Wire hangers don't bother me a bit.

So Monday was a tough day at our house.

Jack was in rare form. He got in big trouble twice. The first time he was using a toy to attempt to destroy the house. The second time he was using a different toy to torment his sister.

Both times he was given multiple warnings and ignored them. So, both toys ended up in the trash.

It was bad. He cried, screamed raged and rifled through the trash to retrieve his precious weapons of chaos and destruction. Hope wasn't much help.... She was in tears because her brother was sad. She wanted him to get another chance. But he didn't get one (he'd already had several).

The toys are gone forever.

Several times I questioned my judgement, but it was too late at that point - I had to follow through.

Fast forward to Tuesday.

Jack hurt his hand at daycare. Nothing serious - but very painful (his finger nail will probably fall off...). Then Kurt took him to the doctor to be screened for diabetes (he'd been displaying some troubling symptoms). That screening involved getting a catheter. NOT a pleasant experience for anyone let alone a two year old little boy. (Test came back negative - and he's fine).

Hope and I arrived home. I explained that Jack has had a REALLY rough day. I told her, "Hope we need to be extra nice to Jack tonight because he isn't feeling very well."

She stared at me without saying a word.

Her expression darkened and her voice cracked with emotion as she shouted, "Of course I'll be nice Mom. But I sure hope that you're gonna be nice too and not throw any more of his toys away!"

And without another word, she stormed into the house leaving me alone in the driveway feeling like the worst mom ever.

I wanted to explain to her that I didn't choose to throw those toys away - Jack made that choice when he repeatedly disobeyed. I wanted to tell her that my heart hurt when he was so sad because his toys were gone. I wanted to tell her that I had to fight to leave those toys in the trash; that everything in me was saying, just give them back and give him another chance.

I don't know if I handled any of it very well and I'm pretty sure that I am officially out of the running for Mother of the Year. I hope that someday both Hope and Jack will understand how much I love them... I hope that they'll understand that discipline is a form of love... I hope that someday I'll be better at conveying love while disciplinining my children...

I hope that somehow we all survive this process...

I think it's perfectly normal; Part XI

I play the drums while driving my car.

This Spotlight isn't big enough for the two of us... so go get me a sippy cup with tea and lemon.

Jack has a toy microphone that plays music to which he can sing along.

His song of choice? Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

He's always enjoyed singing. But now hes taken it to the next level.

Now he enjoys performing.

Note the closed eyes, the mic tilted upward. The slight raising of the hand.

Yeah. He totally owns it.

I was watching him and couldn't help it. I started singing with him.

WARNING: The fairytale stops here, people.

Jack's eyes snapped open and flashed me the dirtiest look.

He slammed the mic down on the table and said,

"This is MY song, Momma. My song."

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He picked up the mic again.

Eyes close. Melody resumes.

I couldn't help it. I joined in again (just to see what would happen).

This time he drops the mic on the floor, turns around, walks away and says,

"I sing alone."

Sigh...

Reporting back on the Thanksgiving Day Shenanigans

Well, Thanksgiving dinner came and went without any of the following:

1. Trips to the hospital because of food poisoning

2. Uncontrollable gagging due to slimey stuffing and gelatinous gravy
3. Burns on the chest from a turkey baster explosion

4. Burnt on, caked on, stuck on Stove-Top all over the inside of the microwave because I misread the instructions and cooked it without a lid

5. Missing fingers from chopping vegetables

6. Heimlich maneuvers due to overly dry turkey

7. Salmonella due to overly moist turkey

8. Fights with Kurt over the fact that the kitchen isn't big enough for the two of us

9. Mashed potatoes that could be mistaken for wet cement

10. A dog (his parents' dog) that had to be rushed to the vet because he ate too many table scraps (because everyone was slipping him the food off their plates so they wouldn't have to eat it).

So I'd say it was a good day.

Thank you to everyone who gave me advice - everything went smoothly. The only thing that was mildly troubling was this thing here:

Kurt used this to inject the juices back into the turkey to make it more moist. Look at the size of that needle! Hello!

Anyway, when he shot it up, the injection site would swell up and move around like the belly on a pregnant woman. I half expected turkey to explode and the thing from the Alien movies to come shooting out of it. FREAKY. And a few times when Kurt would stick the needle in, the juice came shooting back out at Kurt - which could have been pretty bad if it had hit him... So he would shoot it in, and juice would come spraying out of the turkey from a a prior injection spot.

