Life may not be what you want it to be...but I'm still not giving up hope...yet!

Yoga...not really for everyone...

2012-01-17T19:34:00.004-07:00

I realize it has been a while, but at least it hasn't been two years! I am going to attempt to do better, but lets face it I'm not real great in the resolution department. As evident by my constant battle for determination to lose weight. It is this very battle that brings me here tonight...

For Christmas my sister-in-law, whom I adore and aspire to look like without having to do all the work, gave me a beginner's yoga kit. I had mentioned that I really wanted to get serious about losing weight, long term. She does yoga and looks like she does yoga, hence the aspiration to look like her. So it really was the perfect gift. As such, this morning (yes, only this morning) after nearly a month of staring at the lovely green box (green is my favorite color) I was lying in bed, hoping for a nap, and mentioned to Fuss that maybe we should do yoga together. You would have thought I asked him to go for a Pepsi and a caramel-cookie dough shake. He was so excited! I let his excitement brew for a bit and then like the good mom I am I tried to talk him out of it. I was really tired after all! That was not going to happen. It took mere minutes of his nonstop chatter, his changing into shorts without a shirt so he could look like the guy on the box, running upstairs to grab an extra yoga mat and block, and even finding his belt to use as a yoga strap, for me to realize the only way to make it stop was to indeed do the yoga.

So Fuss and I cleared a spot in my room to lay out our mats. He insisted that his be right next to mine, even though I insisted we needed some room. I found that arguing with a 4-year-old who keeps saying, "Yes, this will be so good! You will feel so good!" even though he has never even been exposed to yoga before is an act of futility. It's a good thing I was too tired to care. We started out doing a simple warmup. I can lie on my back and practice breathing and meditation with the best of them. Sometimes in this house you have to pretend to be nearly dead just to get some peace and quiet, even then it's questionable though! The further we got into the workout, I more I realized that the person I want to pretend I am no longer exists. It's really an eye opener when some random dude on your TV tells you to simply pull your knee to your chest and you think he's lucky you got it off the floor. Seriously, I know why fat people do not do yoga. It's because their stomach is between their knee and their chest and there is no getting around it, over it, or even beside it, which actually is easier than the other two options.

I do have to admit also that I loved watching Fuss follow all the moves and try so hard. Since he was so much better at it than I was, he gave me encouraging words like, "wrap your arm around your knee, Mommy" to which I responded, "I think my arms have shrunk while the rest of me has grown." Although I know that yoga is supposed to be relaxing and help you be focused and ready for the day, I think that day is a long way away. I really feel no more confident than I did staring at the pretty green box. In retrospect, I kind of wish I had a video camera to watch later for a good humiliating laugh, but overwhelming glad that I didn't at the same time. I know more than a few people who would love to hold that over my head.

As we were driving home from some errands this afternoon, Fuss asked me if we could do "our" yoga again tonight. I told him it might be possible. He also told me that we should take the yoga DVD to grandma's because "Grandma really loves yoga!" That surely must be where I got it from. I didn't know it was a genetic trait! All I can say is that I truly hope it does get better, easier, less humiliating, etc, because Fuss has announced to me that "we will do yoga everyday!!" Yay!!

For the love...

2011-11-16T19:06:00.007-07:00

I do not love animals. I know that is not a very popular sentiment and that PETA should be knocking down my door, but it's still true! I am just not a pet person. So why, might you ask, do I have two dogs? Because my family loves them. D and I had only been married a couple of months when I brought him back a dog while working in Idaho. That little puppy, who I really didn't even love then, is now a huge dog in my backyard. His name is Scooby. The boys named him. He lives exclusively in my backyard, which is exactly where I like him to be. I do love that his bark is so deep that it would be terrifying to a prowler who may try to sneak in through my backdoor. I do love that his 40-foot chain allows him to protect our back steps from any daring intruder. I do love that he can jump high enough to see over our 6-foot fence, again warding off any possible intruders. I just don't love that he is a dog...

Last March, after trying for nearly four years, I was pregnant. I was unbelievably happy...for about a week. I had a miscarriage. My heart was broken and I didn't stop bawling for days. I still getting teary-eyed thinking about it. Before that moment I thought that a miscarriage was just something that a lot of women went through and it wasn't that big of a deal. Oh, how wrong I was! I loved that baby from the moment I knew of it and losing it, even at only seven weeks, was truly heartbreaking. Anyway, I had already told Fuss of his upcoming new sibling, so when that sibling was no more I had to break the news to him as well. In my angst, I sat my little son down and told him that we were no longer having a baby. He looked at me with his huge brown eyes, furrowing his brow in deep concern, tipped his head to the side, and in his most pleading voice said, "Please! I promise I will be a good big brother! Please, Mommy!" If I thought my heartbreak was complete before those words, I was wrong. I wanted to give him anything, anything at all, to ease his disappointment and my pain. So when I told him that I was sorry, but there was nothing I could do, and he replied with, "Can I have a puppy then?" What was I to do? I hesitated, repeated to myself that I had committed to never have a dog living in my home, and then told him we would call my sister to see if by chance she would be breeding her dog anytime soon. I actually told him that if she was I would let him have one of the puppies. I figured there was no chance that would happen, after all she had only bred her dog like twice before. I called her and told her of my conversation with Fuss. Being able to completely understand my pain, she happily announced to me that she had bred her dog just last week and that if it worked she would give Fuss one of the puppies rather than selling it. Oh goodie (ugh)!! We waited, anticipated, and panicked. Okay, mostly I panicked. D, not loving little dogs, assured me that this was my promise and I would have to deal with it. Needless to say, the puppies were born and we brought one home six weeks later. He named her Tilley. I don't know how he came up with the name, but it fits her. She was born on Fuss' fourth birthday. I'm not sure if it is a sign that they belong together since they share a birthday, but regardless it is obvious they love each other. I just spent the last several minutes watching Fuss lie on the kitchen floor while his 4-1/2-pound Yorkie Poo climbed all over him, licked him, and had him giggling nonstop. The moment was truly precious, but I still am not in love with her. I can't help it. She poops on my kitchen floor, even after she has been out to potty. She licks my toes! Why do dogs lick my toes?! That is probably the one thing that really turns me away from animals, the licking! She has to be taken outside several times a day. I have to keep a baby gate up to block off my kitchen because I can't stand the thought of an animal running around on my carpet and doing whatever else she may decide to do while exploring. I refuse to allow her on any furniture lest they smell like dog. The thought of laying down on a couch that a dog has been crawling all over is so not relaxing to me. Seriously, I don't love animals!

It is hard for me to admit, though, that the benefit of these animals outweighs my distaste for them. I also have to admit that I would probably miss them if we were to no longer have them. I guess that protecting my home and bring pure joy to my child are reasons enough to tolerate them...maybe even like them a little, but I will never admit to loving them!

Where does the time go...

2011-11-14T20:19:00.002-07:00

TWO YEARS!! Seriously, what is wrong with me?! I don't even know where to begin!

