Time to locate the kids to start miracle music (yes, that's back) so when I heard loud little voices singing along to scripture scouts, I headed that direction. After checking the bedrooms, I finally opened the door to the bathroom, to find Miri & Jacob standing on the edge of the tub belting out "Rameumptom" to the mirror, enthusiastically leading with 2 tampons each.

So last week Miri was having her normal day, and then when we pointed out that she could have done a job a bit better and she totally dissolved into tears. Alternately sobbing with despair "This is the worst day of my liiiiiiiife!" and then accusing everyone around her, Mike took her aside to have a 45 minute talk a la Dad Campbell. He tried to patiently reason with her, using all the great listening techniques we have been taught. Surreptitiously evesdropping from the hall, I could tell that she was just feeling unloved, completely unrelated to issues she was talking about, and it was bringing back my own talks with Dad. Finally, Mike exited, no concerns resolved, and snarled in my ear "This baby had better be a B-O-Y." Immediately after, Miri danced out saying "I think this is my best day ever!" and gave me an exuberant squeeze.

Listening to NPR this week, I've heard at least 3 execs from different mortgage lending firms say that the housing and mortgage crash is such a shock; no one could have seen it coming. But I find this funny, since I, a mom from Idaho, remember catching long suffering family members and telling them that this exact thing was going to happen over a year ago. . . Although we're no California, the price increases around here seem pretty dumb. . . When we got our home evaluation for the prop tax, Mike & I were livid! How could our value almost double since we bought the house? Mike stayed home w/the kids while I stomped down to the county offices to look up an identical home on our street that sold last summer. (no new kitchen, of course). I firmly demanded the book with the latest sales in it, and searched until I found the house. When I finally found it, I quietly shut the book and crept out of the office, hoping they didn't know my name.

One last note: after years of inactivity, the Knogahyde tape has suddenly surfaced, and we get to hear our favorite band non-stop, especially in the girls' room. We used to be floating around to Chapin's "This Pretty Planet" and now we blast out "Call Me Up"! When I just went in I asked the girls if they were rocking out. Miri leaned over to confused Caroline and said "That's when you're relaxing so hard to rock music that you don't have to think anymore." Yeah, they were. So I've spent all these years confident in the belief that I owned "Jennabee Road". I thought it was on the tape. Hey, Stu, could you post the song??

I was calmly counting Jacob to 3 yesterday when Seth leaned down to say "Mom, I would be careful about who hears you say things like that, before CPS takes all of us away." That's when I realized what I had just said: "Jacob, we don't stab Julia. Give Mama the dagger, that's one." The Spanish daggers strike again!

We really enjoyed Scott's use of the word "scamper" in his blog, and Mike really wanted me to fit it in mine, but no luck this time.

Warning: Therapeutic blog written on scrap paper and typed up later. Helped me emotionally, but may not be interesting.

We’ve all read about deathbed repentance. Some of you might feel a certain degree of distance from this concept, but I am intimately acquainted with the whole thing.

I take my kids to MusicFest Northwest.

The longing to go back in time: Picturing actually pacing my physical self in the rocker next to the piano instead of yelling pithy pointers as I change a diaper, or tossing tips towards the living room while getting Jacob to sit back down while I tie his shoes.

The sorrow: knowing that if I just had a gram of the intensity of that mother over there, my child wouldn’t be struggling through their piece right now. I wouldn’t be up here, every muscle tensed, mentally playing a few notes ahead, cringing as we barrel towards the inevitable mess-up place, praying that we avoid the total train wreck. (A kid just played a piece one of my kids must have played last year, and I found myself cringing as we approached last years’ bad measures.)

As far as I can tell, the same mother comes to my classes every year, AND her kid’s always the same age: about 2 years younger than the lower class limit. We first saw "him" in Seth's first year in 2001. This year "he" was in Miri's 1-3 grade class, still 6 years old. It's always the same. The music is amazing: fingers fly. All the fabulous support people are in attendance, hanging onto the kid’s every breath. . . and all frantically recording the event with digital and video cameras, to be shown in the montage of his life when he’s famous in a couple of years. I am not making any of this up. THEY took the time to sit with their darling child at least 2 times per day. HE will grow up with a real talent he can use. HE never has to strain to hear a floating voice from afar. HE is progressing quickly and carefully through all the Suzuki Piano books.