See, this is why I don't cook.

I have to say, I feel like I'm jipping you all out of some good stories. The day was wonderful - but uneventful.

The most noteworthy event took place prior to the Thanksgiving festivities. For those of you on Facebook, you already know this story. It was early in the morning so I was still in my pajamas. Kurt and I were both in the kitchen and I was trying to rinse out the sink. We have one of those faucets that pulls out like a hose.

It was stuck.

And the water was on.

So I kept pulling.

As hard as I could.

Well, it came loose and sprayed me down with blinding fury. Water everywhere. My clothes were soaked.

Did I mention I was still in my pajamas?

I dropped a few choice words.

Kurt looked at me and started shouting, "WooHOOO, spring break!"

Nice.

All in all, it was a great day. I hope you all had a great day too!!

This post is so that Laurel will have something on which to endlessly comment. Alright Laurel, I expect LOTS of comments from you.

A time for traditions...

Holidays are always full of traditions.

I've always loved the idea of traditions - but we don't have very many... I'm always looking for new ideas of stuff to do with the family. Stuff that will be meaningful and lots of fun.

One new tradition we've started is that every year, we cut 4 circular pieces (one for each of us) off of the tree trunk, stain them, put a little hole on the top, carve/burn the year on them and make them into ornaments.

So, the kids will take a physical piece of every one of their childhood Christmases with them when they go off and start families of their own.

Of course we have other little things - watching Christmas movies, getting our annual Christmas picture at Disneyland, leaving cookies for Santa...

But I'm always looking to explore some new options.

I did a little research and found some possibilities that I thought were kind of cool. Thought I'd share them.

1. Exchange gag gifts
2. Play a special card game with the whole family on Christmas Day
3. Hold dinner at someone else’s house each year, be sure to ttrade off
4. Exchange hand-made gifts

5. Put together a family photo Christmas book every year

6. Make a gingerbread house together. Let each person pick out a pack of their favorite candy to decorate the gingerbread house with
7. Make at least one new ornament per person in the family each year to place on the Christmas tree.
8. Have a special Christmas movie night

I would love to hear some of your traditions!

Sakes alive, I'm 35.

Today is my birthday.

Wheeee.....

So for my 35th birthday I thought I’d list 35 questions that I would really like answered.

These questions are not so much meant to inspire you, to wow you, or to challenge you….

They’re just meant to convey the fact that my mind is something of a frighteningly random place.

OH. One more thing – a little thing really...

I would really like 35 comments on this post for my 35th birthday.

No pressure or anything.

I’m just sayin’…. ya know…. it’d be nice.

35....

Hey it could be worse. If people ask me how old I'm turning, I tell them that I'm turning 76. That way they'll think, "wow, she looks really good!" So, I could be asking for 76 comments. But I'm not. I'm just asking for 35.

35....

Anyway! On with the questions.

1. Why do people think that swaying their arm back and forth would change the direction of a bowling ball?
2. Why is it that on a phone or calculator the number five has a little dot on it?
3. If a bald person works as a chef at a restaurant, do they have to wear a hairnet?
4. Do prison buses have emergency exits?
5. If parents say, "Never take candy from strangers" then why do we celebrate Halloween?
6. Do Chinese people get English sayings tattooed on their bodies?
7. How come lemon scented liquid soap contains real lemons, but lemon juice contains artificial flavorings?
8. If there's a speed of sound and a speed of light is there a speed of smell?
9. What do Greeks say when they don't understand something?
10. Why do people say "heads up" when you should duck?
11. Why is it that no matter what color bubble bath you use the bubbles are always white?
12. Why do superheros wear their underwear on the outside of their clothes?
13. What do people in China call their good plates?
14. How come toy hippos are always blue, or purple, when real hippos are brown?
15. Why do British people never sound British when they sing?
16. Why do we press the start button to turn off the computer?
17. If you had a three story house and were in the second floor, isn't it possible that you can be upstairs and downstairs at the same time?
18. Why are the numbers on a calculator and a phone reversed?
19. How come you can kill a deer and put it up on your wall, but it's illegal to keep one as a pet?
20. If prunes are dehydrated plums, where does prune juice come from?
21. What is another word for "thesaurus”?
22. If you try to fail and succeed, what have you done?
23. Why is the time when the traffic is slowest called rush-hour?
24. If your vacuum cleaner really sucks, is it a bad thing?
25. Why are they called stands when there made for sitting?
26. If the #2 pencil the most popular, why is it still #2?
27. Why do they announce power outages on TV?
28. Why do you press harder on the remote-control when you know the battery is dead?
29. Why are buildings called buildings when there finished? Shouldn't they be called builts?
30. Why is abbreviated such a long word?
31. Why is it that when you tell a man there are 400 billion stars he will believe you, but when you tell him there's wet paint he has to touch it?
32. Whose cruel idea was it to put a 'S' in 'lisp'?
33. Do you find it unnerving that what doctors do is called 'practice'?
34. If a turtle doesn't have a shell is it homeless or naked?
35. Can vegetarians eat animal crackers?