Fuss is definitely the joy and the bane of my existence. It is amazing you can the love the person that drives you insane so unconditionally. He is the most hilarious irritant in my life! At 4 years old, he thinks he knows everything. He is completely OCD and I now spend my days making sure that I do everything differently than I normally would just so that he can get the idea that there is more than one way to do things. Oh the tears that I cause with these tactics, but I am trying to convince myself that it is better he cry tears now than he become the crazy old guy that no one wants disrupt. He threw a fit, full blown defiance against me, the other day because I put milk in his cup, then put the milk away, then got out the Nesquik mix, when I usually just grab the mix from the pantry at the same time I grab the milk. It makes sense to do it that way considering my pantry is next to the fridge, but I didn't, so he wouldn't drink it. For three hours he whined to me that he was thirsty. For three hours I handed him his glass of milk. He refused to drink it because it "wasn't made right." I refused to allow him to have anything else because he got his stubbornness from me and I wanted to make sure he too was aware of that. This is the current story of my life...who can hold out longer. It's definitely me!

I do have to say, he's not always that way. Sometimes, I am thoroughly amazed at how much he is like me. He's funny, thoughtful, stubborn, lazy, clumsy, and so very, very attention deficit. One minute he has me cracking up, such as today when I handed him his towel after he got out of the tub, and he winked and me and said, "Thanks, Sis." It's the little moments that catch me off guard that get me through the moments that I want to...well, I'm sure you can guess!

I can't help but wonder sometimes how my Fuss might be different, maybe less demanding, if his entire world wouldn't have been turned upside down last year.

Last year...2010...so much has happened, but for me most of it was spent in my bed with my feet elevated on a stack of 10+ pillows. You see, I was born with flatfeet, a trait I inherited from my mother and she from her father. Sadly, Fuss has inherited them too. Anyway, because my feet are similar in structure to my chest...flat...I have had problems with my knees and back. So, I decided it was time to do something about it. In April, I had my left foot operated on. The doctor removed some extra bones, reattached the tendons that used to be attached to the no longer existent bones, put an implant in my foot to hold the bones up correctly, and put three holes in my Achilles tendon to lengthen the short little tendon to its correct length. In July, I found out that the implant had popped out of place and had to have surgery again to fix it. This is an issue that the doctor had only ever seen one time before, when he operated on my mom. By the middle of August I was done with casts, boots, and crutches. I was walking on my own. I was walking on the outside of my left foot, but still on the inside of my right. So, in September I underwent surgery on my right foot, repeating the same procedure. During this time frame (2010) Fuss had turned 3 years old, we were working on potty training, he started preschool, and Olie moved in with us. It went from him and me together always, just us, to Mom in bed, Fuss going away for two hours a day with a bunch of people he didn't know, and having to share his dad with his brother everyday! That's a lot of changes for a kid to have take place in just a few months. Since that time, he has been emotional, clinging, and downright defiant. Sometimes I can't help but to wonder if his OCD behaviors were enhanced by going through so many changes so quickly. He has to hold onto what he knows. He has to keep control of his life in some way. It's really hard to explain this theory to a 4 year old, almost as hard as it is to keep it in mind when I am losing my mind with the insanity of the OCD.

I think I just had a little bit of an epiphany... Now, I am trying to figure out why I haven't blogged. Blogging to me is like being my own psychiatrist. I put it out there. Let you read it. Hope someone out there can relate and then move on... I'm pretty sure I'll be back tomorrow. After all, I have a lot of issues that could use the therapy and my keyboard is way cheaper than a shrink!

Resolutions, what are those....

2009-11-16T17:21:00.004-07:00

Well, I have definitely learned this about myself, even if I do make resolutions on paper (or computer) I really have no ambition to keep them... It actually took me looking at my friend's blog to come to the realization that I haven't been in blog-land for 5 very long months, which is sad because so much has happened and I am sure that I will not remember it all!

Fuss is getting so big and so sarcastic (I am really trying to figure out where he gets that from). My daily life with him now consists of actual conversations, kind of, that usually leave me laughing. There was the time I found him in my room with an empty package of E.L. Fudge cookies. He had one cookie in each hand and a face covered in chocolate from his nose to his chin. Knowing that D had just purchased the cookies last night, and realizing that he had not so wisely left them on his nightstand, I confronted my child...

Me: "Fussy, did you eat all of Daddy's cookies?" I stated sternly...
Him (quite seriously): "No."
Me: Glaring at him questioningly...
Him: (Matter-of-factly) "My mouth did."

It is really hard to get mad at your child when he speaks the truth so innocently, if only he really was innocent. I have also made comments that we needed to go shopping, to which he replied, "Yeah! I want a horse!" or that if he would take a nap I would take him to the dollar store to buy him a new car, to which he questioned, "...and some gas?" He is 2...and I am really afraid for his teenage years at this point.

We recently got rid of his binki, which he called his "meena." It has been a devastating 10 days for both of us. I had tried before, but to no avail. I had tried letting him have it only when he sleeps, but he always seemed to be able to find one somewhere during the day. So we went cold turkey....I took him to Toys R Us and let him choose a little teddy bear like the one we gave to my niece for her birthday. He had wanted it so badly and cried when I told him it wasn't for him. So I made him a deal, a bear for meena...which he excitedly handed over his meena for. I thought it would be so easy, but it wasn't. At the store I gathered the three different teddy bears, put them in the cart with him, and told him to choose one. He picked each one up, examined it carefully, then put it down and moved on to the next one. Once he had looked at all three of them through his thorough inspection, he handed me the dark brown one to put back on the shelf. He then reexamined the other two again before finally deciding that the stark white bear was to be his. He loved that bear all day long. It has a little bottle and he fed it and then brought me the bottle telling me that he needed more. So I pretended to refill the bottle, and gave it back to him. He fed the bear again. He even did airplane motions and noises as he brought the bottle to the bear's mouth. We had a little box, so I put a blanket inside of it, and he put the little bear down to bed telling me to be quiet "He sheeping, mommy!" It was so cute! We even named the bear meena so that when Fuss asked for his meena we gave him the bear. It was a good idea...in theory... he actually did okay for about the first week. Sure he cried for the first week, but seemed to get that he wasn't getting a binki, so he snuggled his bear and went to sleep. I learned much more about him, like he doesn't shut up for 5 seconds when there isn't something in his mouth. I also learned that this has been hard on me for two reasons, one he loved his meena so much that I felt like I was throwing out a part of him. His meena has been a part of his life since the day he was born, and to now deny him his greatest comfort is ripping my heart and soul! The other thing I learned is that I depended on his meena too, for some sanity! Now when he is upset or frustrated or just being two, I have to put up with it and deal with it and try to fix the situation instead of just handing him the binki...oh, how I miss the binki!

I do know that it is what is best for him on so many levels, but now he doesn't just whimper a little at bedtime he sobs. Now he gets angry and throws his bear off of his bed like he finally realizes the bear was a trick. Now I lie in bed and wish there was something I could do to comfort my son, but it is as though he realizes I was the one who took away his beloved meena and he doesn't really know why, even though I have diligently explained it to him several times, but he how do you explain orthodontia to a two-year-old...

He thinks...

2009-05-18T17:57:00.008-06:00

I would like to profusely apologize to those that I have promised to write, I am a slacker! Lately I feel as though life is slipping away too quickly! This Friday my Fuss is going to be two! I can't believe it has now been two years since I first held that 6 pound 14 ounces, cone headed with hematomas on his head, double-chinned from the start, greatest blessing of my life in my arms for the first time! There is no way to describe the true joy that you feel and the feeling that you never thought you could love someone so much from the first second you saw them!

