seen in the wild and the picture was taken under duress.

To the web I went. Mullet sites have come a long way in a few years. There are pictures, classifications, descriptions (in detail from the femlet to the mulletino) and many tips and tricks to hunting your own mullet. Please see below some tips and tricks I gathered from the web if you would like to enter to world of professional mullet hunting. The link above will take you to a professional mullet hunter's experience in case you need more pointers.

Happy Hunting ...


Cortney - aka "retired mullet hunter"

Hunting Techniques

These are the techniques that have worked for hunting thus far.

STEALTH: The pic is taken from a distance or behind an object (tree, car, etc.) The mullet usually has no idea you have hunted him. It's a really good technique to use when you sense the mulletude and you need the pic.

RESULT: Pictures are usually too far to be useable (unless you have a good zoom) but you walk away unharmed.

BAIT: (Most common) You have a friend stand next to the mullet and pretend like you're taking a picture of a friend (the bait). This works well because you can get a nice close up of the mullet. You might get a few strange looks from the prey...but whatever, that's part of the fun of hunting.

RESULT:Decent pics with minimal risk of physical harm.

GUERILLA:(My favorite) Walk straight up to the mullet and snap the pic in their face (3/4 head shot is best). This will cause a reaction of confusion and bewilderment. It's totally legal, so don't sketch. It's up to you how to handle the post-hunt reaction. Your main focus should be to somehow distract/confuse the mullet. (Fortunately, mullets are easily distracted and not difficult to confuse) You'll need to divert their attention from what has just happened. You will have to make quick, instinctive and reactionary type decisions. For example, if you're sensing that the mullet is not going for the whole distraction angle, you might have take off running. Keep in mind that every case is different, therefore each post-hunt reaction will be also. Obviously, this is a very dangerous technique that should only be practiced by the most CONFIDENT of hunters.

RESULT: Almost ALWAYS, this technique gets you the best pics. Unfortunately, there is a REAL possibility you could get your ass kicked.

My sister Kati has been known to employ this hunting tactic as seen below... the CALL OUT.

CALL OUT: It involves going right up to the Mullet and Calling him/her out.

Hunter: " Hey Dude, that's a stylin' Mullet"
Mullet: "Huh?"
Hunter: "Yeah man, it takes balls to sport that hair"
Mullet: "Huh?"
Hunter: (Say it fast for confusion) "Oh Yeah, It's the Mullet, Camaro Hair, The Charlotte Mud Flap, The Kentucky Waterfall, Hockey Hair, the 10-90, the Achy-Breaky- Big-Mistakey, the Ape Drape. You know, the only hair style that has web pages devoted to it."
Mullet: "Huh?"
Hunter: "Do you mind if I get your photo? I'm going to put you on the Internet. You will be famous."
Mullet: "OK"
Hunter: "Please turn sideways so I can get a good shot" Click. "Thanks."

DIRTY TACTICS: First hold up the camera, then turn and ask a friend if the flash is on . Your friend answers that he/she doesn't know, and for you to try the camera to see. Quickly aim the camera towards the mullet you desire to capture on film and snap the picture in their face. Say "oops! sorry dude. by the way, nice mull!" Walk away calmly, leaving the mull in confusion, as though nothing ever happened.
Mullet Junkies -Jessica & Liz, VA

* One more thing: Always keep your camera with you. I'm sick of hearing the, "I saw this GREAT mullet at the supermarket, but I didn't have my camera" story.

Happy hunting,
-Me

Boys of Summer

Make a Smilebox photobook

Where Do Babies Come From?

This exchange I wrote about happened during my pregnancy, but I was going through some old e-mails and thought I would share on our blog page ... Bradyn WILL need thereapy in his later years for the stories his mother posts on the family blog page for the world to see. Let's hope his "baby" theory sticks around for as many years as possible. Kids grow up WAY to fast these days!

BRADYN J. ELDRIDGE ...

WHERE DO BABIES COME FROM?

A number of weeks ago Jon and I were discussing in vague details the birds and the bees with Drew. He has come home with some interesting thoughts on the subject, so we have started to open a dialogue about the whole thing (good heavens, he is only 8, I am NOT ready for this!). At any rate, we didn’t want to scare the kid, but wanted to make sure he knew SOMETHING. So, somewhere in the conversation he understood that babies somehow come from the mommy and the daddy and in his mind, “daddies put the babies in the mommies tummy when they hump like Caesar (our Shitzu)”. Okay, that was more information than I wanted to hear from my 8 year-old and we put that topic to rest. Well, somewhere in there his 3 year-old brother was all ears and heard a portion of the conversation. Today I found out where babies come from … according to Bradyn.
Bradyn and I have “car chats” wherein I turn the rear view mirror to the back seat so he can see me and I him. He has been requesting this for over a year now and I oblige. These are the times that Bradyn will be absolutely ridiculous, cute and charming, or even philosophical. Well, as philosophical as a 3 year-old can be. Today was one of those days. Bradyn exclaimed to me in a very serious tone, “When I grow up and get big, I am going to be a daddy just like my daddy.” Okay, so that was cute and I was thinking what a great influence Jon must have on this kid for him to want to be just like his daddy. SO, we went further down the road and I said, “A daddy, huh? So are you going to have babies?” Bradyn again turned very serious and there was a long pause … “well,” he said, “fiwst I have to find a giwl … so she can be the mommy and I can be the daddy.” I responded, “Oh, okay.” I then looked into the rearview mirror to see Bradyn making a stirring motion with his hands like he was stirring a big bowl of something. “Yep,” Bradyn said, “I’m gonna stir up some babies and put ‘em right up in the mommy so she can have some babies!” I almost drove off the road laughing. So, if you ever wondered exactly WHERE babies come from it is apparently a mix that you can get at the store. I will ask Bradyn later exactly where the baby mix is if you really need to know.

SEND ME YOUR BLOG SITES

Alright,
I am starting to make a concerted effort to actually blog on this thing. It might last a week, it might last a month, who knows? The point is that while I am on this upswing of trying to be relatively organized on my blog NOW IS YOUR CHANCE to send me your blog address so I can add you to my "friends" list. I know there are blog spies out there watching my page ... and I would like to add you as friends. Know your enemies, all that. haha! SO, respond here if you would be so kind and let me know your blog site. Thanks in advance!
cortney

Row, Row, Row the Boat ...

Our friends have a boat ... a really fast boat that keeps the boys entertained by dragging them all over the lake on this large tube. The adults stay entertained driving the boat seeing who can knock the boys into the water first. So far, Jon is the best driver, Bradyn is fearless, Drew is learning fear, and Mark is a ham BEGGING to go faster AND trying "tricks". Yes, the adults have been on the tube as well. I think Mark and Jon hold the record for longest time without falling.

The Boys of Summer ... I hate this jacket ... but I love being in the boat!

HOW YOU DOIN'?

When is it MY turn?

"Hey Bosely, tell Charlie the Angels are all here!"

Geez, that last wave knocked it rought out of me ... I'm exhausted!

Yes, AND a movie ... really, I have become so technological, please click play.

