Cleaning Outfits

I gave the kids an assignment to clean out the car. Simple instructions: Each were given two grocery bags and told to go fill them up, bring them inside, and put away the contents of their bags. Then I proceeded to make dinner. I went outside a little later to check on their progress.

Me: "Oh my! What are you wearing?"
Isaac: "Our cleaning outfits. You have to have something special on to do a job like this."


Isaac's looks especially uncomfortable, though his shimmy doesn't seem to be restricted.


Clara, slowly but surely, filling her bag with crayons. (Ooh, it's painful to look at Isaac...)



Will in the van, trying to figure out exactly where the opening in his pouch is.


The master-mind of the operation. Isaac announced that he had Jacob's outfit all folded and ready for him for when he came home from soccer practice.

Ma Sweet Baby James

I believe this boy took no detours on his way from heaven down to the Allen house way back in August 2007. I hope I can be the kind of mom that helps him decide to be good and happy all his life. Back when I had only one or two kids, I kind of assumed that once you had "a lot" it'd be routine. It is not. I marvel how fun and fresh the experience is even with my fifth. At the moment, this little naked buck-toothed boy (who's not potty-trained and who's sitting on my pillow reading his book) is my very favorite! Is that allowed?

Weekend Hike in the Cascades with the Boyz

Because we had such a great time last year with

Dad, brothers and nephews on a fifty-miler in eastern Oregon, this year's follow up hike (20 miler) over a weekend in the Three Sisters wilderness area seemed like a good idea...and it was. Here Dad and I are on top of the world, or at least on top of the South Sister (3rd highest peak in Oregon). We could see from Washington to California. Dad was born in '35. You do the math. If you are anywhere near my age, then my dad can still beat up your dad, end of story.

The Cascades are active volcanos, so there is a lot of lava rock which we (Dad and I especially) found could be a little sharp, he with his finger, and me with my leg. I had crossed a stream to retrieve a fly the brookies couldn't resist, slipped on a rock, and looked down to discover what my tibia looks like. When I got home that night I had to tell Anna how my leg got cut and I had to go get some stitches. This is what she got to see. No, I didn't retreive the dry-fly.

"It really hurts! (sniffle, sniffle) What? I'm not sure what you can do to help Anna, maybe...well if you really wanted to... a backrub would probably help take away some of the pain, (sniffle)."

She was concerned, so I reassured her that the ER doc did an excellent job getting me numb, and was really amazing with the suture, and he was crazy smart and good looking and I don't know, I just really liked the guy. I mean, I just knew I was in really good hands. Did I mention smart, and good looking, and really strong, too, and awesome, and smart.

Good thing I didn't sleep through that lecture. Thanks dad and brothers for bringing some suture kits along (dental nerds). We used one suture the day before on my Dad's finger (compliments of David).

"This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you".

The gloves are not because of OSHA regulations and me being worried that I might spread blood born diseases to myself. After three days of dirty camping and eating fish out of a pan, gloves were available and seemed like a good idea.

Another reason to look forward to the resurrection.

Moral of the story: 1. Don't go into the wilderness without a suture, hemostats, a syringe, some sharp scissors and a disinfectant. 2. Don't step on a big sharp stone with wet shoes and slip, and

3. If you fish on the Sabbath, you may be given extra opportunities for growth.

Boy For Sale...

...apparently. I went to check on William during naps and this is what I saw.

He'd swiped a tag off something I had purchased yesterday. I thought it was a fitting label, though a little cheap for what it cost to make him, plus labor.

After naps I said, "Okay, kid. Let's see what we've got for sale. Show us your giant whining tin self!" Here's what I got!

Life would be dull without this little creature around!

Things That Make Me Happy

~Peaceful early mornings at my kitchen table.


~That my husband and bro-in-law were willing to stand and sing the BYU fight song with me during the BYU/Washington game, even though we were amidst a sea of irate Husky fans, and I'm pretty sure they were embarrassed.



~James Grey's baby birdie fuzz, and that he tries to be happy even when he's feeling sad.


~Patlican Guvec ( a Turkish eggplant stew), so hearty and delicious!

