Birthdays

I've completely forgotten to write about the 2 recent birthdays at our house: Amberlee (turns 1) and Ethan (turns 7).

Amberlee's birthday was postponed almost 2 weeks due to our swine flu outbreak. Ethan's was postponed almost a week due to... well... I cant remember. Probably just us trying to recover from Amberlee's birthday a week earlier.

If we keep up these trends, we'll be celebrating birthdays the following year.

Amberlee had her own cake, and she was able to dive into it on her own as well. Fun! We thought she'd really get into it, but we learned that the frosting on the fingers was a bit more of an annoyance for her than we had anticipated. And, she only ate the frosting... big surprise.

Ethan's birthday went equally well. He designed and prepared his own cake-- an odd combination of snowmen and transformers.

Ironically, we cannot seem to have a birthday party without someone ending up crying. Amberlee cried because Preston stole her present, and Preston cried when he didn't get a gift like Ethan's. Michelle cried when the kids started crying, and I cried when the batteries in the camcorder went dead.

More photos to the right...

Painting Crazy

Of the many, many things our house needs, paint is at or near the top of the list. As you may have read in prior articles in this blog, the paint selection by the home's prior owners was something to behold-- a disgusting shade of pink/brown that can only be described as either "Caucasian" or "the color of Silly Puddy we used to get in the plastic egg". I'm certain there can be no other name for it.

To make matters worse-- far worse-- the people didn't stop at the walls. NO. They had to paint the walls, moldings (including base molding) and the door the same color. Taping off doorknobs, switches, hinges, and window sills was also too much trouble, apparently, as each received their share of the Silly Puddy paint as well.

Looking each wall individually, there was no break in the Silly Puddy-- floor to ceiling.

As bad as it was, we figured painting was going to be an easy fix. Ha! First mistake: never assume things will be easy. We ordered "Butter Cream" from Sherwin Williams-- a nice, cheery shade of yellow. And we got a cream color for the door and moldings.

The paint didn't cover it up the first coat, so we proceeded with the second coat-- when we ran out. Back to Sherwin Williams we go.

Another batch is mixed up, brought home, and Michelle goes to town on the rest of the room. But as things dry, she notices that the new paint does not match the older paint. Instead of "Butter Cream", we get "Butter Cream with a touch of silver". Not quite the same, and definitely noticeable.

In the mean time, our entire bedroom set is piled in the middle of the room. If I roll over, I mash my face into my dresser. Next to the dresser is our electric fireplace. Next to that are the two nightstands. Our bed is sitting on the floor amongst the furniture.

We have only gotten 2 kids in the paint so far, and one spill on the carpet. Not bad for this family.

And so, we thank Gus (the prior owner's name) for his wonderful choice in paint colors, his care for the environment by not buying masking tape, and for ensuring that we replace every plug, plug cover, switch, knob, and hinge in this house.

Christmas Preparations

I'm not sure we'll ever have a "normal" Christmas. Somehow, I envy the Griswolds Christmas. Seriously. Despite their troubles, at least they had their decorations out.

As for us, we're still searching. We managed to find the tree, only to find one band of lights doesn't work. So we have this black belt about 2/3 the way up that doesn't light up, sparkle, etc. We also found most of the tree ornaments. Still looking for those stupid stockings.

We've given up on the nativity, some of the wreaths, lights, and garland. I guess when the choice needs to be made, stockings always trump.

I hold out no hope that we'll find the rest of our Christmas stuff before the holiday. I have a general idea where things are at-- the garage. Other than that, its a crap-shoot. I'm guessing we have about 75 boxes, and due to the movers apparent intelligence (or lack thereof), most are not labeled correctly.

So, another Christmas will come and go with most of our Christmas stuff packed away somewhere. I'm sure we'll eventually find them.

I'm half tempted to wrap up all these boxes and put names on them. At least they'll be opened up finally and we can all peek inside. Since they've been boxed up for over a year, it will probably feel like Christmas seeing our things again!

Happy Thanksgiving

To all, we hope you had a great Thanksgiving Day! This marks a special day for us, as it represents 1 full year of Pennsylvania citizenship for me. A year ago, I pulled in to Cranberry for the first time, mom and dad in the truck, and a truck-full of stuff. Our Thanksgiving dinner was the buffet at the local Marriott. Its hard to believe.

This year, we went with our friends to the Grand Concourse in Pittsburgh for the feast. The place is spectacular. It is a rennovated old train station-- huge vaulted barreled ceiling of stained glass, huge granite pillars holding it all up, etc. The menu was buffet style.

Go here (http://www.muer.com/) and click "Grand Concourse" at the top.

All in all, it was good. Not great, but good. The variety was a bit small, which was a disappointment, but the best part was leaving the mess to someone else.

So, in about 2 weeks, it will be Michelle and the rest of the family's one year anniversary in PA as well. What a year...

Eating Crow

Its with great trepidation that I relay to you this next story. The reason is simple: it makes me look like an idiot. While I am normally far more comfortable making fun of other people behind their backs, its a bit harder when you have to make fun of yourself. Michelle is pushing me to publish this, though, on account that a little self-deprication is good for me.

Wednesday afternoon, while I was gearing up (or down, depending on how you look at it) for the holiday weekend, Michelle calls me at work. "Cade, the battery in the van is dead again, and I'm stuck in the Michael's parking lot, again."

This same thing happened a couple weeks ago. What is it with this parking lot? Is it cursed?

Anyhow, I decide to leave work a bit early to come to the rescue. My commute is about 45 minutes, but I soon arrive with the truck and jumper cables. My assumption at that point is that someone left lights on. It was cold and rainy, but I soon had the van running again.

We leave for home, where I tell her to leave the van running in the driveway so the battery can get fully recharged. After 20 minutes or so, feeling it had enough time to charge, I turn off the van and try to restart it.

Dead.

Okay, maybe it didn't have enough time to recharge, I told myself. I jump it again and drive it around, leave it running a bit longer. After some time, I turn it off and try to restart it.

Dead.

I decide it must be a bad battery. This was my last thought, to be honest, because, first, the van is only 3 years old, and second, it is a TOYOTA... these things are supposed to run all the time, right?

Nonetheless, after busting up my knuckles, I take the battery out (it is dark by now... please keep this in mind) and run it to PepBoys where they test it for me. Surprise-- it is a bad battery... "Looks like you need to buy a new one... and what do ya know? We have them for sale right here for only $90!!" Without options, I decide to buy a new one. The PepBoy guy takes it to the counter for me, rings it up, and carries it out to my truck. I drive it home and install it in the van. It took a while because it was dark outside, and I was working with poor lighting.

Once installed, I try to start the van.

Dead.

I go bizzerk! "This stupid piece of crap! What is wrong with it!" I call others for opinions and I get every kind of possibilities from the new battery needing recharged (it could have been on the shelf for a while, losing its charge over time) to a bad alternator. Hoping for the better of the two possibilities, I hook up the battery charger and let it run for 3 or 4 hours. I did NOT want to hear that it might be the alternator... this was a sure way to blow through hundreds of dollars. But, the signs were good when I took the battery charger cables off, though-- the battery was sparking between it and the recharger cables as I took them off, and lights seem to come on in the van. So, I try to start it.

Dead. AHHH!!

I had had it at that point. I jump the new battery (anyone keeping count?), get the van running, and take off in it (it is midnight at this point). Leaving the van in 3rd gear, I blow through our neighborhood and I take it around the country in a big loop, keeping it revved up as much as possible during the trip. I could tell something was wrong with it because the lights still didn't seem too bright and it just felt "wierd".

Fuming mad, and after the 20 minute run around the racetrack, I pull it into the driveway, turn it off, and try to restart it.

Dead.

I stomp through the garage, grab my toolbox again, throw up the hood. I wasn't sure what I was going to do about it, but throwing tools just made me feel better. Off come the cables, out comes the pocketknife (perhaps the battery cables were corroded?), etc. I'm enraged and didn't care what was going to be "fixed", but I had to do something. I only hoped that my temper and ticked-off attitude didn't wake the neighbors. It was about 12:30AM.