TURF TOWN

4th July SPIKED Blue Hairs"

As for this Summer, Mark Magoon has been here a lot playing with Drew. It would seem as an only child Mark has discovered the rigors of brothers to be "entertaining". He also is quite intrigued with the fact that we have a thousand boys per square mile in our neighborhood. He lives in Northfield, rather rural area, with no neighbors. As you know, we have MANY neighbors, some might say to many. = ) Anyhow, he has been hanging out here, pretending he has brothers, doing "chores" with my boys (he was even added to the chore chart, poor kid, but it was his request!), and acting like a city kid playing with all of the other boys in the neighborhood.

The "city children" of pasture drive have been quite busy this Summer... all at the Eldridge household. Now, when I was a new mom I used to think how cool it would be one day to have the house that all of the kids wanted to be at. Yep, I could be the cool mom that passed out cupcakes and Popsicles while the kids played board games and action figures. Uh-huh.
IT'S NOT POSICLES OR CUPCAKES, BUT IT'S THE COOL MOM DUGOUT PLAYOFF TREATS! INSANE!!


MY MOM ROCKS!
I don't know if I'm the cool mom, but I do know the kids DON'T play board games or action figures, (action figures are kind of a joke in our house because Drew had a "man Barbie" when he was about 4 years old AND I used to casually ask him where his man Barbie was just to hear him say, "mooooooommmmm! It's an action figaw!!!!!!!!" Yes, he was surly even at 4 years old) and I DO keep stocked in Fluffernutter supplies (fluffernutter - you know this is a purely Yankee invention ... we would never DREAM of such a disgusting combination out west! Gross - but the kids love them - grosser) and occasionally hand out juice boxes and Popsicles and sometimes Valium cookies, but that's only when the WHOLE neighborhood of boys is playing INSIDE my house on a 90 degree 100% humidity day ... kidding, just kidding.

Back to the busy children of Pasture Drive. Have you heard of Turf Town? Allow me to introduce you if I have not already. Turf Town is the result of a couple of things. The planets in complete alignment, a very 8 months pregnant and miserable Cortney who didn't have the capacity to say "no", and a husband with a "dream" and the inability to finish the basement he started in the fall. So, Turf Town came into existence. Turn Town is the brain child of Jon. I have NOTHING to do with Turf Town. Turf Town is in the basement ... our absolutely enormous basement that Jon decided to frame in and sheet rock 3/4 of last Fall. This was supposed to be his "winter project" ... finishing the basement. When the final sheet of sheet rock was nailed down and it was time to tape and mud Jon lost his wind. So, there was the basement, framed, sheet rocked, open ceiling with exposed pipes, etc. from the first floor, and a cement floor. Months passed. The winter project was soon forgotten as out basement turns into somewhat of a frozen tundra in the New England winter. Nobody goes down to the basement for fear a search and rescue team and sled dogs might have to recover your frozen remains in the Spring. AND, our Shitzu is a lousy rescue dog. He's lazy.

Come spring thaw (end of February or so), Jon got re motivated to finish his basement. Now, some would argue Jon was "nesting" as I was about to "pop" with his third child. Some would argue he was taking advantage of me to finish the basement "his way". I argue the latter. One evening as I laid in bed praying that the monster that inhabited my body and found himself quite comfortable laying sideways on my sciatic nerve would just GET OUR ALREADY, Jon came into the room to make a "suggestion". "So," he began, "how about a new idea for the basement?" Alright, past that I have to say that all I remember is turf, just like a real baseball field, and home depot rolls of turf. The monster had kicked my sciatic nerve just right after the word basement and all I could see or hear was glaring pain. I think, or Jon claims, I agreed with him.

Jon soon left the house after this conversation ... only to return with the biggest roll of artificial turf I have EVER seen. He was grinning ear to ear telling me how cheap it was and how "cool" his basement would be. Of course it was cheap! It was turf for hell's sake. The kind of turf people put on their front porches in trailer parks across America! I just shook my head and he and the boys disappeared to the basement. The next day I was escorted by my two children to their Dad's newest invention ... "Turf Town". Yes, he had laid all of that damned artificial turf in the basement, with the rolls even going the opposite direction like a "real field" (or so Jon claims). The seams of the turf were carefully taped with double stick to the basement floor as to elude the onlooker that this was not real grass. Uh-huh. "The beauty of this," grinned Jon," is that the boys can beat the hell out of the basement and I don't care. I never finished the walls, so I don't care!" Holy crap. He should have just covered the walls in rubber, because he had just unknowingly created an open bay psych ward for every boy in the neighborhood between the ages of 5 and 12 to be admitted to.

Turf Town, as it is now called, is the pride of pasture drive and my private shame. My house is fairly pristine and I am a bit picky (okay, Jon says bitchy, I say picky) about how things look and where things are placed etc. But, Turf Town is off limits to me. Turf Town served as “spring training” for our boys, Jon, Mike St Onge, and his boys. No one cared about the walls, so it didn’t matter that they had a ball pitcher and real balls being hit and slung around with “pop flys” and “grounders to first”. I was busy with a NEW baby, so I didn’t really care.

Now that the weather is warm and school is out, Turf Town has become "fight club" for the boys on Pasture Drive. The boys (imagine Fleming boys, my boys, Chaz, sometimes Mark Magoon, etc.) all go to Turf Town (aka Fight Club) and I hear clambering, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, bangs, thuds, and karate, "kee-ahs!" I don't question. They stay down there for HOURS. The only reason I knew it was becoming a fight club is because one day Donna asked me if I had a car seat in the basement. Uh-yeah, I had one down there for Caden to "grow into". Unbeknown st to Mark and Drew, as they sat in the back of Donna's van one day talking about Turf Town, she was listening. The conversation went something like this, "yeah, Turf Town is AWESOME ... yeah, sometimes it gets rough ... yeah, like when someone takes that stool and wacks you in the head with it ... or the car seat, yeah, the car seat really hurts when someone uses that as a weapon!" I stand by my original mantra, boys are dumber than the family dog ... and we have a really dumb family dog.

When I heard that Turf Town was fight club, I decided to try and steer the boys creative energies another direction. SOOOO, since Jon didn’t care about the walls, (and I had given up, let’s be candid here) I told the boys that they should take their crayons and markers and write on the walls. I suggested perhaps making a Red Sox or Patriots logo, etc. Uh-huh. Remember that part about boys being dumb? The whole “fight club” gang immediately latched to the idea of writing all over the walls and they were down in Turf Town for a few hours. I was so pleased with myself that I didn’t hear any battles, crying, or mystery bangs. After a few hours I quietly went downstairs to see the masterpiece the little darlings had created … boys are dumb. On the wall was not a logo or anything else productive … oh no, there were sentences, phrases, misspelled and grammatically incorrect at that?! I looked around and they sort of stared wide eyed at me to catch my reaction. I took a silent breath of relief and noted that there were no “naughty words” on the walls. Thank the Maker for small favors there. I walked around Turf Town … silently. Then I read aloud one of the statements on the wall, “Bradyn spoons with his stuffed Pandna … hmmm, I don’t think Bradyn spoons with his stuffed Panda when he stuffed shark is so much easier to spoon with AND if you are going to write on the walls AT LEAST spell the words correct! Who spells Panda, “p-a-n-d-n-a”? Geez!” The boys started grinning and I went to the next statement on the wall … “Mark likes to kiss modles.” What the hell is a modle? Then I realized the spelling error and said, “again, boys, who wrote this? HOW do we spell MODEL? We do not spell it “m-o-d-l-e”!” There were a few, “Yankees suck!” here and there (remember, I had the Fleming boys at my house), and a few more mentions of Bradyn and his spooning activities with his stuffed animals, but other than that, ridiculous.