Pretty much from the time he was born I knew that he was too smart for my own good. He was only 2 days old when they brought the bilirubin lights to my house. I don't know who invented this contraption, but seriously no brand new mother wants to put their tiniest treasure in a blue suitcase with patches over his eyes to keep him under lights. Needless to say, I bawled for three days straight! I just wanted to hold him and comfort him. It was during those moments that I discovered just how in control my little man was. Anyone could walk past my little guy, or stop and stare at how adorable he looked with the alien looking patches over his eyes, except me. I don't know how he knew, but he did. Even with his eyes covered and me being as quiet as possible, he knew every time I was near and he would reach his little hand up towards me and whimper...it broke my heart! Of course I picked him up and held him close to me...I was told he could be taken out of the lights to eat, so he ate a lot during those three days...

Now, here we are two years later and he still thinks he rules the roost around here. The other day as I was trying to take a nap I felt a little finger ran across my eyelid. I opened my eyes to see my darling little boy sitting next to me with an eye shadow in his hands "doing my makeup." When I asked him, "Does Mommy look pretty?" He responded, "Hode on!" (hold on). He thinks he is the expert...

Last week he asked me for some "canny" (candy). We had some jellybeans, so I told him he could have 3 of them. Fuss can count to three (I think it is mostly because I always do when I want him to do something that he doesn't want to). Anyway, as he lifted the jellybeans out by choosing his favorite colors first, he counted...one, one, one, one, one, one, one...I looked at him and he grinned his mischievous little grin and continued...two, two...I raised my eyebrows...He grinned and raised his then stated satisfactorily....three! He smiled and walked off with his treasure of "three" jellybeans. He thinks he is so smart...

Moments ago D was watching a movie on our bed while I sat in the recliner and Fuss played on the floor in front of me. D asked me to come lay by him and Fuss immediately ran over and climbed up on the bed. As I laid my head on D's chest, so did Fuss...until he pushed his way in between us declaring "my daddy!" So I raised my head and D put his arm around me. Fuss immediately pushed him away from me declaring, "my mom!" He thinks he has to be the center of all our attention...

At this very moment I am typing with one hand as Fuss pulls on my other crying, "c'mon, c'mon, c'mom." Normally at these moments I go with him to find out what he wants, but since I know he wants to go with his daddy into the office to play on the computer, I am not going. He thinks he is in charge...sadly...he is!

Time passes by...

2009-03-17T10:46:00.003-06:00

Okay, so I realize yesterday marked the one month anniversary of my last entry...what can I say, I have become awful at this, which is sad because I actually enjoy writing! Time passes so quickly that there never seems to be enough of it, and I wake up at 4:00 am! So, for those that have been missing my blog (Neyney) I am going to do a quick recounting of how my time has been spent over the last month (maybe just for a little justification of my slacking).

Excuses:

1. I don't remember 90% of the last month, therefore cannot be held responsible!

2. Changing 8,692,478 diapers, many of which were really too dangerous to have to encounter, but I still braved them anyway.

3. Breaking up 6,139 fights (this would have been more if the older boys were here more than every other weekend).

4. Listened to 15,986,212,903 tantrums...oh, how the terrible twos are upon us!!!

5. Typed too many lines of medical transcription to count, but probably around the 15,000 range...it sure feels like that should be a higher number, probably because for half the time I am fighting off and trying to get Fuss to entertain himself or peacefully take a nap!

6. Called my mother crying because "I just can't take it anymore! He is awful!" and asking "Will he always be this disobedient!" (mostly meaning Fuss, but occasionally meaning D).

7. Attended 18 family parties/dinners.

8. Took the boys to Idaho for a sledding trip.

9. Done 693,412 loads of laundry.

10. Attempted to clean my house for hours on end...only to find as soon as I have a room cleaned satisfactorily and moved on to a new room, the clean one that I just left was redestroyed in seconds by Fuss and/or his brothers.

11. Relaxed in a comatose state (this I am guessing was about an hour or two a day, but am not really aware of it. I have just been told by D that I am there--I think it is really like 10 minutes a day.)

12. Leveled up 12 levels on Mob Wars on Facebook (stupid addictions)!

13. Attended one baby shower.

14. Ate dinner at Lucy's house (yes, I had dinner at the ex-wife's house when Olie was ordained to the office of a deacon...that should get us--me, D, his parents, and his sister and her family--all an award for keeping the peace and being polite under strenuously awkward circumstances.)

15. Had a completely (well 99.9%) green dinner at my parents' house in honor of today...St. Patrick's Day!

Last night my mom thought that it would be a fun idea to have a St. Patty's Day party. We have never had one before and I don't know if we will again, but it sure was an adventure!! Each of us had an assignment to wear green and to bring one green pot luck item for our green dinner. My mom made pasta with chicken alfredo sauce...green alfredo sauce. My older brother brought green grapes, green apples, and green pears with Cool Whip mixed with green yogurt to dip them in. I brought green frosted sugar cookies, because let's face it...I'm all about the sweets! Gillette brought a fantastic green spinach salad. Fluff made a green coffee cake, which under normal circumstances I would have been afraid to try, but it was actually quite delicious. Agee brought green cucumbers in vinegar (which is a family favorite for us). KM brought green honeydew melon. And my cousin brought green Jello (all Mormon stereotypes aside, it was delicious as well). My mom also provide regular colored rolls with green butter, which my brother and brother-in-law used to frost one of the cookies and trick my nephew into eating...so rude! Martha Stewart, I am sure, would not have approved of our lack of color combinations or somewhat strange combinations of foods, but seriously what does she know about having fun and breaking rules! I have never before had an entirely green meal, nor did I think I would enjoy it, but boy was I wrong! There is something delicious about the creativity it takes to pull a meal like this one off, and I did learn that alfredo is good no matter what color it is (at least if it is that color intentionally)!

My mom, being the great grandma that she is, also taught her grandchildren the story of a leprechaun who has to hide his gold. She told them that on St. Patrick's Day Eve he looks for a leprechaun house that is nicely decorated, and if he finds one that he thinks is good enough, he will place his gold coins in it to hide them so they don't get stolen. She then provided each child with small boxes, markers, and stickers to create and decorate houses for the leprechaun. She told each of them that they needed to place their leprechaun houses on their front porches to see if they were good enough to hide gold in. This morning 14 children were pleasantly surprised when they opened up those houses and found bags of gold (chocolate) coins inside. I am sure their grandma must have told the leprechaun where the houses would be. So, as I make up excuses and justify my lack of commitment to my blog, my mom has planned ahead, gotten supplies, and provided each parent with the necessary items to fulfill the story that she told her grandchildren for a holiday that is not widely celebrated as a major holiday! Although I have never before celebrated St. Patrick's Day...I think this is a tradition that will carry on! Time passes by too quickly! I find that for me it is time to relax and enjoy even the smallest things!! (and recommit to blogging--I hope!)

A new babysitter...

2009-02-16T09:42:00.002-07:00

So obviously I am not good at keeping New Year's resolutions no matter when I set them...so far I am failing at all of them, not just the blog writing one...I am still working on it...and trying to do better!