I go to clean the battery posts-- positive side first. As I go to the negative side, I feel something odd... near the base of the post, I feel a small piece of plastic. It takes a few moments of contemplation, but soon the blood drained from my face.

It is the battery post cover. Yep, I had failed to take it off. In my own defense, the post cover was black. I saw the red one on the positive side and had removed it. I guess the negative post cover, which was black, was just not colored the right way for a mad ameteur mechanic working in the dark?

I take it off, and what do you know?! The van started up.

I feel like an idiot...

Invasion of STAN & Sleep Deprivation

Michelle decided a couple weeks ago that our mattress was a piece of junk-- like sleeping on a sack of potatoes. I said it just reminded us of Idaho. But, she didn't "buy" it, and so began the quest for the perfect sleep system. We (or, rather, SHE) spent hours researching and looking and reading reviews. To be honest, not much helped, so we had to go out on a limb. She decided to buy a topper for the mattress rather than buy a brand new mattress. She orders this thing online and, within a few days, we have it "installed" on top of the mattress. Result: it didn't work. Next night, we decide to flip the mattress over and try the new sleep system there. Result: a little better, but not much.

Michelle hears that Costco has a foam topper that everyone raves about, and the next thing I know, we are in Costco picking one up. It gets installed on top of the first topper-- result: not too bad. Next, it gets moved under the first topper-- result: a little better.

Our first weekend came where we could really try out this new concoction of padding. No one had to get up at any certain time. No one had to get to bad at any certain time. The kids were all healthy-- no one was threatening to throw up in the middle of the night. We had Ambien in plentiful supply. We thought we had everything under control. What we did not anticipate was Chrissa.

Being an 8th grader means she had the "opportunity" of taking home one of those stupid annoying little fake babies, the purpose of which is to demonstrate how much of a pain it is to have a child and thus persuade them away from having one too early. This imitation thing reportedly costs $600 and comes equipped with heat sensors (to make sure the kid doesn't get too cold), sleep sensors (to make sure it periodically wakes up from sleep and starts to cry), sensors in its mouth that knows when the fake bottle is near, sensors in its butt to make sure new diapers are being applied, etc. It whines, cries and coos and responds to whatever the "mom" is trying to do to it to get it to shut up. If, for example, the baby cries and the mom tries to feed it-- but the fake baby is crying because it is too cold-- the baby will keep crying until its internal heat sensors rise. The data is downloaded to a computer when she returns to school, and she's graded for her motherly efforts based on the how well she responded to its "needs".

This is one area in school I hope she DOES fail. A passing grade would likely send the wrong message, in my humble opinion.

That 8th grade mother "opportunity" came this past Friday. Chrissa had the alternate choice of writing an essay on something, but she chose the fake annoying little baby route. I told her that the essay would only take a couple of hours work, whereas the baby was a weekend assignment. For reasons unknown to mankind, she still wanted to be the mom.

Our torture began at 10PM on Friday night. Michelle and I had all the kids asleep-- including the stupid annoying fake little baby. We go off to bed to see if the mattress would keep us comfortably asleep.

At roughly midnight, stupid annoying baby (whom I will call "STAN"-- STupid & ANnoying) begins to cry. Michelle and I wake up thinking its Amberlee. Nope… we realize it is STAN. The light in Chrissa's room comes on and, in 20 minutes or so, STAN falls back to "sleep".

Next-- 2AM: STAN wakes up and cries again. This time, however, Chrissa does not. STAN cries for 30 minutes, at which point Michelle goes in and threatens both STAN and Chrissa with sleeping in the garage if they don't take care of things. STAN goes to sleep.

Roughly 5AM: STAN again wakes up, Chrissa doesn't. Michelle and I are tired to the point of not caring, but STAN doesn't slow down. Instead, STAN's cries get louder and more annoying, and he/she manages to wake up everyone in the house (except Chrissa)-- Amberlee begins to cry, followed by Preston, then Ethan.

Chrissa snoozes right through it. Her response the next morning: "Sorry Dad, I'm just a heavy sleeper!"

For a dime, I would have thrown STAN out of the second story window that night, but the only reason I held back was the possibility that STAN would cry in the flowerbed or back lawn and, upon hearing the STAN crying at 2AM, the neighbors would call the police on us-- especially if said neighbor actually saw STAN being thrown out, crying as it plummeted to the ground, and me standing in the window with a smile on my face.

The next morning arrived early, and I set the rules down for STAN and Chrissa: either keep STAN quiet or they both sleep in the basement. I didn't remember signing up for STAN-- Chrissa needed to learn the lesson, not the rest of the family.

The next night was a little better… STAN must have had a sock stuffed in his/her mouth because all we heard was an instance or two of muffled cries through the night.

Back to the mattress. After missing 2 good nights (thanks to STAN and Chrissa) and the opportunity to see if the concoction would work, Sunday night comes around-- our last chance before the week. STAN had been shut off (his tour of duty was only to last 2 nights, which is good because he/she wouldn't have lasted a 3rd) and the kids were put to bed early. Again, Michelle and I think we have all things accounted for, so we go to bed.

At midnight, in comes Preston. For the next 2 hours, he cries and rolls and tosses and turns in our bedroom with a stomach ache. In the end, and at roughly 3AM, Preston pukes all over us, him, and our mattress setup.

Who needs to sleep anyway?

Sacred Grove Panorama

Click photo to see a panorama shot of the sacred grove.

From 11-14-2009 Panarama

Pig Days of Summer

Swine flu has come and gone. But, it lefts its mark on us. Total casualties: 4 (all at the same time). The only ones NOT to get it were me and Michelle. Michelle hates pork, so I can see why she didn't get swine flu. As for me, I have no idea how I avoided it. Maybe I'm too much like a pig for it to have any affect.

Here are our kids, all sick at the same time...

Palmyra

We were fortunate to have this fall's ward temple trip in Palmyra NY. We'd always wanted to go there, so this opportunity was great in more ways than one.

And, let me just add that, for the most part, the entire weekend went without a hitch. I think this is a Jensen FIRST. We left on time, arrived on time, had no breakdowns (meaning both the car and the kids, and Michelle and I for that matter), were not kicked out of any restaurants, etc.

Well, okay, so it was not entirely without comment.

First stop was Hill Cumorah. We nearly arrived at that same moment as our good friends, the Richards, who were coming from the opposite direction, so we likely ruined their anticipated spiritual experience by tagging along.

You'll see a general lack of Chrissa in these photos because she was petrified of the bees that were still out and spent the minutes we had on top of the hill running from them in the opposite direction.

Toward the end, Preston disappeared. We found him on the opposite side of the Moroni statue, peaking around the corner. We were certain at that point that he was desecrating the statue in some respect-- either through #1 or #2, if you catch my drift. Bear in mind that the kid is still adamantly against any attempt at potty training, so we just hoped at that point that his pull-ups would contain it all. I have to admit, though, that nothing would be funnier than to receive an excommunication notice from the church because they caught our son emptying his bladder on the statue on Hill Cumorah, and we did nothing to stop it.

Yet, we knew better than to try to catch him. The closer we try to get to him during these times of panic, the further he runs in the opposite direction. So we just let it happen, realizing it would be easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Luckily, as he came around the corner, we were pleased to see that the pull-up did, in fact, "contain" him. It was a close one-- evidence of the event were present on his backside. We did make him do the "march of shame" back to the parking lot before he was changed. And, he now participates in the unpleasant ritual. This participation in the cleanup is our latest ditch effort to convince him that he's too old to be in pull-ups.

Other stops we made: the Smith Farm. Our first time there was rather late in the evening, so we skipped the tours being offered and went right for the Smith house. Finding no one there, we went inside and made ourselves at home. Wrong, we understood, when we ran into the tour guide on our exit. But for 5 or 10 minutes, we had the home to ourselves.

The sacred grove, EB Grandin print shop, Martin Harris farm, Erie Canal, and, of course, the temple rounded out our trip. Great weather, great friends.

See more photos in the slideshow, right side of the blog.