I told them to clean up the crayons and markers … they were done for the day. The NEXT day I thought of another GENIUS plan to entertain them in turf town that did NOT involve writing on the walls, or beating each other. Jon and I had some boxes in the basement from our move (2 years ago, remember, Jon moves slow). Jon had broken them down, and they were just sitting there. I told the boys, “hey, how about you BUILD something with all of those boxes down there?” HOW could they screw that up? They were VERY excited and spent HOURS down there in “construction”. I went down a few hours later to see they had not created a single anything, but rather Turf Town had now become shanty town with boxes EVERYWHERE and little created hamster like tunnels for the boys to crawl into. Bradyn had the family size bag of potato chips in his “tunnel”. He said he needed “snaaaaaaacks!” Whatever, it was harmless.

Caden aka "The Godfather", and Drew discuss business!
The next day the boys headed straight to turf town, aka fight club aka shanty town. I was feeding Caden his bottle and rocking him in the front room. Mark Magoon came upstairs from Turf Town and asked, “can we use the monopoly money?” What?! I looked at him. He was carrying some sort of wild west cowboys and Indians cap gun in his hand. “What do you need monopoly money for?” Remember, boys are dumb … “well, see, Garret is the manager of the apartment building and Griffin is the store owner since they built most of it with the boxes and my job is to get them to pay their rent every month or I shoot them.” WHAT?!?! I tried to remain calm, “so,” I said, “you’re like the Mafia?” “Uh, yeah, can we use the monopoly money?” I just shook my head and gave up. “Yep, you can use the monopoly money, just remember to put it back when you are done AND always keep 2 ledgers for your money records … one for the police to find and one real one with all the money you laundered.” “What?” “Never mind … oh, and Caden is the Godfather.” Mark smiled, rubbed Caden’s head, and said, “so, you come to me for this favor?” The rest of the afternoon was spent with the boys intermittently coming upstairs and dropping monopoly bills next to Caden’s head and saying, “here’s your cut.”
"So ... You Ask This Favor of Me, Eh?"

This was yesterday. I think they are still playing Mafia today, not sure. Caden hasn’t had any monopoly money thrown at his head yet, so who knows. ELLIE ... AHHH, SO CUTE!
PLEASE send Ellie so I can have a tea party and make little sandwiches and invite all of Bradyn’s stuffed animals. The dog isn’t cooperating... he spills the tea everywhere.

Plantnapping in Franklin, New Hampshire

"Have thieves no conscience? No love of beauty ... the plants were powerless I tell you!"

06/30/2008

To Whom It May Concern,
I realize that the mere action of writing this letter is in vain, as the individual(s) who perpetrated the heinous crime on my poor unsuspecting plants undoubtedly is illiterate, and thereby will not read of my outrage. All this being said, I share this letter as a warning to other unsuspecting homeowners in the greater Franklin area … beware, there is a thief amongst us … even in my “nice” neighborhood.

Let me introduce myself. I’m a mom. I have three boys. Yes, three boys. My husband and I assumed we were “finished” after two boys, and I gave up the dream of a daughter … then we found out we were pregnant. Yep, God in his wisdom and unrighteous sense of humor, sent us another son. Even our family dog is a boy. No longer is my life about parenting, it is more about crowd control. Being the mother of three boys, my day consists of phrases like, “put your brother down … leave the dog alone … wait until I talk to your Dad about this one … have you lost your mind, and, no, torturing your brother is NOT okay.”

There are few small pleasures in my life. I endure taking all three, yes three, of my boys to the store. Rarely, if ever, have I gotten everything on my carefully prepared list as I try to get down aisle after aisle without my darling boys killing one another, ripping the carefully organized store shelves to shreds, or generally acting like the poster children for birth control. Often, I stare the other direction hoping people won’t realize they belong to me … but, the town is small, Hannaford is smaller, and the word is out. All three of them, the boys that act like ferrets on crack whenever exposed to the public, are mine.

Given my particular situation (the three boys and all) I have few pleasures. In an effort to stay in fighting form to referee any disputes throughout the average day, I wake up at 5:30 a.m. every day and do one thing I hate and one thing I enjoy. First, I run. I hate running. But, I do it. I do it because I know if I don’t the day will be long, my boys might get the upper hand, and my husband would make a lousy single parent. So, I run. I don’t think about things, my lungs are on fire, and I hate every moment, but all the same, every morning, I run because at the end of my run I know there is a reward. For every minute of running (30 all together), I get one minute for my secret passion … gardening.

You see, when you are a mother of three boys, gardening is a quiet haven. To me, gardening is the small distance between sanity and insanity that separates my day. Despite my relatively young age, I AM the crazy lady that talks to her plants and is visibly shaken when her spring bulbs are tainted by a late spring thaw. I spend hours cleaning flower beds, weeding, fertilizing, planting, and arranging various flowers, plants, and herbs to create that perfect asthetic curb appeal. I get literally giddy at the sight of a flowering bulb, or the first little bud indicating virility in my vegetable garden. I get 30 minutes a day, uninterrupted, to create my own little utopia … free of boys.

I (heart) my flowers ... there is REAL love there ... hello flowers!"
Sunday morning my utopia was defiled. Yes, defiled. My small pleasure in life … no longer. Early Sunday morning as I walked out the front door I knew something was “off”. Initially, I couldn’t put my finger on what was “off”, but I knew something was wrong. Suddenly, I realized what was off … or gone as the case may be. My planter. Yep, the carefully designed square planter with the smaller planter inside boasting the carefully placed English Ivy that I was training to follow the handmade hangar wrapped in gardening tape … was gone. On first glance, I wanted to think that perhaps this was a cruel hoax. After all, this was one of two matching planters sitting on my front porch, and taking one planter would obviously be a noticeable prank. The remaining planter looked sullen, alone, and missing it’s matching counterpart. The yin to it’s yang, the black to it’s white, the balancing decorating motif between left and right, gone. I naively assumed that this must be a hoax because only a DEDICATED and PURPOSEFUL thief would STEAL a 40+ lb planter with various plants. Home Depot and Lowes leave their plants out at night … I think they are safe … why shouldn’t my front porch be as sacred as the parking lot of the local nursery?!

My house, my plants ... my respite ... ho-hum.
I was unable to discover the whereabouts of my planter, despite sending the local street gang (a group of neighborhood boys whom I have befriended following the analogy of keeping your enemies close, and yes, my boys are part of this group) on their scooters, tricycles, and “magged out” bicycles to root out the plant thief and bring them to me. There have been clues … but the planter thief remains at large. I spent most of Sunday depressed and missing my poor little planter. I reminisced about the spring day I filled it with fresh potting soil and new annuals hoping that THIS year would be the year the English Ivy actually grew to maturity before the winter snow. But now, I will never know.