Every year, magically, I am granted a one year death-bed reprieve: another chance to be the good piano mother. I resolve to be. I picture myself in that rocker, possibly fixing girl hair while I gently and lovingly offer encouragement and direction to the pianist, the notes from the piano never contending with howls of pain, or me running off to halt another tragedy elsewhere in the house. I will MAKE TIME! This is the hill I have chosen to DIE ON! . . I know that. But I surrender it every time.

I would make those resolutions again this year. . . but this is our SIXTH Musicfest, and although I may be overly optimistic and a bit slow on the uptake, I can finally see the truth.

Tonight, Mike asked what we would like to reverse about the parent-child relationship. Personally, he wished the kids would put US to bed early. Colin sighed and said he would reverse the whole work thing. After Mike said he didn't mind doing jobs around the house, Col said he didn't mind WORKING, but just the exquisite pain involved in getting kids to do one 5 minute job. Ugg, that brings my Saturday mornings back a bit too clearly.

My favorite comment on cleaning the bathroom was heard from Zach, running out of the bathroom after *almost* putting the cleaning wipe to the toilet: "MOM, that's PEE! Someone has left PEE on the outside of the toilet! I can't clean THAT!"

In a weak moment I ordered all the books my book club randomly recommended at our last meeting. At 99 cents / book at half.com, where's the harm in that? They all happened to come at the beginning of this week. And, it turns out, it could do a LOT of harm: they were all riveting, engrossing books. The tally of damages is just starting to come in. Complicated Wacker taxes due in 2 days? Untouched. Cub Scout announcements? Not in the bulletin. Peter and Jane? Forgotten. House clean? Well, of course: thank goodness for Miracle Music! My most successful morning was when I tossed my book at Jared and told him to hide it well before he left. Unfortunately on Friday, when Miri hid it, it only took me 10 minutes to find it.

On a more positive note, tonight the Colin Campbells and the Dixons came up with a new version of the carrot and the stick: it's: "The Candy or The Kick". To save time, Uncle Mike provided both: runts to the picker-uppers, and a well-aimed kick to the recalcitrant. It was amazingly effective: we did the whole post-Sunday-party-house in 8 minutes! We're working on a website to sell our idea.

Life is never quite as interesting as when Joseph (the snake) is loose. There is just that sense of excitement whenever you remember to pause before hopping into your bed at night.

Seth bagged the $10 finders fee the first time Joseph escaped by grabbing him after he sat on the snake on the top bunk. Money really motivates Seth.

As I was blogging tonight I went to the boys room to rummage around in my sewing box for some needles for Mike's cub scout experiments for Pack Meeting tomorrow night. As I was rummaging around in their dim needs-the-other-light-bulb-replaced-room and wishing I was in bed, a long striped orange and black thing slowly spiraled up from the bowels of the box right at my nose. Aren't you proud that I only let out a small scream?

Mike & I are already planning what to do with the $10 windfall. And wondering where we'll find Joseph next time.

I have come to the depressing realization that I have passed on a bad genetic trait: a complete inability to stop reading the written word. We're addicted. Actually, it may not be genetic, but something contracted from living with me, because Mike didn't have this problem before he was married. Now he's too terrified to even start a book. When we pry them from our fingers and run, the books call us from across the house. We always mean to read just one more paragraph. . . just skim to the end of this page. . . well, go ahead and finish the book so we can get something DONE!

Once again, Seth fell victim, but with sad results!
Since it was FHE night and there was a large penalty for being late, Seth tried to wrench himself away from his book, but couldn't quite do it. At 5:15 he forced himself to check the clock, gasped, and dashed out the door.

I was running a mad race myself: get dinner ready ON TIME so Mike & I wouldn't be rushing dinner and REALLY rushing FHE, a trap that ends up with 7 of us sent to our rooms, and Julia wandering around alone.

At 5:30 I paused the race for an "out of area" call, kicking myself for stopping to talk to what must be a telemarketer: "Ma'am? Your son Seth is our paper carrier." Then, interrupting my "Sorry; he IS almost there with your paper!" he said "There's been a bad accident. Seth has smashed several teeth and is in pretty bad shape." Rushing to finish his paper route with 5 papers and only one minute left to do them in, he had dodged the FedEx truck but not the parked pickup.