New Camera

If you'd had the chance to read my previous blogs, you'd be aware of the episode of our camera coming up missing during our trip to Hershey a month or so ago. I won't retell this story, but suffice it to say that the camera came up missing after Michelle said she wanted a new one and I said the old one would work fine. No one claims responsibility for the camera disappearing, but I'm suspicious on my wife's alibi.

Anyway, we bought a new Panasonic Lumix. Its an awesome camera. Relatively cheap, though.

Being fall here in PA, we went around finding great landscapes and took pictures. Michelle's intent was to take family photos and use the trees we were taking pictures of to Photoshop them behind us. Chances were good that we would not be ready before the colors of fall began to fade, so we wanted to make sure we at least captured the colors while we had the chance.

Last Sunday, we went out and took pictures of us. Only after this did we realize that, maybe, we should have taken the time to read the owner's manual first! Our photos were washed out, etc, and Michelle learned that the flash had to be turned on as its factory setting was "off". Oops.

So, since Photoshop is no longer an option, and we do not plan to do anything more with the photos than keep them (no printing or displaying in our home), I'll just have to post some of them here. Just image the fall trees that I had taken and displayed a week ago being pasted into the background of these photos, and hopefully you will be able to see what we had in mind.

See the photo slideshow, on right. Click on them to see them in bigger size.

Home Improvement

Michelle is going to kill me for re-hashing this story, but I think it has some funny merit to it-- I just have to tell people.

A few weeks ago, she bought a front door. Not sure how it was going to be replaced, but she bought a door from a Lowe's in Butler, PA-- about a half-hour drive northeast of here.

Repeatedly, she had asked me to take the drive up there after work to pick it up. I kept blowing it off.

Yesterday (Halloween), she decided that we could delay it no longer. At roughly noon, we loaded up Preston into the truck and off we went.

We arrive in Butler and drive past a previously unknown (to us) farmer's market. We HAD to stop. PA farmer's markets are typically overrun with produce of every kind, and since Michelle and I love to eat, we couldn't pass this one up without stopping. Our biggest weakness are honey crisp apples, our favorites. In Idaho, Honey crisp apples usually ran about $3 per pound and are on sale (it seems) for 2 hours out of the year. In PA, they can be found just-picked for $1 per pound, and there are so many of them that you get sick of the thought after a while. Sure enough, this place had HUGE crates of every kind of apple you could imagine, one such crate being loaded with honey crisps. We got a bunch, and had some pressed into cider as well.

Then we loaded up on fresh meat, vegetables, Amish jams, fresh breads, etc. Total cost: $120.

We returned to the truck after an hour in the market and continued in our journey to Lowe's for the door.

Upon arrival, we look around the store and pick up a few odd things we were lacking at home, found a deal on a cordless drill and circular saw combo (which we needed), got a can of paint for the garage, and proceeded to check out. Cost: $160, and another hour was gone.

Soon, we were back in the truck and nearly ready to head back for home when we realized that the DOOR was still in the store.

Back in we went. Michelle got someone to pull the door that she had already purchased weeks ago, and proceeded again to the checkout.

But, just before she was going to leave (I was in the truck waiting at the exit doors), she noticed that the door was wrong-- it had the hinges on the wrong side. She went back to see if there was another door, same style, with opposite hinges. Nope.

In short, we left for Butler with the intention of getting the door that had been purchased and waiting pickup for nearly 2 weeks. Should have taken only an hour. Instead, we came home with: pickles, hamburger, breads, jams, various vegetables, stuffed chicken, stuffed pork chops, honey crisp apples, cider, a new cordless drill and circular saw, and paint. No door.

And, instead of taking only an hour, it took us 4.

How's that for efficiency?

(Cr)Happy Halloween

For multiple reasons, Halloween this year was a joke.

First, EVERY child we have (that is 4) came down with the flu this past week. Ethan got it first, then Preston, Amberlee, and Chrissa. For about 2 days, Michelle played nurse to 4 sick kids at the same time-- but we've had at least one sick kid for nearly 10 days now.

As Halloween approached, there was real concern that they'd be too sick to do anything. It appeared the only scary thing that would be going on at our house was whether Michelle and/or I would be cleaning up diarrhea or puke, and who/how much of it we'd be required to manage.

But, about 15 minutes before the trick-or-treater mad-rush, out came our kids in costumes that Michelle flung together, and we joined the throngs of kids begging the neighbors for candy.

I would love to say that it went without a hitch, but I'd be lying. Ethan continued to cough. Preston was a bit sluggish as we went from house to house. We were only able to hit about 25% of the houses that, under normal circumstances, we'd likely visit, but considering what these poor kids had gone through, I suppose I should call it a success.

Second, it was our first Halloween in Cranberry, PA. All years prior to this had been spent in Idaho, and Idaho Halloweens are far different than Pennsylvania Halloweens. Thus, we were embarrassingly ill-prepared (no pun intended) for what we were about to face.

Idaho Halloweens are usually spent going house to house in the car due to either the snowfall or the freezing temperatures-- or (usually) both. Plus, you needed that time in the car to thaw out the kids and get them back to within +/-10 degrees of normal body temperatures before they were thrust back out in the cold at the next house.

Furthermore, all costumes had to be sized big enough to allow the addition of winter coats and/or gloves, scarfs, and boots. Looking back, I now realize that the BEST Halloween costume for Idahoans should be an Eskimo... you are able to dress up and stay warm at the same time.

So, as we entered this holiday season, we were already used to the Idaho-way of having Halloween and didn't take the time to think that the Idaho-way is not the norm. Big mistake.

Throughout the week or two prior to Halloween, we noticed the preparations our neighbors were making-- decorations (some very elaborate), strobe lighting, full-sized Grim Reapers in the yard, etc. We thought-- maybe this is the extent of it-- surely people cannot be THAT into Halloween.

About 2 hours prior to the event, neighbors starting bringing out tables, chairs, and more "stuff" to scare people with. The table/chairs allowed the dressed-up homeowners to sit outside with their candy to hand out to kids. Music from half of the neighborhood started to play. All decorations were turned on. Hazelwood Drive, where we live, became a full-sized spook alley.

Then, out came the trick-or-treaters. THOUSANDS of them (it seemed). Our sidewalks were packed to the point that anyone could have mistaken it for New York City on a typical work day.

Now, for 133 Hazelwood Drive-- our house. In the middle of this spook alley sat our little home, the only decorations being a few fake pumpkins mixed in with a few real pumpkins and some Indian corn that the local deer had half-eaten. By comparison, just down the road from us is a neighbor who had turned his front yard into a grotesque display of The Grim Reaper running over a man with a snowblower, his simulated guts being thrown out of the shoot and onto passers-by. Strobe lights and Halloween music played in the background. Our other neighbor dressed up like Tiger Woods and his caddy, pretending to be playing in the Master's on the front lawn (this meant they had to hush the people walking by while "Tiger" made the shot or the putt) while kids came up to their table for candy. No, this "Tiger" was not already a Black man... she (yes, she) had to donn a lot of make-up of the appropriate color to make it work.

And, despite it being a semi-rainy day, the temperatures were nice. No snow.

In short, we blew it. I wouldn't be surprised to see a neighborhood petition being circulated to evict us on account of us being a Halloween embarrassment.

The Poopie Monster

I was brought out of bed yesterday morning by a scream from my wife. I went out of the bedroom to see what the issue was when I saw her, wide-eyed, staring at Preston. His pajama bottoms were wet and as she turned him around, he had a nice chocolate-colored stain (with matching "mass") around his rear-end. Preston had creamed his pants.

Also noticeably present was a chunk or two about the size of dimes on the carpet around his feet. These had obviously broken away from the mass that had so apparently filled his underwear and had fallen through his pantlegs and onto his feet and the surrounding floor.

Looking down the hall a bit further, I saw another chunk.

Michelle was paralyzed with contamination fears.

I walked down the hall, careful where I stepped (sometimes, the only way you know about the chunks of brown matter is when you step on one of the smooshy little suckers), and peeked around the corner and down the stairs. Two more chunks where seen on Stair #5 and Stair #11.

I also knew that a typical potty-stop of this kind is preceeded or followed by a drainage of the antifreeze, so to speak. I dared not mention this to Michelle on fears that she'd call in the National Guard or local HazMat team, and I'd be thrown out of the house in my underwear.