Monday morning I wanted to start fresh. I planned a trip to the local nursery, hoping I could find another matching planter and reinvent the carefully balanced dual décor ruined by the theft of my matching planter. To my horror … another planter, gone. This time it was a hanging basket. The cute little hanging basket that greets people when they drive into my driveway and walk down the walkway to the front porch … THAT hanging basket. The hanging basket that was once such a welcoming sight to visitors and friends has now become the lackluster victim of a plantnapping. Laugh if you will … I called the Franklin police after the second plantnapping. While the uniformed officer that was sent to my home to take a statement maintained a sense of decorum (let’s be honest here, I was calling about plants being kidnapped, how he maintained without laughing his head off of beyond me). I even offered to let him laugh as I was asked to give a detailed description of my kidnapped planters. “Yes, officer, it was a square planter with an English Ivy, very distinct, just like its twin on the front porch … yes, the basket was a black wired hanging basket with little leaves peaking through the sides…yes, I know, those planters ARE expensive!” The officer had me estimate the total cost of said stolen planters and I almost had to hold back tears thinking, “really, is there a replacement for my love?”

I asked the officer exactly WHAT the trespassing laws were in Franklin, New Hampshire and how many years I would have to do in the state pen if I took matters into my own hands? For instance, if the plantnapper presented themselves at an opportune moment, say 2 a.m., stealing another planter from my yard, and I happened to greet them with Jon’s rifle and some housewife indignant rage, how sympathetic WOULD the New Hampshire legal system be? Apparently, all I have to do is put a “No Trespassing” sign on my lawn … then I can shoot at will.

Alright, laugh if you will … but take note. SOMEONE in Franklin, New Hampshire has taken to plantnapping and WHEN not IF I find them, I will make them pay dearly. Yes, I have professional “make your life hell” training. As a mom of three boys, I daily walk a fine line with my sanity … and I have “anger”, as my 5 year-old will attest. If you have any information in regards to the Franklin, NH plantnapper, please contact me immediately … and watch your plants.

Still Disgruntled,
cortney

Transplanted Yankee ... by Cortney Eldridge

Dear Friend,

How is North Dakota? I understand your sister wants to leave the snow for good and move to New Hampshire? Concerning your sister’s plan, here is one transplant’s experience. I married a Yankee. Not a New York Yankee (perish the thought), a Yankee. A Yankee who despite our 13 years of living all over the world via his military career, still claims that New England is the center of the universe. Like your sister, my first trip to New England was in the fall. The weather is crisp, the leaves are gorgeous, and the orchards are loaded with every apple known to the western world. New Hampshire looks like something directly out of a Land’s End commercial. I admit it, New England is beautiful. Who wouldn’t want to live here year round? I too was lulled into a sense of it would be so great to live in New England so we packed our west coast children and made the cross country move. After three years of living amongst the Yankees, let me see if I can provide an accurate portrait of New England weather. There lurks a sinister side of this New England Camelot living referred to as … the “rest” of the year.

September and October are gorgeous months in New England … even mid to late August is nice if you are from the west coast where August is sweltering. Every small town and village boasts weekend fairs and antique shows. The locals are very kind, (even if they only use 25 letters of the alphabet, do they not teach the letter “R” in New England schools?) and there is a culinary delicacy called a “lobster roll” that you have to try. From November until that dark and fiery underground place freezes over (or New England, whichever comes first) there is snow. I grew up with the rocky mountain range in my backyard. I know snow, my home state is even famous for its particular type of powdery snow! I even like snow … until I met New England snow. It’s the humidity. Winter sports I love, like skiing, become hazardous entertainment as you maneuver down ice slopes, no powder here. The kids enjoy sledding and tubing … but I make them wear helmets. Have you ever felt a humid cold? It’s unlike anything ever experienced. I spend October – May cold. I mean cold, sitting in the house cuddled by the heater and still cold. Right now I am in sweat pants, thigh high baseball socks, two t-shirts, a sweatshirt, and the space heater is on high …still cold. The weather bites right through you and there is no thaw until March or April.

Just when the spring bulbs start to peek out of hiding (along with the local population who has been trapped inside all winter) the thaw happens rapidly from so much snow that we enter what New Englanders refer to as “mud season”. Mud season is exactly what it sounds like. I had cute shoes before living in New England. I had cute little sandals, sliders, pumps … I now have a pair of green and tan duck boots that I wear 10 months of the year. They work in the snow and the mud, which magically follows my children into my house, garage, car (my truck has not seen a good clean since we moved here, I gave up fighting the mud and snow) The mud is deep, and it’s everywhere. Your car will eventually get stuck, despite the “extra” 4 wheel drive package you paid handsomely for at the dealership. And if you don’t get stuck in mud, you might just accidentally get stuck in the thick fog and run over a moose, deer or escape housewife fleeing for their lives to the southern states during said winter months.

However, the mud eventually hardens, and we enter beautiful New England summers. New Hampshire in particular boasts beautiful, crisp mountain lakes for water recreation, amazing outdoor activities for the whole family, and local fairs with crafters from around the world. It is beautiful, it is entertaining … but remember the mud from the spring thaw? That same mud has provided a literal orgy of virility for every known species of “black fly”, “horse fly”, and “mosquito”. When I first moved to New England, I was swarmed at my son’s baseball practice. I foolishly referred to the swarm around my head as gnats. We have gnats out west, they are annoying, but harmless. My native New England neighbor warned me that these gnats bite. I didn’t believe her, these were gnats! Suddenly and without warning, the swarm attacked. New England gnats bite. I don’t care what you call them, they all bite, they are all the same, none of them are merciful (even to the chubby unsuspecting thighs of my newborn), and all of them potentially carry some sort of nasty virus.

The humidity during the day is bearable, it’s only about 80-90 degrees or so, but just when the sun starts to set and you think you can sit on your porch, go for a swim, or even have a bbq with friends, everyone disappears into their homes to avoid the swarms of “gnats”. We go through gallons of bug spray in the summer … and I mean gallons. I have tried coils, burners, swatters, zappers and even entertained hiring a voodoo expert. Nothing works. My hair is consistently frizzy from the humidity, I am covered in “gnat” bites, and usually sunburned because the low temperatures lull you into a security that it isn’t really “that hot”. Just when the swarms end (August), there is usually one good week where you can be outside, swarm free, and not freezing.

After having survived your first New England winter you swear you will flee the state before living through another. All Summer you plan your new life living further south or west, whichever the case may be (wherever there are no biting gnats). You might even put your house on the market with a serious intention to sale, and sale cheap! But one crisp fall morning you wake up and smell the faintest apple blossoms in the air. Ahh, Fall apple harvest. Your kids beg you to take them to the local farm to pet the animals, take a hayride, and pick some famous New England apples. As the day ends, and you find yourself putting the final touches on a homemade apple pie, while the television blares the New England Patriots season opener. You take a heavy sigh, and your plans to move are replaced by amnesiac memory of all that is good about New England and you realize another year in New England can’t be that bad. After all, these apples are delicious!

Love,
Your Transplanted Yankee

CADEN NEEDS HIS NANA!!