The VonGoble Family Dancers

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

That was close... Who knew that Santa Clause loves Costco?

Hope and I are in the car talking about Christmas presents from last year. Hope says,

"Hey Mom - remember that stuffed aminal lion that Jack got?"

I respond (somewhat distractedly), "Yeah, we got it Costco."

(dead silence from the back seat)

"You told me he got it from Santa."

(dead silence from the front seat)

My eyes dart quickly to the rear view mirror where I see her looking at me with an emotionless but accusing stare. She cocks her head to one side and raises her eyebrows ever so slightly.

(my breathing becomes erratic, face flushes hotly, beads of perspriration form on my forehead and upper lip)

I have no where to hide, I start stuttering, "Uh, well, what I meant wa... uh.... well..."

Hope interjects with, "Does Santa shop at Costco?"

(eyes widen, breathing immediately resumes normal pace, blood pressure drops)

"YES - good! Uh, I mean, YES! He's a regular there honey. He LOVES it there."

"Hmmm" is all I hear from the backseat.

I nervously look in the rear view mirror silently praying that she's not looking at me. Thankfully she was staring out the window. She looks up at the sky and in a very logical tone says,

"He must do his shopping at night since he's at Disneyland all day taking pictures."

(big sigh of relief from the front seat)

"Hey Hope, let's listen to some Christmas music."

(CD volume turned up a little higher than normal in an effort to avoid further conversation)

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

A few of you have asked about the results of my Emergency Shut Up System test. I haven’t written about it because I needed to take some time to process all of it.

I made it through the day – well, until the end of the day – without complaining (out loud, anyway). At about 9:30 that night, Kurt and I were sitting on the couch and out of nowhere I said, “Ugh, I’m so bored!”

I almost had a spotless record.

One of the things I noticed was that I was always ready with a negative comment; a biting remark of some sort. Not necessarily a complaint – but not anything pleasant either.

So, I spent a lot of that day not talking.

That was something of an eye opener. It was like someone held up a mirror and I saw what I really look like as opposed to what I think I look like.

It was upsetting, unsettling and left me feeling pretty small.

The whole experience reminded me of a little “song setup” I wrote back in 2004 when I would sometimes lead worship at church. I always had to write out what I was going to say – it helped calm my nerves. Here’s what I shared with our church:

I Give You Me Setup (2004)
We moved to a new house about 3 weeks ago. As I was unpacking I came across one of my old journals from August of 1996. That had been a particularly exciting time in my life. I had just graduated from college, started a new job, moved to a new apartment. My husband and I were celebrating our 2nd anniversary - lots of good times.

So I was certain that it would be full of fun little details that I had forgotten all about.

But that’s not what I found. Instead it was full of negativity, insecurities and endless complaining. There was no mention of how blessed I was – or the gifts that God had given me. In fact, there was no mention of God at all. I was shocked at the lack of gratitude. Such immaturity!

But I quickly found comfort by reminding myself that I had grown up a lot since then. I’m not that person anymore.

And to prove it – I decided to read a current journal entry. After all – now is an equally exciting time. I have a new home, a beautiful little girl – my husband and I getting ready to celebrate our 10th anniversary… So I knew that this time I would see a lot of gratitude – a lot of praising God.

