Saturday, November 27, 2010

How to Train Your Dragon

The boys and I just watched the movie, How to Train Your Dragon. This Dreamworks movie was a nice treat for the family, but as with so many Dreamworks movies, crude jokes and peacenik causes makes the movie fall short.

I wish some folks from Pixar would jump ship and help redeem the SKG group but I'm guessing the cultural difference between the two is what makes the distinction more than the talent they may share.

This is a good movie if you think Shrek is fine for the kids. But the technique of Saturday morning animation and overall storyline make this a B+ in my book.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Things You Never Thought You’d Say…

I’m standing in the kitchen, appreciating a moment of domesticity. My friend’s daughter has been dropped off for the morning, so we’re baking muffins while the baby sleeps. Maddie’s two brothers and my three oldest boys have disappeared into the backyard with various forms of weaponry, prepared for combat in the two foot weeds that have overtaken our backyard. (Apparently this is what happens when you don’t mow your yard for a month.) Back to my domestic moment…So I’m measuring ingredients and carrying on a perfectly decent “girl” conversation when my consciousness becomes aware of a somewhat desperate cry from the front lines of battle.
Now there are different sorts of “cries” that my boys make and I consider myself fairly astute at interpreting them. Among others, there’s the irritated whine which represents a “He’s bugging me” situation, the frightened / upset / pleading sort of a cry, the “I’ve been hurt” cry, and the “I’ve been hurt and now I will get revenge” cry. I recognized this noise as a curious combination of the first three, with potential to morph into a full-blown war cry.
I snap into “Supermom” mode, complete with supersonic hearing, and instant assessing abilities. I immediately abandon the sugar and sugar-coated conversation and whip open the back door. In less than two full seconds I have surveyed the surroundings, confirmed that there are not yet any casualties and have targeted the perpetrators, victim, and not-so-innocent bystanders. My five year old is standing in an alarmingly awkward position around the tree-house firepole, and actually appears to be semi-permanently affixed to said firepole. He does indeed have that rare but dangerous combination of “bugged, upset, hurt and about to get revenge” look on his face, but is frozen into inaction. Before any of them can try to hide the evidence, or worse, attempt an explanation, I take advantage of their moment of silence and say, “CONNOR… JOSEPH…THOMPSON...DO... NOT… DUCT… TAPE… YOUR… BROTHER!!!”
Another moment of silence as five pairs of eyes shrewdly watch for signs of temporary insanity – the kind of mental disorder that briefly affects mothers when they see their sons perform random acts of testosterone. What they do not know, however, is that I am completely at a loss. My Supermom “S” fades away, and I’m left standing there dumbfounded that I actually needed to give this utterly lame directive. I try to think of some sort of follow-up statement, something profound, with a little more oomph. I can’t… So I do my most serious “Mom Look”, nod authoritatively as Connor hurriedly begins the process of un-duct taping his brother from the pole, and ever-so-slowly retreat back into the haven of my kitchen with a dignified air.
Before returning to the task at hand, however, I pause to reflect on motherhood for a moment. There was a time when I believed that I would spend my mothering years gently imparting wisdom to my offspring – it’s my fantasy, so I’ll go ahead and say “daughters.” Anyway, I dredged up whatever remnant I still have of this Fairy Tale Mother Figure and I laugh to myself. My reality is that I spend my days between muffins and mayhem, occasionally being called upon to bring to light the inappropriate uses for tape. It’s not lofty, but it’s necessary, and everybody’s better off for it.
I walk back into the kitchen only to see Maddie shaking her head with a slightly exasperated but understanding look on her face. She may only be eight years old, but she’s got two brothers and she knows full well that sometimes Moms have to say things they never thought they’d have to say. Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

My boys

I have the most beautiful boys in the world. Look at this handsome crew. Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Cute kiddos

 Posted by Picasa

Monday, May 08, 2006

Here's the beginning of the process. We've chopped down the trees and are going to move the goods. Posted by Picasa

Monday, December 26, 2005

Christmas Treat

Delcan finishes with a grab and Pull from Spencer.

That was the end of it from Spencer and all out picture taking.

Oh well, there will be more of these moments on our life, I'm sure of it. Posted by Picasa

Christmas Eve Visit

It's always great when Santa and his reindeers stop by for a visit while they are are on their long journey delivery Christmas joy. In this case it's Spencer and Declan who bring joy to our eyes on Christmas Eve.

Merry Christmas. Posted by Picasa

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays?

As I was shopping today for gifts many clerks in the stores would wish me a “Happy Holidays” to which I would reply “Happy Holidays”. Then upon saying that deep convictions would come upon me because I did not wish them a “Merry Christmas”.
Immediately an internal dialogue begins: “Did I do something wrong? Did I not give my blessing or miss my opportunity to evangelize the ‘REASON FOR THE SEASON’?” I felt that secular thought had prevailed over my religious convictions and my freedom to speak words of personal religious belief in the marketplace were hi-jacked by the left wing liberal agenda. Another victory for the ACLU, what have I done?
But honestly, I do wish a Happy Holiday to all. Growing up that phrase simply meant a joyful holiday season that includes Christmas, New Years and if you celebrate it, Hanukah. But now the battle for the verbiage has sunk deep into our Christian culture. We are so frightened and willing to fight the liberals who are taking away our freedom to speech. They are removing “One Nation Under God” in the declaration of independence, TGIF is now an acronym for Thank Goodness It’s Friday, and Happy Holidays has taken the “Christ out of Christmas”.
Is this really true, or has our paranoia gotten the best of us?
I find it hard to believe that I won’t be able to say Christmas anymore, but someone can sit on a public train during evening commute and have a private phone conversation so loud that I can hear it clearly half a train away. And during this conversation I know the intimate details of their prior evening’s experience, using every 4 letter explanative in the book.
Personally, I hold to the conviction that a wish for a good tiding is basically that. As long as there is any freedom of speech there will be the right to speak of Christmas. The reason stores do not wish you a Merry Christmas is because they are a store and it is not their job to fight political or religious battles. They simply want to keep their doors open and have you give them your money. I can’t blame them at all for taking the normative position of saying ‘Happy Holidays’ so they don’t offend any of their customers.
For me I want to set the record straight. To those who I owe a blessing or time of outreach, please accept my sincere ‘Merry Christmas’. And to those who are concerned about such a public display of religious fervor I would like to wish you all a “Happy (explanative) Holiday”.