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Baseball 2008

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

The Good Wife's Guide ... Revised

An oldie, but it never gets old! Please see the good wife’s guide on the link below ... then see my REALITY version! Cort

http://www.samtsai.com/p419/the-good-wifes-guide-guys-favorite

Just in case any of you were wondering what you are supposed to do when you husband comes home from work, here are a few tips to follow. I always do this for Jon!
Oh wait, no, here is the reality …

“Have dinner ready, plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious dinner ready … most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed …”
Have the number to the local pizza place on speed dial. If you don’t have one close, make sure you always have bacon in the fridge. Your husband may not appreciate hours spent on a new chicken dish, but put a slap of heaping bacon in front of him and he and his cholesterol-clogged arteries will thank you.

“Prepare yourself, take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives…”
Lock yourself in the bathroom or bedroom away from your children. If you are lucky, your children will give up beating on the door after 5 minutes and will trun their efforts to destroying your house or beating one another. This will provide you with time to rethink your life’s direction before your husband comes home.

“Be a little gay … his boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it …”
Be a little gay? My neighbor actually has a recurring “girls gone wild” fantasy world he lives in. Perhaps this means purchase the latest, “Girls Gone Wild, Co-Eds on Parade” so that your husband can see a little pretend lesbian gay on the television? Not sure.

“Clear away the clutter … make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives …”
Kick a trail through assorted children and dog toys from the front door to the kitchen. After all, when your husband comes home he will immediately start removing his work clothes and throwing them wherever they land on his way to the kitchen to give the fridge a hug and a kiss… you don’t want him tripping on his way!

“Gather up school books, etc. … run a dustcloth over the tables …”
Brush away all chunks from the table, open the back door and let your dog in to clean the floor. Sometimes the dog (if you have a cat-dog like ours), will step onto the counter or table. This just saves dusting for you as the dogs furry butt will slide across the dusty table removing any dusting work for you. Remove the dog from the counter/table.

“Over the cooler months of the year, you should prepare and light a fire …after all catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction…”
Give the children a book of matches to play with. They should have a roaring fire started on the living room carpet within moments. For a special treat, sometimes the children will light the dog’s tail on fire. Flame propellants, such as lighter fluid and gasoline, should be left where children can explore the possibilities. Your husband will enjoy the fact that his son’s can create fire in his absence, and then they can all pee on it together. It will provide an important moment of bonding.

“Prepare the children … take a few moments and wash their hands and faces, comb their hair, and if necessary change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part … minimize noise … try to encourage the children to be quiet …”
Prepare the children … take a few moments to threaten them about their recent fire lighting escapades with the “death whisper”. Wrap your husband’s little treasures hands with rope so that they can not wreak further havoc. This is, of course, after you have locked yourself in the bedroom/bathroom for 15 minutes. Never bind your children with rope in anger. Encourage the children to shut up by using threatening phrases such as, “wait until your dad gets home”.

“Be happy to see him …greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity when you greet him”
Sincerely offer him his bound and gagged children with a smile indicating you are happy that he is home and you are now off duty.

“Listen to him, you may have a list of things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours …”
As your husband unbinds and de-gags his “little treasures” hold off on telling him that the youngest called 911 and that the city will be billing him for the “false alarm”. Remember, his news of the fabulous place he had lunch, with real live adults and real food, is far more important.

“Make the evening his … never complain if he goes out to dinner or other places of entertainment. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax…”
Make the evening all about him. If your husband goes out to “other places of entertainment”, don’t hesitate to call the local authorities to pick him up and bring him home so that he can take care of the children as you make travel arrangements to your mother’s and consult with the divorce attorney.

“Your goal, try to make sure your home is a place of peace, tranquility … where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.”
See gag and bind the children. Tell your husband to find himself in the yard, with his lawnmower, renewed by mother nature in her bounty. Your husband will appreciate any opportunity to utilize tools of power (ie: lawnmower, weedwacker, etc.) to fend off his stressful day.

“Don’t greet him with complaints and problems …”
See hold off on telling him about the 911 call … and the fact that your oldest checked the aerodynamics of the dog … and they weren’t that good.

“Don’t complain if he’s home late for dinner … or even gone all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through all day.”
Don’t be home if he’s late … especially if he’s gone all night. Leave a cheerful note explaining to him that he can now have all the peace and tranquility he needs … as long as he makes sure your monthly alimony and child support check isn’t late.

“Make him comfortable, have him lean back in a comfortable chair … have a cool or warm drink ready for him.”
Offer him something with hard liquor. After all, you’ve been drinking all day, perhaps if you are both loaded the children won’t seem “that bad”?

“Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes … speak in a low, soothing voice.”
Resist the urge to arrange a pillow over his head if he complains about dinner. Speak in a low, soothing death tone telling him that you have been with “his” children all day and the last thing you want to hear is a complaint about the pile of bacon you just gave him for dinner.

“Don’t ask him questions or question his judgement … he is the master of the house and will exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness … you have no right to question him.”
Allow your husband to feel like he is in charge. In fact, tell him that he IS in charge of his “little treasures” as you leave the house in a dead sprint. Allow him to be the “master” of his house without you assisting. Let him rule his kingdom and his “little treasures”.

“A good wife always knows her place…”
A good wife knows she is better off at the day spa.

As Always,
Cortney

I Never Keep This Blog Current!

Due to popular demand (okay, my little sister's friend apparently spies on our blog and she told my sister I need to update my page... you KNOW who you are!), here is an UPDATE of the Eldridge clan. The "Cat" (okay, the transvestite Shitzu dog we call Caesar) is still with us, but our new "5" status is now ALL PEOPLE. Caesar is currently in discussion with our household management team to have Caden sent back to where he came from. His tactics have included vandalism(pooping in the upstairs hallway DESPITE the fact he is let out 47 times a day), stealing (all of Caden's soft stuffed toys seem to be magically disappearing from the nursry into Caesar's dog toy basket), weight gain (and not a few lbs, weight gain like he needs a program ... does Jenny Craig have a dog program?), desperate attempts at affection, (my feet are always warm, and numb, from the fat dog sitting on them every moment he can), and sniffing Caden at an attempt of acceptance into the pack. Fortunately, he still recognizes me as the Alpha of the pack and I have accepted Caden into the brood, so he must accept him as well.

Caden George Eldridge was born on March 6, 2008. Thanks to good drugs, I survived the delivery completely numb from my waist down. He was a tiny little thing, 7lbs 5 ounces, DESPITE the docotors repeated promises of a HUGE baby. Uh-huh, not so huge. A full pound less than his older brothers and sporting a normal baby head ... not the enormous watermelon heads like his brothers. Caden has already met the Governor and first lady of New Hampshire when he was 4 weeks old. I think he has an early interest in politics. haha!


The boys (Drew and Bradyn) are phenomenal big brothers. Bradyn has even shown his mastery of "carrying" Caden when I am not around. Caden has been carried, by his 5 year-old brother, up the stairs numerous times, from his bed (where he was sleeping peacefully) to the couch in the front room because he wanted to "play" acording to Bradyn. At all times, when I have caught the "helpful" 5 year-old, Caden is never crying. Despite the fact that he is literally hanging from his brothers waist head down while Bradyn carries him in a side sling sort of fashion. It's true, third babies are VERY laid back.