Recently Fuss has begun to enjoy the television. This has both its good points and its bad. The good comes because when he wakes up at 5:00 or 6:00 am and D and I am working while D is still sleeping, we have found that Fuss will lie sideways in the recliner in our room with his blanket, binki, sippy, and remote and watch the Disney channel, which is our new built in babysitter. I realize that this does not make us parents of the year, but it does keep us sane at these early morning hours. I have also been known to lock him in our room with me for 20 minutes or so and allow him to watch TV while I get a desperately needed little power nap. The guilt I have from not spending "quality time" with my son is extensive, but not enough for me to not get the nap, which is only done on the most desperate of days. Another "good" is that Fuss really is learning things from "Little Einsteins" "Imagination Movers" and possibly even "Handy Manny" even though he has yet to start making repairs around the house in Spanish...I am still hopeful!

The "bad" part of his new TV addiction is that now when he wakes up the first thing he says after, "Ba! Mom, Ba!!" (meaning he wants a drink) is "On!" while pointing at the TV. Even though he rarely sits still and watches an entire show other than the early morning hours, it still has become a constant background noise in our house. I have to turn it off to get him to read stories or sing songs with me, which used to be his favorite pass time activity. The worst "bad" of all though is that I have to truly ask myself how it came about that these grown men are singing and dancing for my son. Why are these shows that drive me crazy with their cheesy songs and ridiculous scenes all performed by men? Is it that women have too much dignity to put on clown "pantaloons" and wait for another grown up to guess what they are dressed up as, or is it that no woman in their right mind would hang out in a warehouse with a mouse as a friend and so many rooms that you would never have time to clean them all? Either way, they drive me crazy. The sad reality of the whole thing is that my entire family is getting sucked into the Disney prison of no escape. It seems to be all we can do to change the channel to dramatic TV shows...Even I have traded in "Ellen" for "Hannah Montana" and "Suite Life" is definitely better than watching the evening news.

You're hot...

2009-02-02T09:27:00.002-07:00

I wonder how it is that such small things can fascinate children. Fuss has been obsessed with shoes pretty much since he could walk. It can be my shoes, D's shoes, or any of his brothers' shoes, Fuss doesn't care. He loves shoes. He loves to wear them and attempt to wander through the house with gigantic feet. Even now he is wearing my black dress flats with his blue dinosaur pajamas and I am thinking that he really needs to learn that pajamas go with tennis shoes a little better than dress shoes. It's not just shoes though; Fuss is also obsessed with batteries, remote controls, light switches, the buttons on our house alarm, small toys, pencils, lemonhead candies, blueberries, my jewelry, and the thermometer. When he was smaller if I wanted to take his temperature it was a fight. I would have to lay him on the bed and kneel over him to keep his arms out of the way, then hold his head with one hand while I held the thermometer in his ear with the other one. Now, every time the bathroom door is open Fuss runs in, opens the drawer, grabs the thermometer, and holds it in his ear. He must take his temperature repeatedly before he is satisfied with the results, which really is fine since I know he can't get it in his ear too far, but still how quickly does he think he is going to develop a fever?

His other most favorite obsession is my makeup, which goes better with the black flats. I can't get it out of his reach because he is a really good climber. Over the past couple of weeks, my eye shadow has been broken up and dumped on the floor, spread around and ground in to give my bathroom tile a nice shade of brown. My eyeliners have been dipped in the lipsticks and used as applicators for putting lipstick on his cheeks and forehead. I now have no lipsticks, limited eye shadow, and I have had to wipe off all my eyeliners, but they still have a light pinkish residue on them. I never thought I would have to use makeup remover on my makeup, which by the way, is a little nerve wracking to do because what will happen to the makeup you want to keep that is under the makeup that you need to remove? At least I have an idea of what it might be like to have a little girl...

A day without a dad...

2009-01-24T23:17:00.002-07:00

Ok, I realize that it is as late as it could possibly get and still be "this week," but it still is, so I am good on the resolution of once a week--by the way, once a week to me means one Sunday through Saturday, not necessarily 7 days. Hey, I'm a work in progress.

I have decided that I would be a horrible single mom. D is out of town this weekend, and the last two days have been the longest of my life. I didn't really notice it until 5:00 pm yesterday when I normally would have gotten a call from D to let me know he was on his way home. I didn't hear from him until much later, nor did I hear from him most of the day, which is not normal for us. It was at that point that I realized that is how I get Fuss settled from his afternoon fit. I tell him, "Daddy is on his way!" and he gets excited and runs to the door as soon as he hears the key in it. He really loves it when his daddy comes home, and frankly, so do I! Last night my Fuss delved further into his terrible twos phase with nonstop tantrums ranging from what pajamas he wanted to wear, what he did not want to eat for dinner, and whether or not I am allowed to put things away that belong in the basement without hauling Fuss along for the 15 stairs up and down. He did go to bed good, until 11:10 pm, at which time he decided he couldn't sleep unless I was holding him in my arms.

The terrible twos continued for my not-quite-two-year-old this morning beginning at 4:05 am when he decided that he needed a "ba" and I had to go to the kitchen to get him a sippy of milk to stop the constant screeching "moooommmmm" (this must be said while imitating a dying, high-pitched parrot). Then at 5:45 I was not allowed to use the restroom without sobbing and hollering of my name again, only this time it was just the saddest little cry you have ever heard, like he was afraid I was never coming back, which by this point I was considering. I missed my D more than ever, keeping in mind that I am only relaying the major moments, about every 15 minutes we had some sort of a breakdown throughout the majority of the night.

To enhance a wonderful weekend, I decided that it would be fun for Fuss and I to drive the 50 miles to my parents' house for a visit. I strategically planned this so that Fuss would miss his nap. Okay, I really thought that he would fall asleep in the car, which would give him an hour nap and that would get us through the majority of the day. Of course, it didn't quite happen that way. Fuss didn't fall asleep until the last 20 minutes of the drive, which does not constitute a long enough nap for a 20-month-old terror. Fit after fit occurred, starting with suddenly being afraid of my parents' miniature poodle, one of the few dogs that no one should be afraid of, to fighting with me over whose Pepsi I brought back with me from picking up lunch, mine or his. I think he won that one since he drank almost the entire thing while I was doing other things.

The clincher that made me know for sure that I could never be a single parent was when I agreed to a public exhibit of dining in a restaurant with several members of my family. It started with Fuss' refusal to sit in a highchair. This was followed by the climbing of the bench and glass that separated us from the people on the bench behind us. He then slid to the floor under the table, made his way through the maze of legs, over the front bar of the highchair at the head of the table that he should have been sitting in, under the highchair, over the bar on the back, which was waist high to him, and off to wave to his new friends in person. He walked down one row of tables making sure to touch the back of every chair he passed. Then he walked through the main walkway of the restaurant stopping to wave to the people at each table. When our food came and I forced him to sit down by me to eat, he broke into a sobbing fit! You would have thought that I ordered him asparagus and spinach instead of grilled cheese and fries! It was bad enough that I immediately asked for boxes and the check and took my terror home.