1 medium eggplant, peeled and chopped
1 red bell pepper, 1 green bell pepper, 1-2 mild chile peppers (anaheim), all seeded and chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1/3-1/2 c. olive oil
3-ish T. lemon juice
feta cheese, crumbled
cilantro, chopped
1 lb. groung lamb, browned and drained
kalamata olives, sliced (maybe 10 or so, with a dash of the juice, is about right for me)
plain low-fat yogurt

Seasonings to taste:
salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, cumin, garlic powder, Greek oregano, dried mint

After browning the lamb, mix everything into a casserole dish and bake for 45 mins-1 hr at 350. Or simmer it all in a pot (faster). Add the feta last just before serving. Serve over a bed of steamed rice, with a dollop of yogurt on top.

~Our old apple tree. She fills the air with sweet fragrance in the spring. She fills our table (and food storage) with delicious apples in the fall. And she provides endless games for the imagination for the kids all year 'round. (I know you've seen this picture before, but it was the best one of the tree I could find at the moment.)

My Irish tin whistle. New hobby. Not very good at it yet, but it's fun and it can go in my pocket! $10,000 to whomever can name this tune... I'll spare you all and attach just the introductory lines of this song. (Don't mind my post-cleaning, pre-cleaned self! I was taking a break from scrubbing.)

~Old black and whites of my mom and dad. They were, and are, beautiful people in every way.

More Racket

Okay. This one's for you, Pop. Some day I'll be able to play it as deftly as it's supposed to be played. Until then...

Spancil Hill, a traditional Irish song. (Whoa. Nice freeze frame! What you can't see is the liquor bottle under the desk.)

School

Every two years another baby bird tries out its wings, and I assume it will get easier, but it never does. My sweet daughter waved an apprehensive good-bye this morning as she stepped into her kindergarten class. I confess that I was temporarily undone. However, midget #4 was having a harder time than I was, so pulled myself together for his sake. I always forget how much the younger one depends on the next older one. Jake will always be the alpha male to be revered by his siblings (and rightly so), but Isaac and Clara loved each other and it was hard for her to see him go. Clara and Will are the same. And I'm sure, though James, at the ripe age of one, is already a professional at driving Will up the wall, that these two little boys will feel it when Willy leaves for school also. Enough blubbering. I'm sure most of you reading understand my feelings today. A pictoral sequence of events:

Our happy school-bound quartet. (James was still in bed.)

Waiting for the bus at our corner. Only the boys ride in the morning, then they all come home together. William, trying to bug his mom...in all ways. Port-A-Potty in the background that the painter had delivered so he doesn't have to come inside. Guess who was the very first person to use it (and continues to on occasion). Yep. Clara.

Little Clara Margaret, just before I dropped her off at school (afternoon kindergarten).

A dejected William getting left behind. We had to take our lunches to the park to make up for it.

Will voicing his worries about sister. Will she ever come back?
A happy crowd comes home on the bus to a happy crowd.

Rejoicing, Will embraces his sister. What did we do without her all those three hours??

When in Rome...

I have always enjoyed interesting people and experiences. So when a friend of Michael's invited us to the Douglas County Speedway races, we heartily accepted! A new experience, indeed, a new culture! My sister Rivka and her cool husband Chace happened to be visiting so we thought we'd make a date of it. But you can't go to something like that merely wearing your street clothes, can you? No! When in Rome, be a Roman. (Click on the picture to see the skirt close up. It is truly the ugliest item of clothing ever created, and my prized possession. Sorry, Carrie. You won't be getting this puppy for your birthday.) Michael pointed out that he has a reputation to uphold, however, so I toned the ensemble down a little in the end.

My compadres were equally dazzling. The award-winner was my bro-in-law in his tight girl Wranglers. But with Rivka in her tasteless "You Got Me... Just Kidding." tighty and Michael's exposed chest hair, shorts with dark socks, our quartet rounded out perfectly. To the right is Johnny Dane-jer running his car off a ramp to see how many cars he could knock over, just by hitting the van in front, like huge dangerous dominoes. If you look closely at the second one, the smear heading into the white van is Johnny.

Another "event" was when they jumped a mobile home over a huge pile of yard sale stuff--fridge, waterbed, etc. I've never seen a mobile home airborne, and don't want to again. It was like witnessing great Great Aunt Bertha do tricks on the trampoline,

cheered on by a vulgar crowd.