Drew has mastered bottle feeding, burping, and entertaining Caden. As I sit here now, he is feeding Caden on the beanbag, watching cartoons with Bradyn. All three boys, all being babysat by cartoons. Yep, I am a great mom, tell your friends for sure. Caden officially received welfare third baby status. In our family we have this theory. The first baby is always dressed cute, matching hats and shoes, etc. The second baby may not match as well, but they are dressed. The third baby wears pajamas most of the time and in the summer au natural with only a diaper AND covered in sticky popsicle or watermelon juice. Caden's clothes DO MATCH, and he has only spent a few days of pajama day (due to the enormous amount of clothes he has, every day is a fashion show!). However, the other day I had him sitting in his stroller while I was outside raking leaves. We have had an unusual warm spell here, so I was taking advantage. A few minutes into my yard work, Caden started to fuss, then cry.. I went inside, made him a bottle, and proceeded to "prop" the bottle wiht his blanket so I could try and get more work done. Caden didn't seem to care, he had food. When the bottle was gone, I noticed Caden had a bunch of milk on his face (he's a messy little eater). I didn't have burp cloth, and I didn't want to run inside the house again ... but wait, one of his socks had fallen off. I retrieved the errant sock and proceeded to wipe Caden's face with his sock. It was a moment of pure mothering genius ...again, tell your friends.

Jon is adjusting to the new little critter. He keeps telling me how perfect Caden is, and of course, like our other two boys, I have to agree! Jon does, however, terrify me with his parenting "technique" some days. He often lifts Caden by the front of his clothes like Caden is a sack of potatoes. His burping style is legendary as he maneuvers Caden's little fat body into all sorts of contortions to assist the burp in coming out. But, I have to say, he is always successful and Caden will remain limber. Jon recently hurt his back doing a bunch of yard work stuff. He has been to an orthopedist, and he's now off to physical therapy for a few weeks. It's an aggravated old military injury, so we hope it's not anything too serious. Cross your fingers for him! Despite his back injury making him walk like a hunched over old man, he is still coaching Drew's baseball team this year ... and loves it! Drew is still maintaining his "casual" style of play (aka - he could care less) and it drives Jon bonkers! But, in all, I see the occasional little smiles from Drew at being able to have his Dad as his coach.

I remain post pregnancy body and am trying to fit back into my clothes. I have to say, it sucks having a closet full of clothes that you just can't quite squeeze your butt into. I think pregnant women should emerge from the hospital with perfect bodies (whatever their perfect size is for them) as a special door prixe that God gives them for carrying the baby for 9 months and then delivering. I think that is the least we can get. Instead, I returned home puffy, 20 lbs heavier, pale as a ghost thanks to the severe anemia, tired (again, anemia), and a little grouchy from lack of sleep. Today, 6 weeks later, I am no longer anemic OR diabetic (had diabetes during the pregnancy WITH all of the fun insulin shots to the gutt!), I have visited the tanning bed a few times, my face is still a little puffy and my weight gain is falling off of me at a snail's pace, but I can see my feet and I started working out again and I start teaching aerobics next week. Let's hope my students will accept their teachers "new post baby" body. Ugh. Yes, a little crazy about it, but Caden is more than worth all of it.

I am the team mom for Bradyn's T-ball team. What aa crack up. I call Bradyn the "clutch" player. haha! The coaches are SO PATIENT and the practices resemble herding cats, but the kids are starting to see the light and get a little more oprganized. My favorite is when one kid will "lap" another kid running the bases becasue the kid on the base ahead of him is not fast enough. Yes, Bradyn has been lapped. But he's big and a little more competetive than his elder brother, so I fully expect a kid to get tackled or sat on if they keep lapping him.

Well, I better run and try to add more updates later. I have to rescue Caden from his brother's "helping" endeavors. I think they left him alone on the bean bag. He's pretty boring after all, jsut sort of sits there and occasionally sighs, sneezes, hits himself in the head with his uncontrolled hands (making him cry), or shoots a smile. More later.

Make a scrapbook - it's easy!

The End is Near ...

Baby update from ultrasound and appointment yesterday … I am 36 weeks on Saturday, the baby by all accounts is perfectly healthy … and is a few ounces shy of 7 lbs … they gain about 1-2 lbs the last 4 weeks of pregnancy, I am being induced March 9th if he hasn’t already arrived (that’s 39 weeks). All of this means:A. I will be giving birth to a freaking toddler WITH a giant head like his brothers.B. They will have to dynamite him out, like his brothers, because when they “checked” me today I show NO SIGNS of being ready to have a baby … oh, except for the constant pelvic pressure and contractions from that do absolutely nothing but make me tired and grouchy and HURT.C. If this baby is as large as they think, I will be tearing Jon’s testicles from his body with my bare hands … just so he can experience the “miracle” of birth with me. D. Today a complete stranger, and I mean a COMPLETE stranger, walked up to me and started rubbing my belly and asking me when I was due. I almost slapped the living hell out of her, and I would have, if I wasn’t so tired I could barely see straight much lift my hand to slap her. I was also fearful if I started slapping her I might not stop. So I just muttered, “never, I am never due, I am going to just keep this baby in utero for the next 18 years or so … I mean, 3 weeks.” E. Will I be asking for drugs or going “natural” … God made drugs for a reason and I plan on taking advantage of anything they will give me as well as all illegal street narcotics I can pick up on my way into the hospital from the locals in my town. Will I be having a Cesarean or natural? As “natural” as you can be when you are highly medicated and the nurse has to instruct you when to push because you can’t feel the contractions … or your legs .. or anything from the waist down. But if he is as huge as they predict that whole natural” thing might change (and I might want it to!) and I will be having a Cesarean. F. Jon is still alive, but he doesn’t say much these days … I think it’s fear. Poor Jon.G. The crib and dresser/changer finally arrived from the factory to the store … despite the fact that the store insisted they send it all “freight” shipping and I “might” get it by the end of the month (even though I ordered it in PLENTY of time for a much earlier delivery!). Needless to say, the operator on the other end of that phone call was informed that her job, indeed her life, would be in jeopardy because I would hunt her down no matter where she hid if this child arrived BEFORE said crib and changer were set up neatly in the nursery, that I have very carefully prepared … and it is not MY fault that NO STORE on the eastern seaboard sees fit to carry a black crib and changer because IF THEY KEPT UP with things, they would know that black is very trendy right now, not maple or white or pecan or whatever they had “plenty” of! Please pray for an early delivery … Love,cortney

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: SURPRISE BABY SHOWER 2008

Click below to see details about my SURPRISE baby shower!
SURPRISE BABY SHOWER 2008

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: I LICKED IT ...

You lick it, you own it ... backfired! Click below to read on ...
And The Cat Makes 5 ...: I LICKED IT ...

SURPRISE BABY SHOWER 2008

SURPRISE!
Friends ....

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

SURPRISE BABY SHOWER!

My girlfriend, Candie, threw me a surprise baby shower yesterday! I was completely shocked! No, I don't usually dress up ... fortunately for me, the baby shower was "disguised" as after church Sunday brunch so I was still in my church clothes! This is a picture she took of me with my "necklace". The little hanging thing hangs nicely off my EXPANDING belly and reads something like, "expecting mom!". I better be expecting ... or I am on the fast track to a heart attack!