The hardest part of the day though, was when I was trying to get Fuss to extend his nap and took him into the extra bedroom at my parents' house to lay down and hopefully fall asleep. He was whimpering and refused to settle in, so I suggested that we call daddy. When D answered his phone, I put it on speaker phone. As soon as Fuss heard his daddy's voice, he took the phone from my hand and started to kiss the screen. He got a huge grin on his face, and kept smiling and kissing until D said goodbye. At that point, Fuss took my cell phone and held it tightly to his chest in a hug. He pulled it out every once in a while to look at the screen, and then hugged it to his chest again. When I tried to take the phone away, he held it tighter and refused to let me have it. He finally fell asleep holding onto his daddy's voice. Good thing Daddy comes home tomorrow!

I resolve to...

2009-01-14T17:30:00.002-07:00

Okay, so it has been brought to my attention that I am not very blog attentive lately, and it is true. Even worse than writing, I have not read any of my friends' blogs since...I don't really know. But, it is a new year and with a new year comes resolutions. Usually my resolutions last until about January 15th, but since that is tomorrow I am hoping that I am turning over a new leaf. And I figure is I don't actually write them until the 14th then they are bound to last longer than one day...I hope! So, for your reading pleasure and my hoping that if others know them I will be more accountable to them...my new year's resolutions...

1. I resolve to be patient with my husband, children, extended family, other drivers, slow people at the grocery checkout using the self checkout but that don't really know how, the people that park their cars on the street when the road isn't wide enough to still be two lanes when they do, and those that allow their dogs to roam aimlessly and "do their duty" on my lawn so that I can't allow my one-year-old to play in his own yard without a quick "pick up" from mom--so gross! I resolve to turn the other cheek and not focus on the stuff that I cannot do anything about or that is truly not important. I will only be inpatient when we are truly going to be late or when I have already asked nicely 3 times or more.

2. I resolve to finally fit into a size 10 again. I would really like to fit into an 8 again, but I'm not pushing my luck. That means that I resolve to workout for at least 8 hours each week, watch what I eat, and actually cook real meals with vegetables and everything.

3. I resolve to add to my blog at least once a week. I resolve to not make my cousin, Neyney (and you know who you are even though you too get a fake name), to have to remind me how long it has been since I have last written. It is my responsibility and I resolve to resume it.

4. I resolve to have a cleaner home. I resolve to mop my floors at least once a month (I almost wrote once a week, but I have to be realistic). I resolve to even mop behind the toilet. I resolve to wash the baseboards and the walls at least 3 times in the year. I resolve to deep clean the closest and the storage room downstairs where I don't like to go...

5. I have resolved to my sister that if I do not have another baby by the end of 2009, then I will run/walk a 1/2 marathon with her by August 2010, which means I resolve to take up running in 2009 to train for it.

6. I resolve to follow the basic principles that my mom taught me from the day she brought me home: to be the best me I can be, to treat others as I would want to be treated, to be an example of my Savior and live so that He can be with me always. I also resolve to teach my children these same principles.

Happy 2009!!!

Family Christmas Letter

2008-12-22T09:16:00.002-07:00

I have not posted anything for a few weeks due to an increasingly busy schedule. My life now consists of working from 4 am to 7:30 am and then again from 11:30 am to 3:00 pm five days a week. Needless to say, I am very tired! I apologize for not keeping up on my blogging responsibilities! With that said, please read on for the Christmas letter I would have sent out if I were the type of person to send Christmas letters out...

Our Dearest Family and Friends,

This year has been quite an interesting, educational, and humbling year for us. The boys are getting so old and are learning new skills such as different ways to express their utter disgust at the uncoolness of their parents, such as several styles of eye rolling, pouting, yelling, and verbal expressions. It has been fun to see the creativity of each of our children from Olie down to Fuss. They have each grown so deeply in this area throughout the year, which truly makes parenting a joy.

Olie is still into computers, reading, and anything educational (except homework). He is in the 6th grade and loving riding the bus every morning. He has recently started his own website with help from D and has set up the entire family on it so that we can instant message with him while he is at his mom's house. He is getting smarter every day!

Skater is more and more interested in skateboarding, his ripstick, and scaring me to death with his tricks. He loves snowboarding and is very excited for this winter season. He is in 4th grade, but thinks he should be in high school. His best friends here at our house are in Jr. High, so that only adds to his teenage attitude, which we are learning to appreciate as much as we despise it.

Moo is in 2nd grade and feeling left behind. He wants to be as old as his brothers and feels left out when they do things he is not quite old enough for. He was very excited that he was able to ride all the rides at Lagoon this summer, even if it was only because we had him wear really tall shoes. He is looking forward to being baptized this coming year. He loves sleeping in, singing in the bathtub, and ham, cheese, and mustard sandwiches.

Fuss has been the greatest challenge for me this year. He is now 19-months old, but thinks he is much older too. This year he has learned to walk, run, and climb. He has learned to talk and express himself through gestures and facial expressions that he has learned from observing his brothers. He is into everything and thinks that he rules the roost. He has an adventurous personality, but approaches things with caution. He is full of life and energy and determination and stubbornness and perseverance.

D is still loving his job as a network engineer. He misses the boys and loves his time with Fuss, who has become his little shadow. He stresses about everything, but is still willing to offer a helping hand wherever he sees a need. He is the first to be willing to offer his knowledge or skills to our family, friends, and neighbors. He is a wonderful father, supportive husband, and a great example to our children. I learn more each day how much I appreciate and lean on him. I feel very fortunate to have such a wonderful man in my life. He is also pretty good at laundry, getting better at vacuuming, and this coming year we will be working on dishes and cooking!

As for me, this has been quite a year of learning and growth. I was let go from my job in April and discovered that putting off the medical transcription course I had purchased a year and a half earlier was not the best decision that I had ever made. As soon as I was jobless, I worked on the course diligently and am now working as a medical transcriptionist for a company in Arkansas. It is great because it allows me to work from home and still be the primary care giver for Fuss. I have loved being with my little man all day every day and have learned so much about curiosity, patience, and love from being with him. I have also learned how much I cherish adult conversation. I too miss the older boys when they are not with us, but sometimes miss the peace and quiet when they are here. I hope for the day that they will live with us full time and that missing out on each day of their lives will be a thing of the past.

This year we have learned that we can try to live off half of our previous income, but don't do very well at it. We appreciate unemployment programs more than we had thought possible. We have also learned that Clomid may work for 90% of couples struggling to have babies, but that we are in the 10% in doesn't work for. I have learned that wishing to be thin does not make you thin and that the work must be more than just the thought of it. This year has actually brought more trials than any year in our marriage (all 3 1/2 of them), and through it all we have learned that the Lord is by our side. He has seen us through each and every trial we have faced this year and opened new doors of opportunity, love, support, and friendship. Each time that I have felt like we have hit the bottom, we have been lifted up in miraculous ways.

This Christmas season, as we celebrate the birth of our beloved Savior, our family will truly celebrate His love for each of us. We have felt it so strongly this year and know that He is always by our side. He is with us each step of the way and holds us up when we feel we are falling. I pray for the peace and happiness of each of our friends and family members this year. We are truly blessed through each of you. You have also sustained us throughout this and previous years. We are blessed by the even the limited contact we have with so many of you. My life may not be what I thought it would be, but I am not giving up hope yet...or probably ever!

Love and Peace to All,

D, Annie, Olie, Skater, Moo, and Fuss

Walking contradiction...

