Friday, June 30, 2006

Tomorrow Hendricks Explode

Yep. We saw the diet cokes explode immediately when Mentos were dropped inside of them on David Letterman. It was quite moving. My first thought was...I'm thirsty. Then I immediately thought no one should be allowed to have four little boys at their house and NOT blow up coke in their back yard.

So, tomorrow morning (Saturday, July 1) at 10:30 a.m. (no early birds) we will explode several 2 liters of Diet Coke by sticking Mentos in them.

We'll scream. We'll yell. We'll video the explosion and our four boys taking a Diet Coke Shower.

You are invited to watch us blow up stuff! Bring your own chairs and umbrellas.

What fun! Come through the back gate. No one is allowed in my house that early on Saturday morning because unfortunately, Saturday morning comes right after Friday night movie, popcorn and glow stick night at the Hendrick house. It gets pretty messy around here.

Click here for what we have in mind. Don't worry. We won't let our sons say, "crap." At least not until they are older.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

For the Love of Leggings

Time flies, doesn't it? We look back on our past and wonder, "where did the time go?" It's awfully painful to see our children go from breastfeeding to reading in what seems like milliseconds in retrospect. Looking back, we see all the things we could have done differently or better (like treating our first child like we treat our third child...then they would all be wonderful and easy).

When I look back at the blur of yesterdays, one of my most heart-breaking regrets is missing the cool, long sweater coats from the winter of 2001. I was pregnant. Try as I may, I could not pull off this beautiful new fashion with me and a fetus wearing it. I did not panic or cry. Instead, I vowed I would try with all my heart to bring back the long sweater jackets the next winter. "Bring back long, cool sweater jackets with the wrap-around belt" was my 2002 new year's resolution.

However, winter 2002 blew in and NO ONE would comply with my "Bring Back the Sweater Jacket" campaign. Try as I may to talk up the sweater jacket (strategically beginning September of 2002), no one around me would wear them! I had to pull myself together and come to grips with the fact that my long-awaited coolness in a long, sweater coat with the cool wrap around belt would forever be, but a dream.

I will forever hold my loss over Hayden's head. When he's a teenager, he will not hear me say, "I was in labor for 48 hours with you, how could you....?" Oh no. He will hear, "I missed the long, cool sweater jacket trend because you were living, rent-free in my stomach"

In my opinion, one of the only perks of being done with the season of life where you allow another wonderful human being to take up residence in your belly, eat your food. and turn your body into something out of a science fiction movie,  is you will never have to miss another fashion trend.

Putting the past behind us...Let's vow to look forward...and face the newest fashion frenzy head on.

Leggings are back in ladies. I believe they followed the side-pony through the fashion door we children of the 80's vowed would forever stay shut. Who left their post guarding the door? Huh? Who?

So, this post is to beseech help from the cool girls who read this blog. You know who you are. We mothers of multiples don't have time to do our homework. We hardly have time to put our clothes on, much less go figure out what's cool to wear these days. I'm positive I speak for all of us when I say, we were sure we had already been there, done that, worn the long t-shirts! Left to our own leggings demise, where our leggings ended, layered, colorful socks would begin. We would surely look like the lady above, only we would not be baring our mid-drifts...oh no...motherhood has a way of making mid-drifts resemble meatloaf.

But, we will wear leggings. Oh yes, we're going to wear them. We just need you to show us how. And be specific. We need websites and how-tos, do-it-yourself-guides and diagrams. Some of us live on very little sleep. Pictures drawn with crayons will illicit the best response. We'll put them on the refrigerator and clap for you. It's our conditioned response when we see anything drawn with Crayolas.

Today, Kirby came through for all of us...visit her blog!

Friday, June 23, 2006

There's No Place Like Home

For those of you with vivid imaginations, you will know what I’m talking about when I say that I had one of those terrifying, out-of-body, nauseating experiences today when FACT and what I’ve always made up to be fact had a head-on collision.

In these moments, I feel like Mario stuck at the top of the screen, waiting for someone to push pause again so my heart can resume beating and air can start traveling back up my nose. I sweat and get a headache.

The world shattered because I got the rare opportunity to see what the inside of an ear looks like today.

This has been a life-long dream of mine. This aspiration has been something I’ve thought about and imagined my entire life.

It took two minutes to look at the inside of some ears. It will take me two years to come to grip with the hard evidence that what I’ve always envisioned the inside of an ear looking like…and what it actually looks like are so far from identical, it’s comical.

It leaves me wondering, “What else have I made up in such a real and earth-bending way, that I honestly believe it to be reality?”