The shower was beautiful and the food was incredible! My friends gave the baby and I absolutely amazing gifts that I am still in shock about! It was so much fun to just hang out with my girlfriends and take a "breather" from the day to day pregnancy ucks. I was so overwhelmed and surprised I couldn't even cry... now that's saying alot for a pregnant girl! Now Caden has all of his baby gear... anytime he's ready, I'm ready to be done being pregnant! There is NO MORE ROOM for him to grow!

UNO Pizzaria New Hampshire ...

In case you cannot read the below scanned letter, I have "translated" changing none of the spelling or grammar so that you can get the full emotional impact of the "UNO Pizzaria" incident. Yes, in a nutshell, (or fingernail) I ordered a pasta dish there called Spinoccoli. The serving was huge, so I took the remainder home to eat the next day. I warmed it up, took a big bite out of it, and pulled a fingernail (not mine, mind you, and not like a lee press on nail., someone's literal bit off and chewed fingernail) from between my teeth. I called UNO to express my "displeasure" and this was my response letter. Uh, yeah. I can laugh about it now. Just another reason I love this place!

"Dear Courtney Eldridge (notice the wrong name spelling), I wouuld first like to apologize to you for finding a finger nail insiide your left over spinnocolis. i can understand that feeling you must have had. We at UNO's strive for 100% cleanliness and sanitation but we missed out on this opportunity. Our standard when it come to food preperation is above and beyond what the state of New Hampshire is, but we failed. I myself has taken it that all of the kitchen staff from the dishwashers to the line cook wear gloves at all times. This is also a compamy policy that we failed to achieve that day. I know it will be tough to come back to our location but enclosed is a $40.00 gift vard good any any UNO location. Again our deepest apology and I hope you give us here in Tilton another try as we strive to be the best in our class."

Creating Life by The Angry Drunk

WARNING: Before reading on I have decided that the latter of this pregnancy will be referred to as the "angry drunk" phase. My comments are a tad grouchy and definately uninhibited. So, if you are offended, remember, the hormones of pregnancy have made me an angry drunk. Oh this thing we call "creating life ...." hmmmm. I would post a phot of myself as of today, but I am not sure what the max weight limit is on personage posting on the internet and if harpooning via cyberspace is even legalized. Figured I would not take any chances. Just imagine a 5'11" Amazone with girly hair, a pale face (that would be the anemia), and a look of tired disdain on her face. Got that visual? Yep, that's me.

I am the worst at communication when the winter rolls in. We hibernate like a bunch of bears over here! I think this pregnancy (from hell, mind you) has just beaten the wind right out of my sails. Getting BIG is an understatement. Everyone says, “you look great!” but I feel like a tank. Baby is good, despite every scare known to man being thrown our direction this time around. It seemed like for a while every time I went to the ob there was more “bad news”. Here’s a brief recap:
Gestational diabetes – check
Diabetic “rage” episodes – check (basically, my sugar is off, my hormones are off, and Jon gets things thrown at him and then I start to cry)
Chest palpitations – check (on me, not the kid)
Flu/Sinus/Crap – check
Baby is too big for dates (which means I am also to big for dates ... grrrrr!) – check
6 ultrasounds, two high level – check
To much amniotic fluid – check
Protein in the urine – check
Bladder infection – check
2 gall bladder attacks, one ER visit worthy and a demurral shot later – check (no problems EVER with gall bladder until THIS PREGNANCY … they are removing gall bladder after I have this critter)
And the number one, favorite “never ever had before with either of my other pregnancies”, I think I have hemorrhoids – check

As of today I am officially 32 weeks and some days. Docs are “officially” inducing labor at 39 weeks (cause captain fathead is a diabetic “big” baby and is already 4 lbs so they don’t want me to have a toddler … uh-huh) but toying with the idea of a couple weeks sooner than that. The amniotic fluid issue resolved itself, I now take 2 shots of insulin a day, prick my finger 5 times a day to test my blood, and make sure I drink cranberry juice to avoid any more bladder infections. Ultrasound yesterday revealed the following:
The baby has really big feet – check
The baby has a really big head – check
The baby is just really big – check
I think the baby flipped me off – check
The baby has hair – check
The baby is a very PROUD boy - check

On Monday I start to go to the doctor 2 times a week for non stress testing and “checking” on captain fatheads growth pattern. The insulin makes me “bloated” and gain weight so that has been a really happy side effect to which the doctor assures me will come off after I have the baby. Uh-huh. As for captain fathead, he seems to be healthy and happy in his little amniotic environment. I am pretty sure I have internal bleeding because he has ADHD for sure and never stops kicking the hell out of me. He prefers 2 am kicks that literally shake my whole body and wake me up from what little sleep I can get because of the massive insomnia. Oh wait, I forgot, I also have Restless Leg Syndrome now. I am super tired, I lay down in the bed, and my legs want to PARTY, PARTY! Doc says it is a hormone thing and totally normal. Uh-huh. You will REGRET you asked ME for an update!

Honestly, I am in the final stretch and looking forward to being NOT PREGNANT. I finally bought pacifiers the other day (my first actual baby purchase) so I think I am accepting now that we are going to have a baby here in the house. I have organized all the hand me down clothes and he will have no less than 5 total outfit changes (including shoes and hats) every day to accommodate his bulging hand me down pile. He has 2 patriots bibs and 2 red sox bibs, both the same size and style, all from 4 different people. Bunch of weird Yankees and their sports. I am all set on baby blankets (found my stash, so excited!), and Roo is bringing me a car seat and burp rags and bottles. Other than that, I got nothing. I mean NOTHING. We gave it ALL AWAY and THEN found out we were expecting. So, we’re starting from scratch for one kid. Mom volunteered to buy us a crib. Jon himmed and hawed about her offer for a couple days (his male ego), but then got the oil bill and the weather report predicting MORE COLD and said, “okay, the price of oil took my pride away, your Mom is officially AWESOME!” I admit, she is very nice… or she doesn’t want her grandchild sleeping in a drawer. There might be an ulterior motive! Hahah! We are forking out about $700 month for heating oil (*I love NEW ENGLAND!) so we are taking her up on her crib offer! I was really thinking hey, it’s the third kid, he can sleep in a drawer, right? This poor child. Looking at an end of February first part of March delivery.

AND, THAT’S JUST ME … Jon is busier than ever at work, sliding into the home plate on his Masters Degree (yeah!) and basically putting up with his completely nutsy, tired, large as a tank wife. Jon is now the Stake Athletics Director (okay, let’s be h9oenst here, the basketball king of the stake). He just got called and is a little iffy about WHAT they want him to do since there was no program, but he loves all sports so he will get something figured out. He is a SUPER DAD and always makes times to take the boys sledding, watch movies, etc. while mom sleeps, yes sleeps, all the time. Jon leaves for Chicago on Tuesday next week and will be back Thursday or Friday so the kids and I manage without the Dad for a few days. He hates leaving, but it is some special “butt kissing meeting” to which he must show his face and act like he has manners. Whatever he needs to do t okeep the money coming down the pipeline so we can pay for this baby, he’ll be there!