2008-12-09T05:14:00.002-07:00

I am turning 33 this week (Thursday to be exact), and in considering the fact that I am getting older, I decided to reflect a bit. As I have reflected, I have seen myself as a walking contradiction. I know that it sounds a bit crazy, but when I explain I think you may agree with me. For starters, I have an honest and true desire to get back to my pre-wedding weight. Yet, I don't have the desire to work out for hours each day like I did when I was at my pre-wedding weight. When I get upset, I have a horrible tendency to eat. Yet, after I have eaten away my depression I feel even more upset. I love having a clean house, but I don't love cleaning it. Actually, I don't mind straightening, but I absolutely hate doing the details, like washing the walls and baseboards, mopping the tile, cleaning the toilets and tubs and shower, vacuuming, folding the laundry...the details.

The thing that really got me thinking about this was last Friday. Fuss had been eating some mini Oreos that I had purchased for him in one of those little "to go" containers (like a normal package can't "go" with you anywhere), and I decided that I wished I had some Oreos too. So, later that afternoon when we went to the store, I bought some Double Stuffs (because if you are going to have Oreos there is no point in eating the single stuffed cookies). Once we returned home, I started cooking dinner. And as our frozen pizza was warming up in the oven, I opened my Double Stuffs as an appetizer, poured myself a glass of milk, and started to enjoy....and think. I wondered if it was an oxymoron for me to be dunking my beautifully delicious Double Stuff Oreo cookies into skim milk? On Sunday, as I was making dessert for my family, I pulled out a can of sweet and condensed milk to make some hot fudge (the best hot fudge you'll ever have)! As I poured the chocolate into the hot fudge, I wondered how many calories I was actually saving them by using light margarine and fat free sweet and condensed milk. I figured that it was worth the effort, but then I used a spoon to eat some of the extra hot fudge by itself later...not really saving the calories then.

So, I have decided that my desires don't outweigh my actions. My mind contradicts my body. And I am in the middle of a two-way battle with myself, that either way I will lose...

Oh, the drama...

2008-12-02T10:23:00.003-07:00

I thought that with having all boys I may be free from some of the drama that girls bring with them. I thought wrong. With the constant mishaps from the older boys, like Skater trying to climb out of the window during church last Sunday, my house is basically a broadway drama. I am just waiting to see who gets the Emmy. I am thinking it may be Moo with his dramatic way of throwing himself into a pouting fit and yelling things like, "You guys are horrible parents!" I think that if our 7-year-old thinks that we are "horrible parents" that we must be doing something right. It gets better though, after this particular scream I asked Moo what it was that made D and I such "horrible parents." He told me that he didn't know, but that his brothers are always mean to him. Then came my favorite (least favorite) dramatic monologue, "When we are at my mom's house, they tell me _____" (fill in the blank with whatever dramatic thought or action you can think of because it is different every time he is upset. I then have to break into my spill about how I have absolutely no control over what goes on at his mom's house, but that he knows that that behavior (or speaking) is not allowed at our house. And then continue with how we have to treat each other with respect. Sunday, after a particularly dramatic day, when Moo told me how "horrible" I was, instead of trying to find out the root of the problem, I just turned to him and said, "Really, cause you are absolutely wonderful right now!" in my most sarcastic voice. Sometimes you just have to be honest (honestly sarcastic).

Sadly, the drama has not skipped Fuss. Last week D was chasing Fuss around, catching him, then tickling him. Fuss was laughing hysterically throughout the house. I was calmly taking a break from being mommy when Fuss ran into my room with his arms outstretched screaming, "MOM! Say me" (which is "save me" in Fussinese). He ran to my arms and laughed as I wrapped my daddy protecting arms around him. I loved that I was his protector, until the next day. Fuss brought me a barrette that he wanted me to put in his hair. I attempted to explain to him that his hair was too short and that barrettes are for girls. He got upset and started to throw a tantrum. I picked him up and started to get him dressed for the day (bad idea in the midst of a tantrum). As he wiggled away from me, he grabbed my phone. He slid the phone open, pushed a few buttons, and put it up to his ear. He paused for just a moment then started a pretend conversation, "Gama! HEPPP!" (translation: Grandma! Helpppp!).

Bathroom humor is not funny...

2008-11-21T13:42:00.003-07:00

Fuss' fascination with the bathroom makes me suspect that he may be ready to start potty training. I am not sure why the interest in the toilet comes and goes every couple of months, but i am sad to announce that after a short absence of toilet bowl playing the interest is back. Just yesterday I was in my room and Fuss was playing in my closet when I had a feeling that I should to see what he was up to. I quickly turned around to see Fuss leaning over the toilet with the lid and seat lifted in one hand and his head and other hand well into the bowl. I screamed (and I do mean screamed) at him to get up. As he lifted his head I was overcome with relief that it was not wet--not even a drop! In my "I am upset" voice I asked him, "Just what do you think you are doing?!" His expression turned to one of intrigue as he lifted his hand out of the toilet with his wet binki in it and said, "Uh oh." Uh oh is right!! I have considered getting some of those safety locks for the toilet so that Fuss can't open it, but I am afraid that I will have some sort of emergency and not be able to open the toilet in time for myself. I mean, I do drink a lot of water and I no longer have a gallbladder (for those of you that don't have a gallbladder you know what I mean, and for those of you that still have yours be grateful and hope you never have to find out what I mean)...

Today, Fuss' potty playtime continued. However, he was more fascinated with flushing the toilet than actually putting things (like his head) inside of it. I would much rather he play with the flushing handle than any other part of the throne. The only problem is that the plunger is sitting in the corner behind the toilet (for easy emergency access) and the cleaning brush is hanging from the tank on the same side. These items seem to be too hard to resist for little hands, and I am frequently washing Fuss' hands after I pull them off the plunger. I keep thinking that I should just Lysol the plunger, but who Lysols their plunger so that their kid can play with it??

I did have one more bathroom episode this morning regarding my little man that is totally appropriate to share considering the topic of this post... I was sitting in my recliner, checking my email, totally minding my own business when Fuss ran up to me to be picked up to my lap, which of course I happily did. During the lifting process, my nose got a little too close to his bottom and I knew that he had created a mess for me to clean up. I told him, "You stink! We need to change your bum and get you a new diaper." I didn't know that my almost 18-month old was going to take me literally and take it upon himself to do the job. He climbed off the chair, and I really didn't think much about it because he rarely sits still for long anyway. The next thing I knew (and it is kind of a blur because of my franticness) I heard the sound of velcro diaper tabs being pulled from their secure spot on my sons abdomen. I turned around just in time to see the dirty diaper drop to the floor. In one swift movement I put my laptop down and was out of the chair and running toward the bathroom (at least it was on the tile) in a motion so fast I don't really remember the individual movements. As I was rushing to the bathroom, Fuss' little poop covered bum was running away from me. He giggled as if this were a really fun game for both of us. He stopped at the toilet, but by this point the toilet was truly pointless. I grabbed the wipes, cleaned him up, and told him that I don't know why he was running away. In this circumstance it wasn't like I was about to spank him by any means!

I'm so popular...

2008-11-18T12:53:00.002-07:00

I totally got tagged again. (Sorry Missy I know it was a couple of weeks ago, but I kinda got behind on my reading). Anyway, I am supposed to list 6 quirky things about myself....only six!

