Queen of Evil

Roughly a week and a half ago, we were pulling into the driveway after picking K.J. up from school. We had our daily conversation, wherein K.J. begs "Can I go outside and ride my bike, Mom?!?" and then jumps in triumph or swoons in agony. That particular day, I said "Not right now, son, we've got too many things to do." Of course, he went into convulsions of deep pain and horror and the moans of "wwwwwhhhhhhyyyyyyy????" to which I could only reply "Because I'm mean." Then laugh in my most maniacal "oh-how-I-love-to-bring-my-children-pain" fashion. He did not appreciate this. Livi did, though. She smiled and then so pleasantly and in her most complimentary chipmunk voice said "Mom, you're the Queen of Evil!"
I thought that was so stinking awesome. I gave my most humble bow, snickering all the way and said "Why, thank you, Olivia. I like to think so." Or something along those lines.
The next night was the night before Thanksgiving and we had all gathered at Grandma's house to watch her slave away and also to watch the 'Biggest Loser' Thanksgiving special (it's a sickness. Really.). Olivia was sitting at the counter watching Grandma roll out pies when she said loud and proud "Grandma, my Mom is Evil!"
My Mom stopped, looked at her and asked "She is?"
Livi said "Yep! She is the Queen of Evil!!!" Just as proud as could be.
Jon and Trina were there, trying to control their shock and hysterics. Grandma wasn't quite sure what to do with her face.
It was a proud moment for me. Kind of.
I said, "Livi, I'm not really evil, am I?"
To which she turned around and gave me her sweetest, most vigorous nod. Sort of like, 'yep, Mom, you are.'
It was hilarious and tragic. Obviously, I spent the rest of the night trying to convince her of my benevolence and goodness. Not sure yet how that went over.

Sister Hill gave a most wonderful and timely lesson on Sunday on making the most of your time. Let's just be honest, life inside Casa de Marie has felt out of control lately. The brain has been spinning, you know? At the beginning of the lesson, Katie handed out a quiz about time management, and then you put together your scores to see where you were on the scale. Guess what. I fit into the category that literally said "You are out of control."
Well. Sheesh.
I felt very inspired by the kind, encouraging, and helpful things our very capable Beehive Advisor said throughout the lesson, and went home ready to make a change and take back what is rightfully mine. I am proud to say, the things that were in shambles because I felt out of control are now not in shambles and are contributing to the control. I feel -- more capable. So thank you, dearest Sister Hill. Last night Mariah came and sat by me on the couch after I'd accomplished something else and said "Geez, the power of a Sunday lesson, huh?"
I had to laugh. It's true. But not painfully so, helpfully so, perhaps.

Yesterday afternoon a walk was in order (as part of my "let's get control of this situation" rehaul, of course), so I convinced myself it was the right thing to do. K.J. wanted to come along on his bike, and we had a great time together. I learned something very important: jogging is as boring as it has ever been, but if you run as fast as you can, it's actually mighty fun. I'm going to try to build on that little principal, 'cause it was a little bit of a rocking good time. Of course, I kind of need K.J. to ride his bike next to me, 'cause then it's a race and fun for both of us and I feel awesome and not at all like me alter ego, the Queen of Evil. He's still a little iffy going down hills, and let's face it, he forgets all about the pedal brake in a moment of crisis, so of course he zoomed right into a huge hill of sticker bushes (to clarify: it's almost December and this is Southern Utah). He was so brave, though, I pulled out more then sixty stickers from his legs and feet and hands, and he didn't even cry. He just kind of said "ow, ow, ow" a lot. I was proud. After adventuring through a field, we got to his school and there was an ambulance and two small fire trucks there! We both felt a little concerned and hoped everything was okay. K.J. hypothesized about what the injury could be: "They might be knocked out, or hurt... or bullied, or punched!" I thought that was so rad, I chanted it to myself on the way home so I wouldn't forget it.
It was fun to spend some one on one time doing something... dare I say it... effective with my time and energy!

WE DON'T HAVE OUR CHRISTMAS TREE UP.
We've never gone this long, because my husband is actually a Christmas junkie.
I think he might have a fever, or something.

I close in the wise words of Olivia:
"Mom, when I grow up and have sons, I'm going to name them Pegasus, Lightning, Simba, Timone, Pumba, and one more... Za-zoo!"
What a colorful group of grandsons I have to look forward to!
Signing off,
MaRetard