As the thing landed the tires all popped and the wheels splayed out, rendering it undriveable (a fridge came out the side), so it headed at full speed toward the fire truck waiting nearby, then at the last minute spun around and crashed into Johnny Dane-jer's pile of cars. Whoa.

The grande finale was the trailer race. The goal of this race is to be the last car running with trailer attached. I didn't see what the big deal was, or why all the neanderthals seemed so excited. They wet the track, then the crowd counted down from 5, the official waved the green flag, and chaos errupted. Directly in front of us a large truck smashed right into another's trailer. The car next to him jumped onto the back of his neighbor's trailer and rode on it until his hitch popped off. It was pure mayhem and the cheering continued. All around the track were fires and crashes. Every so often they'd have to stop the whole thing and amulances would race out to make sure people were okay. The last car running with his trailer had been so badly crashed the whole outer shell of the car was gone and all that was left was reinforced frame with a waving helmetted driver in the seat. Whoa. I felt like I had witnessed a crime. We were all speechless. Then we went to get dinner at Brutke's Wagon Wheel (actually Subway, but we should have gone to Brutke's!). Long live America!Chace's sweet thank you card left on our dining room table the next morning says it all:

Anna & Michael~

My life has forever been altered from our stay with you. I've come to the harsh realization that I have wasted precious years in school trying to get "edimacadid" when true glory lies with my new future at Douglas County Speedway! Thank you for all your kindness and love.

Mucho amor para mis amigos,

Chace

Bad Day

We've had a veritable eruption of bad luck these days which reminds me of the story of an unhappy man. Things were so rotten for him he thought he'd "do himself in." As is the popular method in the British Isles, he decided to swim out into the ocean until he couldn't swim any more and drown. However, during this morbid swim he was stung by a jellyfish, and his screams of pain attracted a nearby fishing boat who promptly saved him. Poor guy. Sometimes just nothing goes right. Sheesh, can we just start this whole lousy day over again (or week in our case!)? There's my complaining for the day.

Hair

A tribute to some great hairdos, both past and present. Let's enjoy them together, shall we?

I was your typical cute little girl until one day my mom decided she hated me and cut off my little brown pigtails and gave me...the bowl cut. She did the same to my younger sister too though, and forever more we were known as the twins--the ugly ones. Can you spot us, you know, the ones dressed like boys? Did I ever live down this identity/gender crisis? Let's see...

The answer to that would be no. This is me in my third grade school pictures. Now, to be fair I need to mention that my mom only cut my hair initially. I remember getting this heinous hair cut at a shop. I remember my mom telling the lady to make sure it was short, then leaving to run an errand next door, leaving behind my beautiful older sister (whose hair was always long and luscious) to keep an eye. I remember the barber lady ("beautician" doesn't apply here) pulling out the electric clippers and muttering to herself, "I wonder if this is short enough. Hmmm, maybe a little more...more...MORE...AHH-HA-HA!" as my sister's eyes got wider and wider in panic. Finally she stuck up for me and blurted out, "Stop! That's short enough!" I remember feeling the 5-o'clock shadow halfway up the back of my head as my mother curtly paid the bill with tightly pressed lips. She's always been the picture of tact and courtesy, but this time she didn't even say thank you. That's how I knew it was bad. Just look at me! What's with the sideburns?! (What's with the chocolate in my teeth? And the sweater, while we're at it!)

Now for a real treat. A later post will divulge where we spotted this gem of fashion, but for now it suffices to say it was a sweet and gratifying experience. My sister nicely put it when she said, "It's somewhere between Brave Sir Robin/Good Squire and Joe Dirt. I can't quite place it." Luscious and full in the back. Trim and tidy in the front. Throw in a beer, a chile dog and the local Douglas County Speedway races and you've got an award winner.

(Let's just say it was a photographic feat to get all the angles subtly. Well done, Chace!)

They say that abused children will often have a tendancy to hurt animals. I believe that idea is applicable. This is me on a sailing trip in Greece, where the man I was staying with, Peter, asked if I could give him a trim. Sure I can, Peter. There's one hair cut I know very well. The top photo is me trying

hard to overcome my past. The bottom one is me having failed and openly cackling about it. (P. S. He did not throw me off the boat for this hair cut. That was my first real lesson in charity.) Let's move on to happier things.