But I didn’t… It was full of the same negativity, misery and self-centeredness. And I realized how little I’ve changed in 8 years. I’ve wasted so much of my life being ungrateful. God has continued to bless me – richly – all throughout my life, but I’ve never really experienced the full benefit of those blessings because I've been too busy focusing on all the things that I think aren't perfect. It's time to change that. I need to shift my focus from me to Him. I need to stop and say thank you.

Back to current day....

I wrote that setup 4 years ago. And in 4 years, I haven’t changed… I continue to try – and continue to fail. Every time I look in that mirror, I don't see what I want to see.

Changing behavior is tough because you don’t just make the change once. You have to keep making the decision to change over and over and over again. It’s exhausting and overwhelming.

But I keep trying.

I’m thankful for grace and the second chance that comes with it.

A Sad Goodbye...

Jack is two and a half and still takes a bottle when he goes to bed at night.

I know, I know.

He's too old for that. I should have weened him off the bottle a long time ago. It's bad for his teeth. It's bad for his development. It's bad for everything.

But he loves it. It's soothing, it relaxes him, it's part of his routine. Trying to get him off it has been really difficult.

Well, we decided that yesterday was the day. No more bah-bah.

Nap time was fine. Going to bed last night was questionable, but ended just fine.

Until about 2:45 AM.

Jack woke up very upset. He was crying, "Momma! I want a bah-bah in my bed to make it better." I went in his room and held him for a little bit. He just cried and said, "I just want to feel better. I need a bah-bah."

Oh man.

It was horrible. He wasn't pitching a fit. He wasn't screaming.

He was crying very quietly.

He was sad.

He didn't understand why something that he'd always been allowed to have, something that had always brought him comfort was suddenly forbidden.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic (yeah, something new and different for me), it was like he was crying over the loss of a friend.

I wanted to explain it to him. I wanted him to understand that he's too old for a bottle. That he's a big boy now - that he can't take a bottle forever. That this is what's best for him...

But how do you do that with a two and a half year old little boy who only understands that he's hurting and sad? He knows that you have the power to make it all better and you're not doing anything but letting him suffer.

How do you explain that? How do you get him to see that this is what's best?

You don't....

I held him for about a half hour until he finally said he wanted to go back to bed. I got up from the rocking chair to put him in his bed and he said, "Momma I wait in my bed and you go get me a bah-bah."

Oh my sweet Jack.

I whisper, "No honey, no more bah-bahs. I'm sorry baby - you need to go night-night."

Lower lip sticks out, he turns his head and buries his face in his blanket and says, "Why momma why! I just want to feel better!"

Big tears.

And the whole thing starts over again.

So sad...

Today we had a ceremony. A "Throwing Away of All the Bottles in the Entire House" Ceremony. We all sat around the table and each of us held a bottle. We each took a turn asking Jack if we were babies. When he said, "No! You're not a baby!" he took the bottle away from us and threw it in the trash. He went around the table - Daddy, Mommy, Hope.

Finally it was his turn. We asked him if he was a baby. He said, "I not a baby, I a big boy!" and he threw the bottle in the trash as hard as he could.

We all cheered and then took him out for ice cream.

I hope tonight is better...

What have I done.... WHAT have I DONE???

So I'm excited about Thanksgiving because we're spending it with Kurt's Mom and Dad.

They're coming to our house.

They're very sweet, gracious people.

Which is a good thing - because I can't cook to save my life.

Seriously.

Okay, I'm going to go ahead and go vulnerable here...

(gulp) I can't even cook a turkey (spoken in a small, shakey voice).

When I was in high school my friend Sherri and I made dinner for our boyfriends. We made cornish game hens.

We skinned them and washed them in the kitchen sink with dish soap because we were concerned about salmonella.

They turned gray when we cooked them.

So now maybe you'll take me seriously when I say I can't cook.

I don't have the faintest idea how to do any of it (except maybe for mashed potatoes - I make decent mashed potatoes once and they didn't even involve flakes or boxes).

What do I do? How do I do it? How do I time it all out so that everything is ready at the same time and it's nice and hot (not cold and nasty)? How do you make gravy? Did I even spell that right? What about the stuffing? I've always just made Stove Top - but I can't serve that to Kurt's parents (his mom's a really good cook...).

How do you people COOK?

I need HELP.

I beseech you....

Please. For pity's sake...

Help me.