Drew is doing well in his duties as the fourth grade president and has recently decided that Hillary Clinton is the anti-Christ (sans his father’s gentle hints about his own Hillary opinions) and only lesbians and morons voted for her and New Hampshire should be ashamed. I must admit, in our small, but openly lesbian town the lesbians did come out in vast numbers and getting to the voting stations involved passing through some rather large, uni-browed, flannel, rainbow and girl power t-shirts on our local clan of lesbians all supporting Hillary. The subarus were lined up complete with the “day without fairies is a day without magic” bumper stickers and the overwhelming stench of Patchouli and Marijuana filled the air. It was “interesting”, and then Hillary won so now Jon thinks the lesbians have a larger voice here than he originally thought and he is “concerned” for his boy Mitt. Poor Jon. He and Drew share Hillary sucks stories with one another. Drew also officially has a :girlfriend”. Whatever that means when you are 10. She calls the house nightly (hussy) and I have recently had to veto her phone calls to a couple of times a week for 10 minute intervals. Drew is just bored when she calls and says, “uh-huh” a lot. I am NOT ready for these over aggressive females in my son’s life! Let them be kids!!! AUGH!

Bradyn, well, Bradyn has become my birthing partner since Jon is always working. He can now work the Doppler at the ob office and find the babies heartbeat and he squeals at the “penius” when it comes into view on the ultrasound. For the most part he keeps telling me I am getting fatter and fatter and maybe I should not eat anymore or I will get to fat! Poor kid. I think he gave up that there is a baby in there! I have had a lot of Braxton hicks contractions and I will just sort of sit and breathe as the dog comes and sits right at my feet and follows me around and Bradyn says, “okay mom, just breathe through the pain.” Poor kid! His wife will never have babies! He’ll be to wierded out about his own mother’s pregnancy! We have all had the sickies for the last month with one thing or another and we now have the Bishopbric calling to see if we are inactive. Nope, just sick, all the time!

Now, how is YOUR life?!??! I’ll have to be a better blogger and stay in touch more when I get done having my body invaded by the body snatchers. In the final finish … light at the end of my tunnel and darkness at the end of Jon’s as he stares down the barrel of the snip snip doctor. Lucky, lucky Jon.
Love,
cort

Las Vegas to New Hampshire to WHAT?!?!

Dear Family and Friends,

If you have made it to our blog site, congratulations! You are now seeing the first Eldridge family Christmas letter to make it out in two years! This also means that you are the proud bearer of a Christmas card from us, also not having made it out in the last two years! We’ve been a little busy to say the least! I know it has been an anxious couple of years for all of you, not getting this annual gem of a letter, so I will try to make this worth the read.

The Eldridge’s waved goodbye to the Air Force and sunny Las Vegas approximately 2 years ago. We packed the kids and the dog into the Expedition and started our cross-country trek to New Hampshire. The dog, Caesar, is still suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder from 5 days in the car with his brothers, but the kids and I managed to maintain minimal sanity with multiple DVD’s.

Drew … oh Drew. Drew is 10 years old now …, which still makes me 21 years old. I know, amazing. Drew has rolled with the punches like any good former military brat and endured the moves, the new homes, and new schools with the best of them. We took a sigh of relief noting that this year, 4th grade for Drew, is the first time he will attend a school 2 years in a row! Drew has hit the ground running in his new school. He was voted to be both the 3rd and 4th grade President! His political ambitions seem endless, and I spend a lot of time making “campaign bribes” ordered from Oriental Trading Company every fall to hand out to his constituents. Drew loves school, his teachers, and even gym class! This year he started playing the “recorder” in the 4th grade “band”. He and his fellow “recorder” players are mastering only the hits … Hot Cross Buns. When he is not rendering the family speechless with hours of entertainment on the recorder, Drew has been involved in Baseball, Karate, Kung-Fu, swimming, camping, frog hunting, neighborhood domination, and anything computer.

Bradyn turned five this year. He has adjusted well to his new Yankee status and has even added words like, “wicked” to his vocabulary and deleted letters like “r”. I am concerned about his regional dialect, but figure he sounds like his Yankee children counterparts, so we will let it go for now. Bradyn, unlike his “academically inclined” older sibling, would rather play with friends 24 hours a day, ride his bike, or throw around any sort of ball. Our little social butterfly also participated in Karate, Kung Fu, swimming, camping, and soccer. He loved ALL of them and can’t wait for baseball little league in the spring. He is finally old enough! Bradyn spends his days at home with Mom these days waiting for kindergarten next year. He has discovered the X-Box and vying for position with his older brother. He has proven what we always warned Drew about … be nice to Bradyn, he will be bigger than you one day. Enough said. Despite his antics, Bradyn keeps us laughing with his endearing little grin, and spit and vinegar personality.

In September 2005, Jon started his new career with Jones Lang LaSalle at Fidelity Investments as a Project Manager. Did you understand that mouthful? Within 6 months, Jon was promoted to a facilities manager. A month later, he graduated from school (GOOOO Jon!) with his Bachelor’s Degree. Jon didn’t want to break the education rhythm, so he headed straight into his Executive Masters Degree program, which he will finish this summer. Jon was recruited to Aramark Corporation early this summer doing his same career. He took the job … for three months, and was “re-recruited” by Jones Lang La Salle to manage another client, Motorola. Translation of “re-recruited” – come back and we will pay you more. Jon is officially back with Jones Lang LaSalle, working with his new client, Motorola. He LOVES his job, his new “Q” phone, and that is all that matters!

In his spare time, ha-ha, Jon has coached a 12-year-old “majors” baseball team in our little town, served on the baseball little league board, and is now the church stake physical activities director. Oh, did I mention he also plays indoor soccer, hunts, fishes, camps, goes to Red Sox and Patriots games, and is generally is loving being back in “New England” so he can watch New England sports all the time … whenever he wants!

As for me, I am adjusting to the Yankee way of life. I can’t find good grits here, but I have found I am becoming quite the Maple syrup connoisseur. Until recently, I have been teaching aerobics and doing some personal training. I LOVED teaching and training, but my body, and more importantly my poor hips, gave out on me early into my pregnancy. During a class I stepped up, my hips stayed down, and thus ended my fitness career for NOW! I am still carting the kids around, started a book club, volunteering at Drew’s school, have almost finished MY school, (2 classes left, yes, both math, I may never graduate), gardening, crafting, camping & hiking, (yes, I camp and hike now, heaven help us all)etc. etc. My neighborhood has dubbed me “Bree Van decamp” (from desperate housewives fame) because I apparently am a little “obsessed” with my domestic details. Overall, I am staying busy and contented.

If you haven’t heard yet, (yeah right!) Jon and I are expecting our third in March. This was a “surprise” for both of us, but one we are finding to be a grateful gift. Caden George Eldridge (yes, ANOTHER boy), is due to make his arrival sometime in early March. So far, Caden stays busy kicking me incessantly, resting on whatever nerve is most uncomfortable for his mother, “teasing” his brothers with kicks in response to their talking, and gaining weight steadily. Jon and I are both still a little in shock, but ready or not, we are welcoming a third.

Jon and I look back on the last couple of years and remain amazed at the blessings Heavenly Father has given our family. We are happy, healthy, have amazing friends and family, and are enjoying our new adventures daily. If you are ever in New England, we have a lovely “guest suite” complete with a 6 a.m. wake up call from Bradyn (after all, Captain Social is the entertainment committee here at the house, and activities begin EARLY!). However, I can promise some warm maple syrup with your early breakfast! We love and miss all of you.

Here’s wishing all of you best wishes for the
Holidays and upcoming New Year!

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