I grabbed a wipe and proceeded to collect the strays when, to my horror, I say Amberlee with the same chocolate-colored stuff in her hand, mashing it into the carpet.

What a fun way to start the day. After doing a detailed search for additional strays, and Michelle going through an entire bottle of Lysol, I think we got the situation under control. For now.

But, this kid is completely unresponsive to any potty-training techniques. I need advice and ideas!! Please post some for me! For reference, the following techniques have not worked:

1. Bribes (with candy, Hot Wheels, chocolate, hugs, toys, TV, etc);
2. Threats;
3. Cold water (to wash him off);
4. Self-cleaning methods;
5. Duct tape;
6. Positive reinforcement;
7. Negative reinforcement;
8. Prolonged toilet interaction (making him sit till he "goes");
9. Teaching through Ethan's/Chrissa's/Daddy's/Mommy's example;
10. Routine and consistent hours (such as bedtime, awakening, lunchtime, etc).

My only option is to physically attach the toilet to him rather than him to the toilet, so he can continue running around (albeit rather slowly) while getting his mess into it. Or, maybe searching for military schools for preschoolers. Help!

Why Pennsylvania

I was a bit amazed at some reaction I had from friends and relatives this past week when I was in Idaho attending grandpa's funeral. On at least four occasions, I was asked, "How do you like Pennsylvania?" My response: "We love it!" "How could you? Its all 'big cities' and crowds!"

Well, since I was unable to convince anyone through verbal cues, I'm ready to offer some visual ones.

How about this:

...or this?

or try this one:

Maybe this?

or this:

another one to feast on:

No, sorry, none of these were enhanced in any way on the computer. They are true-to-life. And, they are all right around the corner from where we currently live.

Add to these the fact that our town is small, family-oriented, surrounded by farmland, modern, clean, and is within just hours of anything on the eastern seaboard of the United States, and you can see (I hope) why me and my family like it here.

Anyone convinced yet? For any doubters, our house is open for visitors, and you can see all of this in person.

Four Days, 4,716 Miles, and the Gray-Haired Express

Whew... what a week. It all started in Pittsburgh this past Tuesday morning, where I flew to O'Hare in Chicago for the day, then flew to Phoenix the next morning, then to SLC. From there, I drove to Burley Idaho for grandpa's funeral, then to Idaho Falls for the night, then to SLC again the next morning. From there, I flew back to Phoenix and on to Pittsburgh to round out the trip.

Flight miles alone: 4716. Add roughly 500 miles driving distance, and all I can say is-- whew.

Flying is usually a circus, as I'm sure anyone can attest to. The trip from Phoenix to Pittsburgh, the last leg of the journey, was the most entertaining. As I got seated about mid-plane, on came a convoy of roughly 16 senior citizens, obviously Phoenix-retirees, based on the wide assortment of attire they had on. While descriptions would take a lengthy discussion, including one with a mink coat (Phoenix was 95 degrees at the time) and hair nets that nearly got caught in the overhead compartments, I'll describe one man in particular. He had on blue polyester pants, white velcro shoes, and a skin tight white t-shirt with an "AT&T" logo on the front and a breast pocket filled with-- you guessed it-- pencils, pens, and a calculator.

They boarded the plane together. They all sat down together. Within 5 minutes, other passengers, who were obviously supposed to be seating amongst them, began to cause quite a stir since it was apparent the retirees had not taken their assigned seats. Rather, they simply sat wherever they wanted.

The stewardess arrived and began the task of unraveling this gray-haired knot, causing some of the older men to get angry. "Musical chairs" ensued-- without the music. Up and down they all went, and it took 3 or 4 times for them to get it right. The plane was delayed 10 minutes as a result.

When we were finally airborne, and roughly 2 hours into the 3 hours and 45 minute flight, they all got up together. It reminded me of the articles I read on the hijacking of the 9/11 planes when all of the terrorists got up together for their jihad. So, I thought-- great! We are going to be hijacked by 90-year-old suicide bombers. Instead, they lined up and began walking to the back of the plane to commandeer the bathroom. They took turns using it (estimated time: 1 hour) and got back into their seats.

Unfortunately, there was no further entertainment for the remainder of the flight. Maybe they all went to sleep, not sure. But, once the plane landed, it started again-- some of the old men arguing with their wives about who gets the bags or who gets off the plane first. Ladies getting upset that people were ruffling their hair nets. Canes getting caught in the arm rests.

For an otherwise sad week, this really made me smile.

A Tribute To My Grandfather

Yesterday, I got the sad news that my last remaining grandfather had died. Sad, but relieving, knowing the last several years had not been good to him.

I have many memories of him as I grew up, most of them surrounding our family reunions, boating, fishing, and his motorhome. I also recall many days at their house during the summer, jumping on the trampoline, swinging from the huge tree in the backyard, walking the walls in the old beaver farm. I recall the work in the huge family garden-- and I remember the annual "chicken kill", where the family would get together and act like a bunch of bloodthirsty cavemen-- grabbing chickens that grandpa had raised during the year, chopping their heads off, feathering and gutting them, and stuffing them into bags to be taken home to various family freezers. The scene, as I remembered, was one of a well-tuned "live chicken to freezer bag in under 5 minutes" machine.

In all of it, there was grandpa-- making sure his kids and grandkids had what they needed, and he worked tirelessly during the good years to help out where he could.

Perhaps the biggest memory was me spending the week at their home while I had the chickenpox. Grandpa showed me how to use his computer which, at the time, was the latest gadget to be had.

Over the years, especially the last 10 or so, I slowly began to hear of all the things he did for others during his life. He never sought recognition for it, as evidenced by the length of time it took me to learn of them myself. If someone was in need, somehow Grandpa did what he could to offer his help. No fanfare, no afterthought. Just his natural Christian response to things.

He worked hard and set a quiet example to all of us-- especially me. Never did I hear him raise his voice to others. He was a deep man, quietly going about his business setting an example to be followed. He never demanded respect-- it was just given to him due to his reverence and integrity.

Take care, Grandpa. You'll be missed.

Meet the Parents

Mom and dad (mine) came to visit us last week. It was a great week. Kids loved having someone else to hang on-- besides me.

Michelle pulled out all the stops and set up a week-long vacation for all of us. We spent a couple days in Hershey and Hershey Park and stayed at a bed-and-breakfast that was, in all honesty, the best "hotel" experience I have ever had.

For those of you looking to go to Hershey any time soon, stay at the Keener House in Elizabethtown... you won't regret it. Google it.

Then we went to Philly for sightseeing-- Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, etc, with a brief stop at Valley Forge. Mom and I are always on the look-out for historical places, and Philly was loaded.

We stayed a few nights at another bed-and-breakfast outside Lancaster. Nice place, not quite at the same level as the first one, but we had the place to ourselves. It was a converted barn, believe it or not. And, no, we didn't wake up to the mooing of cattle in the basement. There was, though, an actual outhouse just down the driveway. The neighbors owned it-- they were Amish, of course. We thought it was either a joke or someone's wierd idea of landscape decorations, but our thoughts came to a conclusion when we say Ms. Amish lady trotting to it from the house and disappearing inside. Literally, it was right on the driveway going up to our B&B.

We then went to Lancaster in search of anything Amish. Furniture, food, entertainment (not sure what that would entail). Ate at buffets and bought homemade Amish root beer (yik... it was enough to gag a horse). I have this fascination with this culture. Maybe I was one in an earlier life.

Our only loss, to my knowledge, was our camera. I'm not pointing fingers on this one, but it was somewhat ironic when just a few days before, Michelle complained about it and indicated she wanted a new one. My response was the camera we had was good enough. Suddenly, somewhere in the parking lot of Hershey Park, it comes up missing. "Suddenly". Hmmm.

Before we knew it, the vacation was over, and mom/dad were back on the plane to Idaho.

Check out our photos, right side of the blog page.

...GONE

The house has sold. I wouldn't have believed it myself, but it happened. Only one year and 2 weeks after it was put on the market. And, we only lost $500 on the deal.