Today, FACT about human ear anatomy and my made-up idea of what the inside of my ear looks like stepped into the ring together to have it out and FACT laughed so hard at made-up-fact, that FACT peed it’s pants. These moments in time when this happens leave me reeling, unable to sleep or concentrate. Why does my brain make up reality and convince me it’s true? My brain brainwashes me. My own brain!

Think about it…

I started seeing the doctor at a very young age…like birth…and, since the doctor’s office is like a warp zone in and of it self, it has always intrigued me. When they put me in that room, what are they doing on the other side of that door once they shut me in my little space to patiently wait for the doctor? Clogging? Belly Dancing? Running down the hall naked? Talking to the CIA? I listen, through the door, but I can’t make out their language or activity. I’ve never wished for x-ray eyes more than when I’m at the doctor’s office. I'm sure Superman gets to see lots of nurses and doctors playing Heads Up Thumbs Up and sharing a cheese tray when it's time for his annual checkup. I don't know how they do it, but somehow, they turn off the Billy Ray Cyrus, remove their cowboy hats and swallow their cheese, regaining their composure quite nicely before lightly tapping on my door.

Now back to what I'm doing inside the room while the people in the hall play Twister. Once I'm left alone to wait for the doctor who will be right in, I start looking through all the drawers, all the cabinets, pull down every instrument off the wall…it’s a rush…a cheap thrill to see if I can look through everything and be back in my seat before the doctor softly knocks on the door. I’ve always won. Don’t worry.

The ear tool has always been incredibly fascinating to me. I could never figure out how to use it. Several times, while we’re waiting for a doctor to come into the room, I’ve taken one of my very own children and used the ear contraption to try and satisfy my life-long curiosity. I’d stick the black beak down their ear but I saw nothing. I learned today that I wasn’t doing it right.

I learned today, that if you use the ear tool correctly, you will clearly see that there is no swimming pool in my ear with people swimming in it, kindly waiving at the doctor peeking inside.

I learned today that you can’t see my tongue through my ear.

You laugh.

Don’t laugh. I was brainwashed. I think that’s a form of abuse. Abuse is certainly not a laughing matter. Never mind that my own brain abused me. Long ago, in a doctor’s office far away, my brain must have painted a picture of a swimming pool with people swimming in it and a tongue moving in the back ground before I had any powers to fight back with a mind old enough to say… “Na…that’s silly. Friendly swimmers aren’t in your ears. Fluid is not a swimming pool, and there would have to be a window installed between your ear and your mouth in order for the people swimming in there to see your tongue…that’s just nonsense, little girl…quit thinking that immediately.”

Since I was helpless to fight back, my brain convinced me it was so.

After seeing an ear in real-life and real time, I wanted to take my brain out and spank it. How could it have done that to me? I was almost home from the doctor’s office and I thought, “I’m going to miss those people in my ear.” That’s when I had to stop myself from imagining myself sadly hugging the swimmers good bye and handing them their towel and I said, out loud, “There were never people in my ear.” I felt like Dorothy. I just knew after saying those words I would wake up and be home, where ears have swimmers and all lions are males and tigers are females.

Those were obviously not the magic words, or maybe I didn’t have on the right shoes because after I said it the only thing that happened was a red light turned green…and I kept driving home…my real home, full of real ears with simple holes in them that look like bees should live inside.

I’m never looking inside a body again. Never. Never ever.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Happy Father's Day Aaron!

What a mighty good man I married! Aaron, there simply are not words to describe how I feel about you or how thankful I am that you’re mine. I love being your wife. I love being the mother of your children.

I love you, Aaron. Deeply, deeply love you.


Tuesday, June 13, 2006


From now on the Hendricks are saying, "Pants!"
When we stub a toe, we’re screaming, “AHHHH PANTS!”
When one of our kids gets some gross bodily fluid on our skin, or our shirt, we’re shouting, “AHHHH PANTS!”
When we get attacked by the water hose, we’re saying, “AHHHHH PANTS!”
“Pants” is a delectable word. We’ve always loved it. Now, we’re mighty thrilled to be able to put it to use more often. So…anytime you need an expletive…just say, “Ahhh PANTS.” (Works best when screamed.) Let’s start a “PANTS” blaring revolution. Who’s in?