1. I am a little obsessive compulsive about a few things: Making sure that the doors are locked and tightly shut all the time. Making sure our alarm is set all the time. Checking on Fuss while he is sleeping. D giving me a kiss when he leaves in the morning, comes home at night, and before we go to bed. Laundry being put in the hamper when it is dirty. Washing hands constantly and consistently throughout the day--and making sure that the boys do too. Straightening the knick knacks and picture frames in my house. Just to name a couple...

2. When D and I have differing opinions and I really feel strongly about wanting mine to be the one we follow, I pout to get my own way. I know I sound like a 2 year old, but he knows that it is not real and still gives into me...can that really be called my fault? It works, and Fuss knows it so I am reaping the consequences of it. I still plan on using it though.

3. Like Missy, If I am eating candy that has some sort of variety to the mix, I separate it by color or flavor. I then eat the random extras so that all the piles are the same size. Then I eat them one by one in a circle starting with my least favorite working my way up to my very favorite. If it is something like Skittles, I eat my favorite flavor (lemon) last, but if it is something like M&Ms, I eat my favorite color (green) last. I even do this with the little mini Hershey's bars. Plain Hersheys, Special Dark, Krackle, and then Mr. Goodbar. It is a sad reality, but you have to save the best for last.

4. I have to know what everyone else at the table is ordering in a restaurant before I can decide what I am getting. I especially have to know what D is getting, and I never get the same thing as him. If he wants what I want I either change my mind or talk him into something else, because that way we can share and try two different things. It is so bad that one time I ordered an entree that had mushrooms in it (which I love), and D turned to me and said, "You know I don't like mushrooms."

5. After I shower, I have to put my terry cloth robe on and I leave it on until I am done with my makeup and my hair is dry. I can't stand putting clothes on if I am even slightly damp. I have to be entirely dry...entirely! I have to put deodorant on as soon as I take my robe off, but before I put anything else on.

6. I am a competitive person except about things that I should be competitive with. When I play games, whether it be card games, board games, or kickball, I prefer to lose instead of win. I mean, I do love winning, but if I lose it is not a big deal to me at all. I feel like there is way less pressure to do good or "hold on to the title" if you lose than if you win. When it comes to something intellectual though, or something that I think I should be really good at, which are usually things that you never know how you rank, I like to be the best. I actually get a bit of anxiety about it when I don't know how I rank.

So, there you go...I am OCD, 2 years old, a save the best for last, more OCD, loser...and I am happy with no plans on changing. If D can live with my quirks then so can the rest of you!

Now, I tag Theresa, KD, Rebecca, Eskimo Bob, Julie, and Kimberli.

They're listening...

2008-11-18T12:09:00.003-07:00

I know Fuss listens to me, because as I have mentioned he copies me and makes me all too aware of what I say and do. I also know that he is not the only child that does this to his parents. Children grow up way too fast and start to say things that make you have to take a double take to make sure it is still a toddler that you are talking to.

For instance, in an attempt to teach Fuss what different objects in the world are, I often tell him things like, "That is a door. Can you shut the door?" to over emphasize what "the door" is. He is totally catching on, and let's face it he would have to be a pretty deaf little boy to not catch on to what I tell him over and over and over again. I love it when I get the chance to enjoy hearing his understanding. Like last week when he was playing in his room. I was in my room making the bed when I heard Fuss' bedroom door slam shut.

Since shutting doors is the recent favorite activity in our house lately, I knew that Fuss was now trapped in his room. He can reach the doorknobs now, but he isn't quite tall enough to turn them. A few seconds later I heard Fuss yelling from his room...

"Moooooom"

"What, Fussy?"

"Da door!"

"Ok, I'm coming." When I got to his door, I decided to knock on it because Fuss also enjoys knocking on people's doors when we visit.

He immediately responded with, "Is it?" I can totally understand this question considering he was trapped in his room and he wouldn't have known if someone else besides he and I were here.

As I was telling this story to my I cousin who has two children, ages 4 and almost 2, we were discussing how fun it isn't that our children imitating us. During this conversation she was explaining that she was concerned that her 4 year old had recently began worrying about his weight declaring that he was "getting fat." As she expressed her concern to her husband, he expressed his thought that their son had gotten that habit from copying his mom. Shananigan immediately contradicted her husband with, "I don't say that I am getting fat! I say that I am already fat! There is a difference!" I agree with Shananigan, we mothers can't be held responsible for everything our children say, sometimes they must hear it somewhere else!

Happy helper...

2008-11-13T12:12:00.004-07:00

Fuss is to that age where he wants to not only say everything I do, but he wants to do everything I do too. I have actually encouraged this behavior with compliments like, "What a bigger helper you are! You are such a good boy!" This is said in my high pitched mommy voice. He usually smiles his proudest smile and claps his hands in excitement. It really didn't take long for him to catch on to liking compliments. Now, he helps me in whatever I do. My suggestion for those parent's whose toddlers are not "big helpers" is don't worry about it. Be grateful that they don't have the desire to "help" you with every task you have throughout the day.

Yesterday, Fuss dropped his freshly poured sippy of Sunny-D on the tile floor of the kitchen. At the moment that bright orange fluid was creating a small reservoir on my tile, I was wishing that I hadn't filled the cup so full. I thought that if I filled the cup to capacity, I would have a longer break from getting drinks than if I were to give him just a small cup or not filled the larger one. Either way, there was a huge mess that was getting bigger by the second. I immediately grabbed 2 dishcloths out of the drawer and began mopping it up. It was a 2 towel job! As I was doing this, Fuss grabbed himself 2 dishcloths out of the drawer and decided to help me mop. He threw them on the ground and stepped on them and dragged the cloths over the mess with his foot. Yes, I am lazy enough to mop up the drink with a towel and my foot, and I am teaching my son to be too. Then he used his hands to finish up the job until everything was nice and dry. Actually, I had dried the floor, he just made sure it was truly dry. Not a big deal that I now had to wash 4 dishcloths instead of just 2 more, until later last night. As I was cooking dinner I turned around to find Fuss kneeling on the floor wiping up messes with a dishcloth in each hand. There was also a pile of previously used towels that he had also used to "mop" my kitchen floor. So, now instead of only 4 dishcloths, I have a whole basket full to wash! At least I have a full load to do so they won't be sitting in the basket for too long!

Fuss also likes to "help" me pick up his books, toys, snacks, sippy cups, etc. He picks things up and throws them in the bathtub. Everything goes in the bathtub at our house. If ever there is something that I can't find where it belongs, I go to the tub (or the side of D's bed now that I know that one).

The latest of Fuss' helping moments that I find oh so helpful came this morning. I was minding my own business and using the restroom. Fuss had been happily playing until he saw me on the pot. He came running towards me just as I was finishing up. I leaned down and grabbed my underwear from my ankles and pulled it up. Fuss immediately leaned over and grabbed the top of my sweats and started to yank them up. I took the waistband thinking he would let me finish the job, but he didn't let go until they were snugly sitting on my hips. I started laughing at this attempt to help me do everything, and I really do think that pulling up my pants for me completes the list of everything. Fuss looked up at me with his proudest grin and said, "Doo boy!" Then clapped his hands in satisfaction. How can I refuse help like that?