So, in order to prevent a jinx on it, I'm not going to say anymore. Just a bit gun-shy with this whole thing-- who knows, maybe we forgot a signature somewhere, and the whole deal will come apart.

House: we'll miss you.

Not So Fast!?

About 2 weeks ago, I got a phone call from our realtor. Bad news-- our buyer for our home in Idaho decided to back out of the sale.

It was one of those moments where you were certain it was a prank call, or there was a candid camera somewhere nearby, or maybe you were really just dreaming and would soon wake up to learn it was all your imagination.

Nevertheless, it was real. After being on the market for a full year, and with only one really interested buyer, we were facing the fact that, once again, our house would be back on the market.

To add to the misery was our homeowners insurance. It had ran out and we were on a "vacant home" policy. Translation: about $300 more per month to insure.

I was completely dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say. Our realtor was nearly in tears as well. She knew first hand how long we had come, how much heartache we had expended, how much financial strain it had been on us trying to maintain two houses in two different states separated by two thousand miles.

It was devastating news to say the least.

The realtor said that the lady, who is a recent widow, was overwhelmed with the sale, had little family support for it, had trouble leaving her past life and house as she had planned, etc. My first reaction, to be honest, was that the lady was getting cold feet and perhaps she'd come out of it and realize this. My second reaction was rage. How dare she pull out of this sale like this? She knew we had turned down 2 renters, had taken the house off the market for most of the month of August (a hot selling time just prior to school starting), had refused another interested buyer or two, etc. And, she knew we were in PA.

Our realtor said she would try to resolve the situation and get back to us in a few days. The call was on a Friday, so we had the entire weekend to go over and over the possibilities.

Tuesday morning, I get another call. The buyer was "back on". We offered any help we could to keep her engaged, including moving things into the house before the sale.

So, knock on wood-- the sale is still "on". In the mean time, I'm keeping the maker of Valium fully profitable.

Preston Picasso

We have begun the house tranformation. For whatever reason that I cannot explain, we decided to start on the office. Perhaps it is because it has the ugliest chandelier. Maybe it is because its the first thing you see once you enter the house. I have no idea why, but this is where we started.

Our color choice: a chocolate brown with white wainscot. The colors look great! And, it was my (Cade) choice.

Just as we thought we had it all pulled together and painted just how we wanted, we catch Preston in the act. So much for striving for perfection.

To his defense, he said he wanted to help. When we said no, he decided to offer his own help when we weren't looking.

Culture Clash

Michelle got the idea to travel to Smicksburg, PA, a week or so ago. I had never heard of the place-- chance are, you haven't either. When we arrived, I could see why. Smicksburg is a small Amish community-- maybe a few hundred people at most. By the looks of the place, it was probably 50/50 Amish v non-Amish. Quite the contrast.

Michelle had found the place in a AAA travel guide for PA. And, being only an hour away, we decided to go and see it.

After, all I can say is that there is a reason this place wasn't a stop on the typical Pennsylvania Dutch roadmap. We had fun, though.

We got in and had to find a place to eat. Not knowing where the local Amish eating hotspots were, I had to ask an Amish girl selling baked goods alongside the road. She did tell me that the best place was The Homestead, just up the road from where we were. I thanked her and bought some cherry-topped dessert.

The Homestead was a sight to behold. It was nothing more than a few tables and chairs in the corner of a convenience store. Not exactly the Amish delicatessen I was hoping for, but we were starved, so we wolfed down whatever crappy food the cook made for us.

We then "toured" the town-- all 3 blocks of it. It was wierd to have to share the road with so many buggies, though. Even the local shopping center was overridden with horses and carts.

And, I haven't seen so much horse crap on a road since my days living in Burley Idaho. Thankfully, Michelle didn't make me sanitize the tires every time I turned off the main strip.

We did have a good time, though. It wasn't the Amish paradise I had envisioned, but the kids got a kick out of it. It was their first up-close-and-personal with them.

After this, we drove the extra 20 minutes to Punxatawney, famous for Ground Hog Day. I was hoping to see something a bit more "touristy", but sadly, it was a run down place with concrete and steel groundhogs, roughly 7 feet tall, on every corner. I didn't see Bill Murray, either.

Another First

Another first day of school came and went without incident. The kids' vacation is over-- our's is just beginning.

Chrissa enters the 8th grade this year. Ethan enters 1st. The year promises to be a good one, I think. But, I can't help but dread the night-after-night Algebra assistance and science projects every quarter. To be honest, I think a lot of those grades that are earned are really mine

Anyway, here are the first day photos for this year... only exception is Chrissa. Poor thing has to be out the door before anyone else is up, so we never saw her leave that day. And, even though Preston and Amberlee aren't in school yet, we had to get them photographed, too.

MLB, On A Dare

I dared myself to take Chrissa, Ethan, and Preston to a major league baseball game. I had no idea which had the better odds-- me getting out alive and still loving my kids, or the Pirates winning a game. But it was their first professional game, and I was excited to be taking them to it.

So, at 6PM last Saturday, I loaded up the kids, said goodbye to mom and Amberlee, and off we went to Pittsburgh to PNC Park. Pirates vs Reds.

The kids were excited. They had been waiting nearly 2 weeks for the day to arrive, and I was determined to make it memorable. I brought snacks and treats and the camera and a pocketful of cash.

We arrived in good fashion-- the boys brought their little mitts, just in case, and everyone on the path to the park commented on how cute they were.

We first ordered food. Three hotdogs (and when they say they are plain, they aren't kidding... just a dried up dog in an Eddy's style bun-- that's it), a burnt pretzel, a heaping pile of nachos for Chrissa, and a large soda to share. Price: $22.50. We then made our way to our seats just as the Pirates were announcing the names of the Pirates players who won the MLB World Series in 1979 (I think this was a way of telling the crowd that, at least at one point, Pittsburgh did have a winning baseball team).

The game got underway, and I settled into a routine of helping Preston see over the people in front of us, passing around the lunchbox/soda, helping Ethan open his snacks, etc. Everyone ate, got nacho cheese on their clothes, and drank from the $5 soda. Preston, at first, was unimpressed. He didn't really come alive until about the 3rd inning. Ethan fully anticipated catching a ball, and as luck would have it, they actually did hit a ball right towards us on the 3rd hit of the game. The guy exactly 2 seats in front of us caught it. Chrissa seemed to be trying to rouse the crowd into cheers and waves... not sure she knew what she was cheering for, but she was trying.

After the 5th inning, Ethan had to go to the bathroom. So I took him and Preston and tried my best to teach Ethan how to use the standing urinals. We've attempted this before, but Ethan usually will let it all drop to his shoes as he stands there buck-naked trying to get "it" into the bowl. My instructions were to keep as fully-clothed as he can-- I helped him on one side as Preston stood on the other. We crowded the urinal, as a family of boys should. It was a tender moment. We bought a $3.50 bag of popcorn to celebrate.

With the game clearly going the Pirates way (it was 6 to 2), I decided that we needed to leave. It was 10PM and I could sense the kids getting tired, and I had no intentions of carrying all 3 of them back to the car (I had sprained my back earlier that day and could barely walk as it was). As we left, we spotted a souvenir shop with all sorts of extremely expensive Pirates crap. Ethan saw a simple baseball with a Pirates logo on it-- he wanted one. I choked up the $8 to get it. I was just glad he didn't want a hat-- they were $30. Preston then wanted one just like it. Another $8-- and we were on our way out of the park.

Since I'm still fairly new to the area, we parked at a place I am more familiar with-- a parking lot on the other side of the Allegheny River from the stadium. Pittsburgh basically shuts down a bridge for the game attendees to use to cross the river. One our way back, after getting photos of the kids with their new baseballs, we were making our way through the crowds when one of the saddest things happened that I have ever seen . As Preston was looking at his new prized ball, it slipped from his fingers and, in what seemed like slow motion, rolled down the bridge, under the gates that keep people from falling off-- and down the 40 feet into the Allegheny River. Preston broke down into a panic. He cried uncontrollably, he tried to look over the side to see if he could see it, he threw himself to the ground. Then Ethan did the same. All pandemonium in my family had broken loose.