I rushed to my bloody son, where he was manfully trying to repress sobs. (Or, maybe just trying to keep still the dangling nerves in his mouth). I tried to gather him up in my arms, but was overwhelmed by his size. The hanging bits of tooth had me grossed out, and the usually stoic Seth had me freaked out! I barreled down to Quick Care, trying to pass an off duty ambulance on the left as it was turning left, stormed QC and demanded that Seth see the doctor right now. I finally realized what that mom felt like felt like that ran into Nigel's clinic with her hurt son and had the police follow her seconds later. It was my SON in trouble! Now I finally know how to get quick service at quick care: be a bit hysterical with a bleeding, sobbing large boy. Not that I can ever go back with any dignity. Of course I just should have called the dentist and gone in the next morning.

That night we knelt to thank the Lord that Seth had only damaged teeth. It was Seth's turn to pray. He lisped, in his usual positive way: "We thank thee that I wathn't hurt too badly. We thank thee for thith wonderful day. Well. . . exthept for that one part"
So now we've killed or smashed out 3 out of 6 kids' front teeth. I brought Jared into the kitchen and got the camera. "Smile, Jared, and show all your front teeth! I want a before picture this time!" He was indignant, but it looks like we're seeing a trend.

Seth, post-double root canals and all tooth pieces extracted, is now covered in insanely itchy hives from a reaction to the pain meds, and is currently combating the misery by. . . reading that 1000 page book that got him into trouble in the first place. Who needs a 10 step recovery from an addiction this good, anyway?

Overheard from the kitchen, where I'm cleaning up breakfast:

"Jared, you CAN'T stand by the door waiting to go to the UCLA game. You must go to school, even today."

Yesterday, as I sat down to frantically cut drinking straws into 1.5 inch pieces for the leis craft for the Blue & Gold Banquet, starting in a few hours, I decided to listen to a random talk on lds.org so that although I was not going to get any scriptures read, some blessings might seep into my frantic brain. The first words Elder Eyring intoned in his loving and gently rebuking manner:

"All of us have faced deadlines. Fear can grip us when we realize that there may not be enough time left to finish what we promised we would do. The thought comes, "Why didn't I start earlier?"


Night before last Mike & Seth were setting up for the banquet, and I was struggling to get the kids done without their customary donkey ride to bed from Dad. I had a huge load of stuff left to do before the banquet (see HBE quote above) and the kids could sense my stress and were playing it up! While I was donkeying someone to bed I stopped "hee-hawing" long enough to grab Jared's ankle before he could run out and shoot more hoops in the rain. His B&G cake lay naked on a rack on the kitchen island. "Hurrytothekitchen, cutoutcardboardinthesizeofthecakeandcoveritwithtinfoil! Run!"

When I finally escaped from Jacob's room, I found that Jared had followed my instructions precisely. Under a foil wrapped ball of cake was a little piece of cardboard.

In the middle of the night last night I had time to reflect that although Mike & I did look into each other's eyes early on in our marriage and say "Let's have a baby!" we never said "Wouldn't it be fun to clean up vomit every 45 minutes all night long?"

I have a funny blog in my head, but I will have to save it for later, because I just had to comment on the blog topic at hand.

I must admit, I have also been completely taken in by the Coug mania. Cougar basketball (personable seeming guys, short game, usually short hike, no nasty weather, great action!) has always been my favorite thing to watch, winning or losing. But I knew that I had turned a bad corner on Saturday when I was facing an intensely packed day with way too many tasks for available hours, had T call and offer me tickets to my 3rd game of the season, and I, the frantically busy mother of 6, had to stop and calm down before forcing myself to say maybe not. Then when Colin called and pointed out that this was probably the best team the cougs would have in my lifetime, I threw in the towel and committed to go.

Mike was stunned. The game, with only 5 of my kids, 2 of them asking an average of 2 questions for every 20 seconds of play time, was still way too fun. ("Why do those 3 guys run up and down the court with all the other guys but they never get to play the game?" Colin would beg to differ; they just play with their whistles?) I pretend that I check the rankings several times Monday morning so that I can tell my boys. When they do their homework early I reward "them" by reading articles to them about the Cougs. We're working on the self-control for the last few home games. . .


The boys say that going to games is good for their education. Hey, they pointed ou, they had never, in person, seen anyone get arrested before. And although it took them a while, they figured out what the fans were saying after that bogus call at the end of the Oregon game, and although they seemed to share the sentiment, I don't think they joined in. Totally educational.