I'm losing sleep over it.

I close my eyes at night and see stove fires, blackened turkeys, runny gravy, lumpy slimey stuffing, Kurt's dad doubled over at the table with a barf bag and Kurt's mom being whisked away in an ambulance.

Anxiety levels rising....

Panic attack is imminent...

Need for Xanax increasing...

I'm sorry that my blog has turned into a perpetual plea for help on one subject or another.

I just need lots of help.

Mysterious Box full of wonders

Somewhere out there is a mysterious Box of wonders.

And it's full of my stuff.

Things are disappearing at an alarming rate.

I'm learning that the Box has rules. Actually, "Selection Criteria" might be a better way to describe it.

See, it only takes things that I desperately need at that particular moment. If I had looked for the item 20 minutes ago, I would have undoubtedly been able to find it.

But now that time is of the essence, the Box has claimed it as its own.

Here are a few of the precious items that the Box has mercilessly taken from me:

1. Chapstick
2. Tweezers

3. Contacts cases

4. Earing backs

5. Mates to about 87% of my socks

6. The stoppers to my son's sippy cups

7. Double A batteries

8. DVD jackets to about 53% of my DVDs

9. Finger nail clippers

10. The little plastic cups that kids take medicine with

11. The lids to all of my travel mugs

12. Plunger (don't ask)

13. Midol (you're an IDIOT if you ask about this one)

14. Gum

15. Television remotes

16. 7 differenst sets of keys

17. Pens

18. Deodorant (some of you undoubtedly remember that day)

19. Shoes

20. Camera

21. Memory stick for the camera

22. Thermometer

23. Dora Band-Aids (not to be confused with REGULAR Band-Aids. Trust me, to a screaming 2 year old, there is a profound difference).

24. My son's cowboy boots

Hair Help

I need your help.

My hair needs your help.

It's greasy, limp and gross.

I need to try a new conditioner or something.

But my fundage is limited.

Any tips?

Sorry, this post is completely boring, but I really need the advice!

(I tried to compensate for it by using a strange picture)

Channeling The Changeling

I'm sure you've all seen the trailers for The Changeling.

The premise is that her son is taken - and then miraculously returned to her. The only problem is that she is insisting that the boy who was returned to her is not her son.

The one trailer that jumps out at me is the clip where Angelina Jolie is crying, "I want MYYYYY son back!"

Well, last night tragedy struck at the Goble house. Jack (my two year old son) lost his favorite toy. It's a rock he found at the park - about the size of a quarter.

He was devastated.

Big tears.

Much lamenting.

Overwhelming sorrow.

If he had thought to shake his fist at the heavens he probably would have.

We spent several minutes looking for it, but to no avail. The rock had simply vanished.

Well, Hope keeps a little Nature Jar - and inside it are several small rocks about the same size as the precious rock that had gone missing. She ran and got Jack one of her rocks and gave it to him. She told me before she handed it to him that she tried to find one that looked like his.

Hope extended her hand to Jack, eager to share her treasure and ease his suffering. Jack looked at Hope with an expression of great joy and gratitude and quickly snatched the rock from her. Hope was elated.

I stood back, and just basked in the pride I felt for my children. Hope is so giving and Jack is so apprciative. I began thinking that my chance to win Mother of the Year was not as dead as I thought.

Jack continued to inspect the rock and I watched his expression change from one of sheer gratitude to that of shock and horror.

He had realized that this was not his beloved rock.

He said quietly but with absolute certainty, "This is not my rock."

He looked around the room taking a moment to look each of us in the face and said again (this time with a little more conviction in his voice), "This is not my rock."

We all stood perfectly still, averting his gaze hoping the moment would pass and he would just take the new rock and be happy with it.

Suddenly, he thrust his hand out in front of him, holding onto the rock with all his might and shouted, "I want MYYYYY rock back!"

Wow. Talk about a Tour de Force perfomance.

I do believe his speech could have rivaled anyting Angelina put forth in The Changeling. I certainly hope she never finds out about him - she may want to adopt him too.

Sigh...

Such drama.

I'm not into that...

I'm not into politics.

I'm not into to putting myself out there on heavy issues such as war, human rights and healthcare reform (even though I have strong feelings and care deeply about these things).