I turned everyone around and rushed to the river below, hoping by whatever slim chance that the ball had perhaps been carried to the shore. We say trash, a balloon, tree branches, and probably a body or two, but no baseball. Preston just cried even harder.

Back to the park we went. I did not want to end the day like that, so I begged the gatekeepers to let me back in just so I could buy him another ball. No deal. They wouldn't allow us back in. All the exterior shops had closed. It was becoming clear that we would be leaving for home with only one baseball in hand. Our good little Ethan, however, had offered his baseball to his brother-- a decision he didn't want to make and clearly was not happy with.

As we made our final approach to the infamous bridge to cross once more, we passed an entrance to the season-pass holders. The door was being held open by an employee, so with Ethan and Preston still in tears, I asked him if he would be willing to let me in for just a few moments while I got my poor son a new ball after his "old" one got away from him and plunged into the river to its death. He finally relented, and after another $8, my boys were happy once again.

I held both baseballs as we crossed the bridge that time, and both baseballs made it home. When I asked the boys if they had fun, they both said they did, but Ethan said next time he doesn't want to take anything that is round across the bridge again.

Yes, I spent $24 on baseballs-- the same ones that, without the logo, would have probably cost me $3. I just hope they can remember the day as a good one!

Hold On To Your Knickers

Hold on to your knickers. You will be blown away with this news.

We think our house has sold. No kidding. No lying.

This could either mean the house is finally going to sell, or the end of the world has finally come...

It all started a few nights ago when I got a strange call from a person that lives relatively close to the house in Idaho. She wanted to see if I'd be interested in a house swap. She'd buy my house, I'd buy her's. The benefit, of course, is that our house will have been sold-- and her house was smaller and priced much cheaper. The idea behind this was that her house would be easier to sell, rent, or, at worst, pay for each month than the one I currently have. We were interested in the idea. It was, after all, the first big break we've had in a long, long, LONG time. We also had a renter that was on the line, to some extent, to rent the house at the end of the month. Either option was better than holding on to it as we've been doing all this time.

I hung up the phone and went back to watching some dumb movie on Netflix, using the time to ponder the offer.

An hour later, our realtor calls. Time: 10:45PM local. She says she has good news-- a written offer was just submitted for our house. We've never gotten a written offer in the almost one full year since we put the house up for sale. The price, though still less than the price we were asking for, was workable, and I promptly accepted it. Our signatures were faxed in the following morning.

Whew! That was close!! We are not out of the woods yet, though. Closing isn't until Sept 30th, so a lot can happen between now and then. But for the first time in a year, we are breathing a little bit easier.

Oddly, the offer came almost one year to the day that I flew into Pittsburgh to interview for and be offered the Westinghouse job.

Jensen-style Evolution

Amberlee is proof that humans continue to evolve.

Her video, shown to the right, shows the new mode of transporting oneself from one spot to another that Amberlee is lucky enough to pioneer (at least in our family). Most babies crawl. Not her-- she prefers to slither on her butt using her feet as paddles. It's funny to watch-- a little creepy, but funny. Check it out.

Amway Came Knocking...

Amway came to our door a couple days ago. Actually, its the new Amway. From Home Depot. But just as bad and annoying as the original.

Out of pure curiosity, Michelle asked the cabinet guys at Home Depot a week or so ago about their kitchen cabinet resurfacing stuff. Our cabinets are delapidated. At 7PM a few days later, two guys come knocking on our door. Basically, they remove the drawers and doors, apply a veneer to the boxes, make new doors and drawers, and install them with new hardware.

I had no idea at the time who they were or what they wanted. So, I said, "Hi". They said they were from Lowe's... then started laughing. They then said they were from Home Depot. "OK", I said. I just stood there waiting for the punch line.

Michelle saved the awkward encounter by inviting them in... she knew what they were there for.

First turn-off: immediately, they start ridiculing the house-- how old, outdated, etc. Great way to start off a sales call, eh? Then they get into the kitchen and the insults get worse. They show each other how badly the cabinets were installed, how beat up they are, how plain they are, etc. They laugh and make comments and jokes on the place. They move to our appliances, telling us stories of friends that own top-of-the-line ovens and such, and then they turn to look at ours and say, "oh, and you have a Frigidaire...". Haha. We were supposed to laugh. By the way, the oven was brand new.

I should have thrown them out, but we were still curious how much a resurfacing would cost. We know the place is ugly and in serious need of a facelift, but we don't need perfect strangers telling us the obvious, ya know? I mean, I never said anything about their obvious gay-ness, and how they seem to have a perfect understanding of interior design... 2 guys, travelling together, one admitting he's a vegetarian. Come on! Should I have also pointed out the obvious??

But, what was supposed to take about an hour took 2 and a half! They measured, inspected, calculated, and so forth. They went through the standard Amway-type binder that explains Home Depot-- as if we never had heard of them before. They show us samples.

And, they claim resurfacing is half the cost of installing new cabinets. So, in my mind, knowing what previous cabinets had cost us in our other homes, I had a figure in mind: about $3,000. After all, our cabinets are few, and we were going for some of the lesser expensive replacements. And there is no design to speak of in this house, so simple would be good enough.

The verdict: $12,800! Yes, you read that right: twelve THOUSAND eight HUNDRED dollars. I about choked on my dinner.

The funny thing is, this was again for the more cheaper versions of the resurfacing options. They guy stood there and, with a straight face, told us that if we were to sign on that night, we could save 10%, put it on our Home Depot card (which we don't have), and ONLY pay $165 per month for the next 12 years.

Unbelievable. We said no, and they left. That is 2.5 hours of my life I wish I had back. But, it all should be expected, I guess. After all, it was Home Depot that loaded the plywood on this poor guy's car for him...

What's A Few Million Bucks Among Family?

I read a disturbing article today. See the link: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090804/ap_on_re_us/us_fea_parenting_cost

The cost of raising a child from newborn to 17 years old is now $221,000. With inflation, its something like $290,000.

Breaking that down into cost per day: $35.60 per child, and this is without the inflation adjustment. Now, if I have 4 kids-- which I do-- this equates to $142.37 per day.

Can this be real?? Nah. Can't be. Can it? Is my math wrong? What on earth could cost this much? Just to break even, I'd have to clear at least $52,000 per year.

Suddenly, my kids aren't so cute.

By means of comparison, I spend probably $10 per day on myself, and most of that is getting to and from work to support my kids. Add in all the extras I need-- place to live, things to eat, clothes to wear-- and I'm looking at roughly $50 a day, at most.

Think of it-- in 17 years, I could have a million bucks. Instead, I get a million crappy diapers, a million eye-rolling dramatic episodes with our teenager, a million slammed doors, a million "that's not fair!" statements, a million "no! I don't want to!" declarations, a million pounds of uneaten food, a million baths, a million discussions on the grossness of eating one's own boogers, a million accusations that we are too old/uncool/unfashionable/un-understanding/insensitive/unintelligent... then, as Jeff Foxworthy pointed out, they'll move out, go on Oprah, and blame every dang thing on us.

I guess its an even trade, eh?

Cartoon Corruption

Ethan has been brainwashed.

Without knowing it, "Curious George Goes Green" was added to our Netflix movie queue. It came to us about a week ago. For an hour, George runs around kissing worms and creating compost. Kids on the show say that if we don't recycle, the world will be covered in garbage. They hug seeds, pet plants, and share mulch with neighbors. Its really sick. The environmental movement slammed our house disguised as a dumb little monkey.

Now, Ethan is in a recycling kick. Everything has to be recycled. He wants to take plastic cups, knives, and forks home from restaurants so he can recycle them. Most things cannot be thrown away. Food scraps need to be put into a composting pile.

Thanks, George. Ethan is now a tree-hugger.

Of course, Cranberry PA has their own recycling program. We not only get a regular garbage can, but one for recyclables, too. And another for yard waste (I guess this is grass clipping??). So, it takes 3 trucks to do the work that could theoretically be done by one truck. Real green.

