Pioneer Day, Mary Poppins style.

Here in Utah, we have a holiday which no one else has--Pioneer Day. Every 24th of July, we Utahns use Brigham Young and the Mormon pioneers as an excuse to 1) not work, 2) get drunk (well, some of us anyway. Like the guy who was driving, i.e. swerving in forward motion, in front of me this afternoon), and 3) set off lots and lots of fireworks.

Since Randy and I don't get to Wyoming very often to buy the really good illegal fireworks like everyone else, we usually mooch off of the neighbors or the nearest partying municipality.

Today we had an idea so brilliant, it's a wonder we didn't think of it before. Fireworks are really pretty from the ground, right? Why not watch them from the ROOF OF OUR HOUSE?!

I don't have the pictures to prove it, since I was busy trying to rid my brain of the slow-motion image of my children tumbling off the roof and into our front garden. Pictures would have been especially funny, considering the fact that Randy had literally tied Camryn and Carter to him with a rope. But suffice it to say, the roof is hands-down the best place to watch fireworks. Period.

From our roof, we can see the ENTIRE Salt Lake Valley. So we enjoyed fireworks displays from all the pyros in our neighborhood, plus Cottonwood Heights, South Jordan, Kearns area, and the post-game blowouts from the Bees game and the Real Salt Lake game. Throw in some lightning, and we had a pretty darn good show. And luckily, no broken necks.

So Happy Pioneer Day everyone! And a big ol' "neener neener" to all you non-Utahns who had to deal with real life today--especially you kids in Missouri and Illinois. Just think of all the partying you guys have missed out on. What a shame.

Who needs Comedy Central?

I love my son for so many reason, but one of those reasons is that he is HILARIOUS. Screaming-with-laughter-and-holding-your-sides funny. And he's had a really good run in the last few days--humor-wise, I mean.
First, there's this little gem.



Corn on the cob is good, but Carter could teach lessons in Relishing 101. And I love that he's truly confused about why we laugh after he declares his hands "clean."

Carter's a sweetie, but he's also been learning to pit Randy and I against each other when it comes to issues of treats, movies and computer time. For example, if he comes to me for one of these things and I say no, he will walk straight to Randy in the other room, ask him the same question, and usually get a different answer. (In his defense, Randy usually doesn't know that Carter has already gotten a "no" from me.)

Tonight, Carter asked for a treat as he rummaged through the pantry for something sweet. I told him that would be fine. Eventually, he found the bag of candy he got from the 4th of July parade a couple of weeks ago and brought it to me. I handed him a Tootsie Roll and a taffy and told him that was all he could have since it was almost bedtime. He let out a "Woo-hoo!" and happily shoved it all in his mouth.

A minute or two later, he walked over to the coffee table where I had set the bag, and attempted to snatch it. As I snatched it back, he said, "I just want to take it to Daddy!"

But I know that trick. So I tickled him, told him no more candy, and said "You sneaky little devil, you!"

To which he replied, "Mom, I'm NOT A 'W'!!!!"

Pure comedic genius. Unwitting and accidental, but still genius.

Bored Games.

Carter has become enamored with Candyland in the past few weeks, and enjoys playing it frequently. Randy and I, on the other hand, have realized there's a reason it's for kids 3-6 years of age. It's BORING. Really really mind-numbing. But we play it because we love our son--luckily.

However, Carter and I played a best-of-three tournament this morning that was actually fun--fun for Carter because he loves the game, and fun for me because I love watching Carter.

For example, did you know that the four little gingerbread-man gamepieces can play a really down and dirty game of football? Or that the candy characters on the board are "fabulous?" Well, it's true.

But the biggest thing I learned is that my son is super-competetive. After winning the last game and doing a victory dance, Carter plopped down on my lap, put his chubby arms around my neck, and in an attempt to console the loser said, "Mom, when four-year-olds win, thirty-three-year-olds don't win."

Now that's wisdom you can't argue with.

Happy 4th to one and all.

At this time of pride and patriotism, enjoy the freedom to celebrate our independence.

But please don't celebrate like these people.



Have a great (and safe) holiday, everyone!