But I am into stopping and thanking those who have served and sacrificed to make my home a place where I have the privilege of deciding for myself what I am and what I am not into.

I take my freedom for granted and I shouldn't. So many people have paid the ultimate price for it and they deserve my gratitude and respect.

I think it's perfectly normal; Part X

I sometimes talk with my eyes closed.

I'm a very visual person - and when I close my eyes while I'm talking, I'm actually seeing what I'm talking about.

Is anyone out there?

Is anyone out there?

New posts.

No comments.

Much sadness.

I bet Starbucks will remember me now

I received this from my friend Jon and decided that I'm going to give it a try in my never-ending quest to be remembered by the Dory-like employees at Starbucks.

(Dory: as in the blue fish with memory issues on Finding Nemo).

For any of you who may not be familiar with the pathetic back story of my sad little quest, click here for details. It's a sad, sordid tale about a Starbucks regular, a girl with no memory and a boy who was almost a stalker. Almost.

It's time to break my silence (No, this is not regarding anything political - not that I'm complaining political stuff)

This has been troubling me for some time.

There's nothing worse than looking in the mirror three quarters of the way through your day and seeing some huge shredded piece of puke-green nastiness lodged between your two front teeth.

You think, "For the love of all that is holy, how long has THAT been there?!"

You begin recounting the events of your day - all the people you've had face-to-face conversations with.

Why did they stay silent? Surely they saw it. You think, "Good grief, if I'd sat any closer to them they could have taken a bite of it!"

How could they let me just keep on about my day without telling me that there's an entire crop of romaine lettuce protruding from my face?

People.....

Please.....

Friends don't let friends walk around with food in their teeth.

So the next time you seem some poor, clueless person walking around with a vegetable garden sprouting from their two front teeth, do the right thing and tell them about it.

This is a Test of the Emergency Shut Up System...

I complain a lot. Too much.

So I'm running a test. I'm going to attempt to go an entire day without complaining about anything.

Starting: NOW (not 20 minutes ago when I commented on someone's blog that I was sick to death of hearing about politics).

Do you think I can do it?

Do you think you can do it?

I think it's perfectly normal; Part IX

I can't put mascara on without making an O-shape with my mouth.

The same thing is true when it comes to putting in my contacts.

Cosmic Irony

So I'm sitting on the bathroom floor facebooking while Jack takes his bath.

It's all so sweet. So soapy. So bubbly. So clean.

And then I hear it:

A rumble that could wake the dead.

I look up in horror and see what no parent wants to see on their child's face as the child's taking a bath:

The poopy eyebrows.

The rumbling continues and the poopy eyebrows become more intense. His face is now turning red and his shoulders are scrunched up around his ears. His face is all contorted as if to say, "Push it out, push it out, waaaaaay out!"

What do I do?

I'm struck by the shear helplessness of the situation. Do I pick him up and remove him from the tub mid-poop-shoot? Do I wait till he's finished? Do I scold him? Do I shake my fist at God and implore Him as to why He would allow such a thing? Do I cry? Do I vomit?

I opted to just stand there and shake my head in despair as my dreams of winning Mother of the Year were ripped to shreds.

Jack interrupted my despair by saying (with grave concern) "Momma, I dropped my poo-poo - I dropped my poo-poo!"

Of course it was in our beautiful, luxurious jacuzzi tub with 10 jets (2 of which will never be the same again). Every single one of his bath toys was in the tub with him when he made "the drop."

I will spare you any details on the drop-off itself other than to say - it had it's own debris field that came along with it. I trust you can imagine what that was like.

Sigh...

The tub has been cleaned, disinfected and rinsed. The bath toys have been thrown away. Jack has been given a second bath. We've ordered Jack an ID bracelet that lets people know he's something of a biohazard.

Life returns to normal.

I suppose I deserve this after dressing up as a piece of pooh for Halloween (click here for details on that). If this is how things work, then next year for Halloween I will be dressing up as a million dollars.

A Momma's Pride...

We took the kids to the park today.

Jack got a little boo-boo. I started toward him to pick him up, dust him off and give him loves but I stopped when I saw Hope jump in and take over.

She said, "Come here Jack, Hopey kiss it."

So Hope gave her little brother a kiss and he snuggled with her on the slide for a minute.

It was a beautiful moment.

I'm so proud of my kids...