Ethan thinks that if you hand over your recycle stuff to the garbage man, he'll give you a new one in return, on-the-spot. Maybe he'll get off this kick when he realizes they haul off his plastic cup just like they do any other kind of garbage… never to be seen again, and probably thrown in the same heap as the rest of the garbage when all is said and done.

So I plan to de-environmentalize my son by showing him the fun that goes along with cat hunting, tree chopping, trash throwing, tire burning, oil dumping, forest whizzing, and bunny bashing. Might sound extreme, but desparate times call for desparate measures.

What ever happened to the good cartoons? Coyote blowing himself up with dynamite trying to catch the Roadrunner… Elmer Fudd shooting himself in the face with a shotgun trying to catch Bugs Bunny… Yosemite Sam lighting his butt on fire… the Flintstones eating brontosaurus ribs for dinner and beating each other with oversized clubs? These quality programs have been replaced with much more sensitive and earth-friendly viewing material, such as the aforementioned Green George episode. Handy Manny is also our kids' favorite-- a Mexican repair man with talking tools that goes around spreading his skills and his Spanish culture. Ditto for Dora the Explorer and her sidekick Diego. Has anyone wondered about their legal status in this country? I'll save that for another issue.

To think they called earlier cartoons "Looney Tunes"… this title should have been reserved for today's shows. I've never seen anything as looney as George on his environmental kick.

So the only thing that can save us now is The Simpsons. Without them, our kids will drown in a sea of sensitivity and eco-friendly behavior. Long live Homer!

Here At Last

Our journey-- all half mile of it-- is finally over.

It all started last Thursday morning. Our walkthrough of the home was at 8:30AM, closing at 9AM, and moving was supposed to start at 10AM.

However, the house was a disaster. No attempt had been made to clean it. Grass was overgrown. Nothing except moving their stuff out had happened. We got to the closing part and Michelle spoke up-- and the seller admitted they hadnt cleaned a thing. So he gave us $250 to hire someone to do it.

This incident started our day. Michelle frantically called every cleaning lady in the yellow pages, but no one was available. She had to start the process of cleaning up after another family by herself-- and clean up our townhome after our things were moved out. I was busy moving our things into the moving truck and getting them brought over to unload.

Thankfully, the ladies in our church began to show up. They brought their kids to help, buckets, brooms, mops, soap, etc. Each jumped right in to help. Some were pregnant, others were trying to help while watching their own kids. But none of them complained.

Later that afternoon, Michelle got a return phone call from a cleaning lady, and luckily she had just finished a job and would be available. She showed up about an hour after that and began the unpleasant task. Took her 6 hours, and she wasnt able to clean some things. The prior owners had a long haired cat. Michelle and I hate cats, and trying to clean up cat hair is like trying to grab smoke... you can grab and grab and clean, but it just keeps coming back.

I never got an official count, but I'd guess there were 6 or 7 women tackling the house-- all but one of them were from our ward family. They each stayed hours to help us.

As for me-- I went to pick up the moving van right after the closing session. I loaded and unloaded the first truck nearly by myself. It was a hot, humid day, and I was sweating to the point where it looked like I had taken a shower with my clothes on. I drank 6 quarts of Gatorade and 3 bottles of Propel vitamin water that day.

Then, one by one, the men of the church began to show up to help. My turnaround time for the truck went from about 4 hours (by myself) to about 2, and then to about 1. At last count, I had 15 men helping me. Each of us were sweating like crazy. Some of us were bleeding. But, I never saw a funnier group of guys who were doing their best to make it a great experience. It was an amazing experience. And, just like their wives, they never complained... just kept working and laughing and teasing each other.

There were 2 doctors in the group-- a hand surgeon and an anesthesiologist. Both saw me and the sweat and blood and exhaustion, and told me to sit it out while they did the work. This was the first time I did not obey doctor's orders, and the first time a doctor actually told me to do nothing while HE did the hard work! But, I do think I suffered from heat exhaustion that day.

It took 4 trips of the truck to get all of our things moved over, and we wrapped up the work at about 10:45PM that evening. With the exception of one or two, every guy stayed till the bitter end. Afterwards, they all went to Primanti Brothers for dinner (at midnight). I collapsed on the bed instead.

The next day, I had a couple of phone calls to see if we needed any more help. I had another guy show up during his lunch break to help move in a fridge. We had another family bring us dinner. And, yesterday (Saturday), we had the neighbors bring us over hamburgers.

The house got cleaned up as best it could, but only thanks to the help of all those people who pitched in.

I had forgotten how ugly the house is. We began to notice funny little things about this place that we really didn't notice before, such as the paint colors in the master that can only be described as "flesh", or the persistant cat urine smell in the basement despite my attempt at power washing the walls and floors.

The day after our move, we went to the townhome to finish cleaning it out in time for the 1PM walkthrough with the blonde wench from hell. Michelle spent hours vacuuming and cleaning, only to have her walk in with her dirty shoes and spend all of 5 minutes checking things out before leaving. We then took the kids to Denny's for breakfast (at 2PM), each ordering a huge plate of food with second helpings, and each scarfing them down in record time. Our breakfast bill was $50. We didn't really think about it at the time, but we all had gone without anything to eat for over 2 meals.

For anyone keeping track, our new mailing address is 133 Hazelwood Drive, Cranberry Township, PA, 16066. We hope it is a good neighborhood-- we already know it is a great ward.

Thanks to all those that helped in every way. Now, we heal... Michelle and I are so stinkin' sore and stiff that it is an act of torture for me to type this blog. I look forward to work tomorrow so I can take a break from this real work.

The house-- we've decided to do before-and-after photos to show our progress of transformation in this place. We'll post them soon... just be sure to bring a barf bucket with you before you see them. I take no responsibility for any physical reaction you might have. It will take a lot of work and a few miracles to pull it off. It has a lot of potential (and a lot of arches, riveling only the Roman Colosseum), but it takes effort to see past the flesh-colored paint. Wish us luck...

Girls Camp

Chrissa returned from girls camp this past week. Alive, all limbs still attached, no axe buried in her leg. I call it a success.

Those who know me know that I'm borderline anti-camp. I like to camp. I like to take my kids camping. But, I'm not too thrilled with the whole boys/girls/scout camp idea.

I remember when I went to scout camp. Black bears in our camp ground-- literally walking past our tent each night-- was common. I remember coming home with hundreds of mosquito bites. I remember having to eat ants as part of my "wilderness survival" merit badge. I remember sleeping in a snow cave with Jeremy Toner who, being exceptionally tall for his age, ended up rolling on top of me in his sleeping bag when the cave collapsed on us in the middle of the night. I remember picking leaches off of me from a few minutes in the camp swimming pool.

Can you see Chrissa doing any of these? Luckily, they had cabins this time... with bats.

Chrissa's camping list included the following 2 items: a pocket knive and a compass. I asked why, and was told by my teenager that "we might need to make a fire with flint and steel, dad, and we might get lost. Don't you care about my safety?" Melodrama at its best.

While this rebuttal was rife with irony (Chrissa's first question with the compass was, "How do you work this thing?"), I had to hold my tongue (though my family will tell you that I didn't do a good job of it). Proof of my bewilderment with this camping list was set when Michelle asked me in Target as we were searching for Chrissa's camping gear, "Where do we buy the flint?"

I did try to teach Chrissa that instead of flint and steel, why not bring some matches or a lighter? Might as well make it easy for ya. Flint and steel died out with powdered wigs. And, a compass is no good without a map, and even with a map, you need to be an expert (or close to it) to use the compass. "Remember, Chrissa, you didn't know your way home from the bus stop, and it was just at the end of the block."

I know-- its all fun and part of the experience. Yet, there is one thing that is missing in all of this. Wilderness survival-- the whole flint and steel thing-- compass and maps-- why not spend that time teaching the kids how NOT to get lost in the first place? Scare them with bear sightings. Have an adult wander out in the woods at night from time to time and make grunting noises. Fake a snake bite. Keeping the kids corralled in one spot would keep parents from having to find a compass and flint-- and it would save the leaders from having to teach them how to use these rather outdated survival methods (and embarrassing themselves when they can't get them to work, either).

If you want wilderness survival courses, watch a few episodes of "Man vs. Wild".