Anyway, Go Cougs!!

They say that making affirming statements engenders positive attributes in a family. I’ve worked on repeating several at regular intervals since I first heard this parenting tip. The kids can complete them after hearing the first word or two: “Dixons never quit!” “Wickedness never was happiness!” And, to nip the pleading and the whining in the bud, “You can only PRAY if it’s your DAY!”

Tonight, a new affirming statement was born. As we sat around the table talking about our best and worst, Jared let out a zinger. “My worst part was that my friend Jordan called me a nerd.” Hurt was obvious on his face.

We all offered advice. The mother bear in me: “Well, if Grandma Harris were here she would tell you to kick him in the shins! And I think you should!” Seth, reassuring: “I find the name “Nerd” to be a compliment. Hey, I call myself a nerd, and I think it’s great!” Caroline, commiserating with newly learned kindergarten wisdom: “Emma Sattler used to be my friend. And now I don’t play with her because she’s rude!”

We pondered the fact that anyone being mean is just trying to fill up a hole in their psyche, something the kids like to call “Having issues.”

Finally, we remembered that there are FOUR Dixons at Lena Whitmore. Including one very large, burly, sixth-grade Dixon. We could take anyone on, anytime they insulted one of us! Then, Mike uttered our new family statement: “Yeah . . . like they say in Mexico, you fight one bean, you fight the whole burrito!”

Tonight, a real conversation I had last week with the trophy shop. I thought the Pinewood Derby Trophies were a little silly. Besides being totally cheesy, they also make a big hole in my miniscule budget, so I figured we'd pass out a matchbox car with a little candy on the side and call it good. That would be BEFORE I talked to some cubs about the importance of the hunk of wood with a crummy little metal plaque.

So I called the trophy shop last Tuesday, 9 days before the Derby. Although there was a hint of desperation in my voice from realizing that I had waited too long to do the impromptu poll, the lady stated in a stern voice "We have a firm policy that we never accept orders over the phone. You must be present in the store to place the order."

I sighed and spoke from my heart: "Oh, shoot! I was really hoping to avoid coming into your store twice, since all my small children are really interested in the breakable stuff that's all over your shop."

Pause, then with no hint of humor or acknowledgement "The total will be $39.95, and you can pick it up next Tuesday. Is there anything else you need?"

No exaggeration needed on this one. Ahh, the power of small children to manipulate!

Booted out of my own bedroom, I am sitting out here in the kitchen at 2:51 am wishing I could think of something useful to do. Gather up some laundry? Get a head start on Sunday dinner for my family and Tamsin and Dave? Call Mike in DC while he's peacefully slumbering away in his hotel room and help him share in the joy of parenting? The last idea holds some real appeal, but since I've been reading articles on celestial marriage on the church website for the last 30 minutes, there's just enough guilt involved to tip the scales against it. Well, and they're 3 hours ahead of us, so it looses too much shock value.

No joke, Julia came down with a high fever 93 minutes after I pointed out to Mike that our kids always got really sick when he headed off to a business trip. She's been on a steady diet of ibuprophen ever since (and the guy who invented? discovered? that stuff should get the Nobel Prize!). Currently, I am questioning our decision to continue to have her sleep in our room instead of walling the living room off and turning it into her sleeping quarters. Well, I'm questioning most of our decisoins right now. . . I've worked with her for a long time tonight, and finally decided to do the howl it out. The choice most people would question (especially Mike if he were here), is taking her to the Cougar-Husky game this afternoon. But the rush of going into a packed Beasley Coliseum was worth it all! And going with a wildly enthusiastic Jared made it even better. I hope I'm including a picture with a poster completely executed by him that he thinks got on TV. Did you see him?

How to keep Julia happy while Mom is busy. . . the plasma car!














Caroline with the balloon the Tooth (Jared) Fairy brought her after she lost her first tooth!

We all love riding on the plasma car!


















Point number 8 is . . . brush your teeth!

I heard Julia laughing and saying "Woof woof!" and turned to find her feeding her pancake to a pleased porter. She is overjoyed to have a fellow 4 legged friend. . . that also doubles as a warm jungle gym. She always wanted a little brother!

"What do you want to be for Halloween?"
"Bob. (giggle) He's funny."

Yes! It's true! The Dixons will blog!