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Green Plastic String of Evil

I must confess. One of my favorite hobbies is thinking of great business opportunities and new inventions. The reason why I spend so much time thinking of “the next big thing” eludes me.
Not only am I completely happy doing what I’m doing…I wouldn’t have time to stop doing what I’m doing to start doing something else. See…I told you…it’s perplexing.
So, maybe my ideas can make someone else rich…someone else who has time to actually do any of the things I merely think of doing.
Aaron and I thought of two yesterday. Yep. It was a big day for us.
Number one…remote control water sprinklers.
I don’t mean like a sprinkler system.
Those are cool, and I must admit I covet them…but I just mean for us non-cool-above-the-ground, Neanderthal, hose dragging sprinkler people, wouldn’t it be neat if we could just walk near our water shooter, point our remote control at it and the thing stop shooting water long enough for us to move it to the next spot in need of water being shot at it?
Side note. ..
I hate water hoses.
Hate them.
And, I think sprinklers are completely of the devil.
I’m pretty sure my neighbors pop popcorn and get near a window to watch me in all my absurdity as I go about the seemingly simple task of keeping our lawn hydrated.
I swear that our water hose has a mind of it’s own.
It insists on wrapping itself up into huge knots…but only AFTER I’ve already turned the water on and am approximately 9 miles from the spicket.
At first, I do what every mature person would do…I try pulling with all my might.
I refuse to back track.
I’m convinced that back tracking in the early sprinkling stages shows a sign of weakness to the hose.
We can’t have that.
I am determined to stretch the knot out, or whack the knot out by smacking the tangled mess over and over against the ground.
Then I try my highly ineffective combo move, where I combine yanking and smacking with grunting, a little jumping and lots of chanting of "Who's your daddy." However, by this time, the hose is so freakishly heavy, that I stand there heaving it around, flopping it from side to side, to no avail.
After I’ve yanked so much on the hose, that I’ve practically dug myself into the ground and demolished any on-looking flowerbeds, I surrender.
It has won.
I am forced to hike back to the spicket, turn off the hose, untangle the wet, dirty anaconda and start all over again.
That’s just what it wanted me to do.
I’m just a pawn in it’s…well, water hoses don’t have hands…but you know what I mean.
I’m convinced they have secret arms though.
How else would they be able to yank over huge flower planters?
I am fully aware that I just need to grow up…do the mature thing and turn the water off between each encounter with the water hose.
When it’s time to move the hose to it’s new frustrating location, I should walk to the spicket, turn it off, walk back to the sprinkler, rearrange it, pamper it, tell it it’s the best dumb sprinkler in the whole wide world…then walk back to the spicket, turn back to the sprinkler, wave at it, blow it a kiss then turn the water back on.
This would probably insure that no one would get hurt.
I know I should bow to the all powerful water slinger.
I just can’t.
Instead, I don’t do any those things.
Oh no.
For some idiotic reason, I dare to challenge the supremacy of the sprinkler.
I try to bend the hose, making it choke to it’s death while I venture to move the sprinkler over but a wee tiny bit.
I soon find that this victory is short lived.
The moment I release my death grip, the sprinkler retaliates with vengeance. It’s strategy leaves me running across the yard screaming and sheltering my hair.
Once I’m out of range, my dripping body convulses in frustration.
I lose again.
If I could walk up to the outskirts of the slinging water, point a remote…and the water suddenly and completely stop….AA-HA-HA-HA-HA. I would throw my head back and laugh my evil laugh loudly in my yard. I would point and yell into every on-looking window…. “No show today, people.”
Then I would toss my dry hair…walk right up to the defeated sprinkler…move it…look at it in a belittling fashion…then walk away…point the remote over my non-damp shoulder…restart the water…and say...
“Who’s the Mast-a?” as I walk back inside.
Stay tuned for invention two from yesterday.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

.5 Ply Toilet Paper

Every time people come over, I feel so awkward because I want to make a public announcement while said people are here. To make a long story short, we have in our possession about 9,241 rolls of 1/2 ply toilet paper. It's like wiping with a butterfly's wing. I always want people to know that we don't like our toilet paper either. It's not just them. I think your toilet paper says a lot about you...and our current toilet paper is misrepresenting us big time.

We should probably just throw it all away and get some actual toilet paper, but that just seems wrong...almost as wrong as having to use this 1/2 ply toilet paper.

But, I have an idea. I want to wrap a house with it. Wouldn't that be so fun?'s the deal. Let's vote on whose house we should wrap. Here are the contestants:

1. The Garratts
(they have no this is a plus, and Mike will cry)
2. The Bacaks
(they have some this is a plus as well)
3. I would say the Kramers, but I'm sure at the hour we would be wrapping their house, we would have to stop and talk to the thieves trying to steal something on their you guys are out because I am terrified of facemasks and pistols.
4. The Dutys
(just the thought of this will get Allen so upset, it's going to be great).

Cast your vote. We'll let everyone but the losers know when the destruction of property is going to happen. I can not wait. We'll take pictures and make a movie. And, let's wear panty hose on our heads! Oh my word, I’m clapping with excitement!

Is There Anyone Cooler?

The answer is, "No." That's the only right answer.