On The Road Again

Two days ago, our migration out of our townhome began. Thank heavens-- 75% of our crap is still boxed up from our move from Idaho. And, those things we unboxed since our move from Idaho will be happy to know that their boxes are still in our garage, ready to be reused. We do not have to go begging grocery stores for boxes or spending untold sums of money on new ones.

Our timing is going to be interesting. We are scheduled to close on our house (barring any hiccups) on July 30th. This is also the day we are moving our furniture out of the townhome and into the house. We absolutely cannot have anything in our townhome past July 31st, or the blonde wench from hell will boil over and explode (see previous blogs for further explanation on this person). Realizing that it would take a miracle from heaven to get all of our things moved over in one day (which, it turns out, is a working day for most people-- I'm taking the day off), we decided to get a storage unit to help ease the impending suffering that comes from too much to do, and too little time to do it. It's going to be a real squeaker.

So the storage unit is acting as our buffer right now. To date, I have ran two huge pickup truck loads of boxed junk to it. All of this came from our little garage. I haven't seen this much room in the garage since the day I got to PA-- in fact, a person can nearly turn around in place now. Probably 2 more loads to clean out the garage, and another 2 from the home. Our plan is to have the nonessential stuff out of the way so that, come July 31st, we can move over the essential stuff and not be wasting precious time moving things that we've learned to live without these past 7 months.

Which brings me to an interesting point-- why do we even HAVE all of this stuff if we really haven't needed it for over 7 months? If I *accidentally* forgot to tie them into the truck on their voyage to the storage unit, would anyone really notice? Its kind of sad, if you think about it. My parents and I, on our way across the country when I move here, had a lot of conversation on the poor pioneer people who could only take what they could fit into their broken down wagon or handcart-- and here I am requiring 4 or 5 pickup truck loads, a separate storage unit that acts as a interim dumping yard, and a full day of a rented moving van to ensure all of my stuff gets move one lousy mile (literally).

Realtors are Vampires-- Become One in 5 Easy Steps

If you are a realtor, don't read this.

I can't quite think of any other profession that is paid to do what they do-- and I'm honestly not sure what they do other than open the door to homes for people who want in.

They are doormen (or doorwomen), really. Glorified doormen. They use their magic decoder key to unlock the little lockbox that hangs on the doorknob, and for that, you pay them a 6% commission. Whoop-dee-doo.

Take our's in Idaho Falls. We hired the top realtor in eastern Idaho, but in the 275 days its been on the market, we've had zero offers. I know that part of it is not his fault-- he can't make someone like our house. Yet, when I ask them what marketing ideas they use, their response is always the same-- "We actively market your house… blah blah blah."

Translation: we take a few photos, post a few facts, and that's about it.

Oh, they do make a few phone calls to other realtors or potential buyers-- big deal. They drive around in their BMWs and sit in their swanky offices and talk a lot of real estate mumbo-jumbo, but this is all a dog and pony show. They are in the business of selling homes as quickly as possible and they don't care much if it is your's or someone else's. If you don't believe me, just wait until you are on both sides of the realtor coin and you'll see what I mean.

When you are the seller, you are told things like, "We sell more homes in the Idaho Falls area than anyone else… we have a proven track record of successfully selling homes in your price range…your home will become one of our 'featured' listings…" Lots of smoke, lots of hype. Feeling empowered, you sign the contract.

When you are the buyer, you are told this: "Don't like it? On to the next house!" So much for the "active marketing" idea.

As the buyer, you also get to be treated like a stupid celebrity. Our realtor in PA (whom we like, mind you) tells us, as we walk into the kitchen, "This is the kitchen." I was tempted on more than one occasion to say, "Nah! Really? They put cabinets and sinks in kitchens these days?" But before I could, we were moved to the garage, where she then said, "This is the garage…"

Being new to this game, I was expecting our realtor to be an encyclopedia of real estate wisdom, capable of noticing anything about the home that might scare someone away, full of knowledge that would make my home a gleaming jewel in a sea of houses on the market, clients in hand that are clawing at the chance to see my house. In reality, they don't know any more than I do. They guess, they assume, they make general predictions. I could do that just as easy using a magic 8 ball.

I have gotten used to the response from my question: "What can we do to entice a buyer?" Their answer has always been: "Lower the price." Nothing else apparently can be done. This is the advice I get for a mere 6% commission.

Oh, I have tried to debate with them. I say, "Certainly, people do not buy things based on price alone. If price was the only deciding factor in buying a car, we'd all be driving mopeds." No use-- it falls on deaf ears. In the end, the price gets lowered because there is no other advice given.

So, if you are ever interested in becoming a realtor, learn the following steps:

1. If you can't impress them with brilliance, baffled them with bull*&!#;
2. Get your magic decoder ring to open doors for people… they'll be impressed with your powers;
3. Drive around in a BMW and buy a Blackberry or iPhone to improve your image;
4. Impress buyers by stating the obvious when you are in a home, such as "We are now standing in the bathroom", and make surprised comments like, "Wow-- this has a pantry! I didn't know that!"-- even if said pantry happens to be a closet; and,
5. walk around with both a frustrated look on your face and a "Sold" sign on or near you, both of which will make you appear busy and successful.

Most importantly, learn to like blood, because you'll be sucking the sellers dry in the end.

Coming to Idaho

My trip to Idaho came and went in the blink of an eye. I was there for 4 days, but it was over with faster than anticipated

It all started off badly... I left work very late, getting to the Pitt airport with only 10 minutes to spare. I flew to Denver and arrived 45 minutes late due to weather (by the way, it was the worst ride I've ever had-- felt like I was on the Rockin-Roller Coaster a Disney World). Flights were delayed and canceled in Denver, so my plane was about an hour and a half late in leaving for Idaho Falls.

Anyway, I had a great time there. I went over to check on the house (my sentimentality nearly choked me), got the sprinklers lined out, ate a few strawberries we had planted last year but were not around long enough to reap the harvest. We went to Yellowstone and Jackson, got to see the Bar J Wranglers (always a good show), caught up with some neighbor friends, etc.

Just fun to be back home for a few days. Felt like it had been forever since I'd last been there, but at the same time, it felt like I never left.

Sadly, I also met with our realtors. There has been no progress, of course. Very little activity in the housing market there. We are competing with 110 homes in IF in that price range-- I didn't even realize there were that many houses for sale in IF!

It was a gray spot in an otherwise good weekend.

The following Tuesday, I took the SLC Airport Shuttle from IF to SLC (4 hours), met Chrissa at the airport (she was visiting family), flew to Chicago, then flew into Pitt. Long travel day.

Homecoming

We are (almost) the proud owners of the property located at 133 Hazelwood, Cranberry Township. See photo below (and try to keep your lunch down while you look at it).

Give the crisis that settled upon us last week, we frantically tried to find suitable living quarters for the family before we were thrown out on our heads by the blonde wench from hell (see prior blog entry for further explanation). So, we gave our realtor 2 whole days to find something, and this is what came of our efforts.

Oddly, while our home in Idaho has sat on the market for nearly 300 days, some homes we were looking at that weekend were listed AND sold in the same day.

Funny thing is this: the home is in the neighborhood that we were not crazy about when we first moved here, built by a contractor that we swore we'd never buy from, and looks like a home we had driven past previously while trying not to barf in the car. And, we swore we'd never buy an integral garage, too. Given that this will be our second mortgage, we were lucky to qualify for this.

We're not sure what color of orange it is... I'm not sure it is in the rainbow. We thought that the painters had some bad Mexican lunch, yakked in the paint, and decided to go ahead with their job. It's hideous.

But, it is a good size, and for beggars like us, we couldn't be too choosy. Its far better than the box we had lined up to move into.

So, supposedly, we will be able to move in on the 30th. First order of business: paint.

We are excited, though. We'll be able to go through our boxes finally and find all those little things we have had to do without since we moved to PA. The dune buggy-- I'll have to drive it over to the house in the early morning hours. I dont have a trailer, and the thing is not road-legal. So, neighbors, if you hear a buzzing sound flying by around 3AM, think nothing of it.