Nothing says "lesbo" like this one (thank you David, for pointing this out). Me in my later short-hair days, at girls camp in North Carolina, while I was there working for the summer in the NCSU soil science lab. Don't ask me any questions. I'm not answering (and yes, I did help start the mud war). And my favorite! My brother, David, and his wonderful, awesome haired, clogging wonder wife, Kathryn. Note: This is all REAL. All I did was brush through her amazing mane and, voila! Poor sister, I'm always asking if I can brush her hair. Can you blame me? My brother even has a pretty impressive afro when he puts his mind to it. Alas, something about having to look reputable for work seems to get in the way of his afro dreams. I hope if you, friendly reader, have any complaints about your hair this post will make you feel grateful. Or perhaps it's given you some good ideas. Who knows?

Mikkelsen Reunion

For three and a half fun-filled days we basked in the company of my dad's side of the family. It reminded me how much I like them, and how lucky I am to know, let alone be related to, such wonderful people. What: Mikkelsen Family Reunion

When: August 17-August 20

Where: Marin Headlands Nat'l Park in Sausalito, CA (about a 15 minute walk from the Golden Gate Bridge)

Why: For the purpose of reacquainting ourselves with the world's most golden of people.

All 60 or so of us stayed in a hostel minutes away from some neat old army batteries, the chilly beautiful beach with a bounty of nasty smelling creatures and shells, and the Point Bonita light house.

Michael and I ponder life on our walk to the lighthouse, with an ethereal Golden Gate Bridge behind us. The fog would cover it completely, then all at once it would materialize out of nowhere. (Interesting fact: My Grandpa Mikkelsen was one of the elite marching band members picked to play during the official opening of the GGB. He played the sax as he walked it's length joining the band in cheerful music.) My only regret was that we never got to run it (4 mi round trip) due to some excitement later on...

Will (aka Robin Hood--thank you, Grandma) got to walk to the lighthouse on Grandpa Mikkelsen's shoulders. He'd never been so tall! I like this next picture.

My sistas and me chillin' with Mom (next to me), Grandma Margot (in a fairy crown the little girls made for her), and my sweet cousin, Susan (behind me). If I look a little dazed it was because Susan had just given me one of the best back rubs I've ever had.

Clara Margaret, our little flower fairy, again, thanks to Grandma. All the little girls made fairy wings and crowns, all the boys made either bat/dragon wings or Robin Hood hats. Then later in the evening they had a dance, accompanied by my ever talented Papa. In this performance the flower fairies are dancing when suddenly their dance is interrupted by the mean bats and dragons trying to eat them. Just when all is nearly lost Robin Hood (supposedly) comes to save them! Unfortunately, Will was the only Robin Hood and he'd just been sent to his room for throwing a tantrum. So in the end the flower fairies all died, which was nearly as much fun for them as escaping.

We must have been in San Francisco. Get a load of this sign we saw near the entrance of the Muir Wood National Monument? Here's Jacob, taking full advantage of his opportunity. If any of you kids have something to say there's your chance!

Robin Hood, minus the hat, plus the cape, feeling the true spirit of the place. His little wing span was so minescule compared to the girth of this huge coastal sequoia. What an enchanted place.

An impressive banana slug we saw. Beppy, do you remember using one of these as a chew toy when you were but a baern? The kisses have been slimy ever since... And no family reunion is complete without the token injury. Below is the culprit.

And here is the victim. Poor Jake! Midnight games of capture the flag are not without their dangers. The boy had the flag and was making his last wild dash for the border when he tripped over this sewer access, and that was the end of that. Two people threw up at the sight of his knee. Because we had neglected to bring our first aid kit that had the sutures in it (something that both Michael and I had thought of, but didn't heed the thought) we got to spend most of the night in the emergency room where I got a nice look at Jake's knee cap and the subsequent sewing.

But! we were undaunted! We kept our chins up through the last day which brought us: Isaac's fever and 5 episodes of vomitting (3 of which in the car during our 8 hour drive home); Michael's cell phone getting destroyed; blow-outs; coming home to learn that our neighbor had accidently hit Michael's truck--badly; a mutiny in Michael's office (I feel for ANYONE who owns their own business); and to top it off, the painter painted the front door the wrong color!

But, this is all just stuff and generally fixable and it didn't diminish the wonderful time we had at all. As I said at the beginning, what a blessing it is to have good happy people all around me. What an honor to be related to such decent and interesting people as the Mikkelsens.