The sacrifice we make...

2008-11-12T06:41:00.003-07:00

Here I sit at 20 minutes to 7 am typing in the dark. D and Fuss are sleeping in my room, and I am sure that the older boys are just waking up at their mom's house for school. I have been awake for the last 2 hours and 42 minutes. Why? Because as a mother, I am willing to sacrifice my sleep to be able to stay home and be the one that gets to raise my son. Due to circumstances beyond our control (child support payments), I don't have the choice to be a non-working mother unless I want D to work multiple jobs, which I don't. I am very blessed though to have been able to find a career that I enjoy that enables me to work from home. I am a medical transcriptionist, and although the starting pay isn't all that great, it is a sacrifice I am happily making to be with my baby. And the faster and better I get at it, the higher the pay will be. Luckily, I am a quick learner! My day now starts at 4:00 am, my work day that is. To start at 4:00 am requires me to wake up at 3:45 am, which requires that I go to bed by 9:00 pm--talk about sacrifice. I have to read the evening news the next morning on the internet. Then I have to tell D everything I read because he now goes to bed with me. I thought that this new arrangement would be so easy for D. Go to bed early, sleep until the normal time he wakes up (7:15 am), and then go through his normal day. So far, it hasn't worked out that way at all.

This morning Fuss woke up at 4:45. I sat in my office wondering if D was going to hear him, or if Fuss would just fall back asleep. Neither of those things happened. So, I stopped working, poured Fuss a sippy full of milk, found a binki (knowing that the one he went to bed with could be anywhere in his room), and went to Fuss' room, picked him up, and took him in to D. All the while I was thinking that Fuss would lay down, cuddle up to his dad, and go back to sleep. Instead, he coughed so hard from the stupid cold he is getting that he threw up on my side of the bed, on the sheets that I just washed yesterday! He needed his diaper changed, and he wanted to play. He cried for his mommy a bit, which broke my heart as I sat in my office with the door closed, knowing that if he saw the light he would come to find me. The sacrifice that I gave up this morning was to cuddle my child when he wanted me. I could do it because I knew his dad was there, and that I would get to spend the rest of my day with him. Fuss was finally starting to go back to sleep when I hit a button on the computer that messed up what I was typing. After several attempts to fix it myself, I had to go get my computer genius husband to fix it for me. Of course, Fuss wasn't going to let daddy go to mommy's office without coming himself! After fixing my faux pas, D turned to me and said, "I may as well have woken up at 4:00 myself!" All I can say is, " Touche, my love! Touche! We all have to make sacrifices for me to work from home..."

My little copycat...

2008-11-11T11:26:00.003-07:00

Everything I do is imitated by a 1 year old. I think that it is just the curse of being a parent, but it is almost like having a little parrot following behind you all day every day. For example, Fuss picked up one of his many baseball caps today and placed it on his head. I said, "You got your hat?" (I know, great English right!) He replied with a nod of his head and said, "Hat." Then he continued to repeat the word over and over and over and over until he found a new object to be obsessed with. It is so fun to have my baby talking and being able to understand more of what he is saying. He has been blabbering on like we know what he is talking about for months, so to actually be able to understand a few words is incredibly exciting. (I know again, my life is so mundane that this really is the most exciting thing in it!)

Anyway, I started to notice more of his repeating what he sees and hears last week while he was in the bathtub. As I have mentioned before, Fuss is a climber. When I see him on a counter or table that he shouldn't be on, instead of scolding him so that he stops, I play a game with him which I am sure just encourages him to climb even more. I really need to think about things before I do them. Regardless, when I find Fuss on top of something he shouldn't be on, I stick my arms out in front of me and say, "1, 2, 3, Jump!" and he falls into my arms. So, the other day Fuss was sitting in the bathtub and I was standing by the counter watching him. He placed his rubber duck on the edge of the tub, then said (for the first time ever) "1, 2, 3, Jump!" at which time he pushed the duck from the edge of the tub into the water and shouted, "Yeah!" It honestly was one of the funniest things to see. And I am sure something that everyone reading this is thinking, "So what" about, but most of you are mothers, aunts, or big sisters so you can understand. The greatest part is that now I can tell everyone that my 1 year old can count to 3! Who cares if it is always followed by the word "jump?" Jump could be a number in some language somewhere, I guess...

The other newest trick of my little Fuss that I am sure he had to have learned by mimicking someone else, is whispering. I have no idea how or when he learned this, but he totally has the concept down! It was about 4 a.m. on Sunday morning. Fuss had been crying in his crib and refused to settle down and go back to sleep. So, I had picked him up and brought him in to lay with D and I in our bed. He had been there just a few minutes when he cuddled up to me and in his normal volumed voice said, "Mom." I immediately put my arms around him and said, "Shhh, Daddy is sleeping." To which he responded by whispering, "Mom." I was so caught off guard by his response that I started laughing, which only brought on another half hour of my name being whispered over and over again.

The scary thing is that I am so seeing myself and my actions in him. Even when he throws a fit, he reminds me of me when I am angry...not a great thing to have to recognize. There is some good coming from his repetition of others though. When someone is crying, he immediately wants to hug them. When we pray he folds his arms and bows his head. When it is time for bed he has to hug and kiss everyone before he goes to sleep. When people are leaving he has to hug them and stand on the porch and wave (or on the couch and wave through the window on cold mornings when Daddy is leaving for work). And when we read stories that have touch and feel pages, he grabs my hand and makes me feel everything on each page just like I used to do to him before he got the concept. I am thinking that tomorrow I will see if he can copy me in taking out the trash. It really would be nice for that to be his job!

That's where they go...

2008-11-10T11:32:00.003-07:00

My mom once read an article about how people perceive if your house is clean upon entering it. Then she told me about it...I am not sure how I should take that piece of friendly advice...Anyway, the list (as close as I can remember) goes something like this.

People perceive your home to be clean if the following items are followed:

1. There is no mail piled on the counter. There is a very good reason that I pile all the mail in the office and then shut the door....just don't ask to see my office.

2. The beds are made. I pretty much make my bed every day during the week. The weekends not so much. However, the only reason my bed usually gets made is because as I go through the house looking for Fuss' binki, at some point I have to tear my bed apart to see if it is hiding in the mess of sheets and blankets. While I am doing this it just seems easier to make the bed since I am already pulling at the sheets anyway.

3. I think this one was something like if there are no dishes in the sink. Anyone who has come into my house knows that this is a rarity. Every time I get the sink completely dish free, either someone wants a drink, or I find a random dish in a room other that shouldn't have been there in the first place.

4. I think this one was something like: The house smells fresh and clean. There is no disturbing odor. All I can say with 5 men/boys living in this house, THANK GOODNESS for Glade candles and Febreeze spray!

5. I really don't remember the last one either, but if I were to make it up it would be: There are not random items shoved in random places that don't even make sense. This stems from the fact that while cleaning my house on Saturday in an attempt to make it presentable for Skater's birthday party on Sunday, I came upon a pile of laundry shoved between the night stand and the hamper in mine and D's room. When I asked D why the pile of laundry was sitting next to the hamper his response was, "Those are things that I am going to use again." Really? So, the concept that he is presenting to me is that if we are going to use an item again then we should pile it in a small and conspicuous place in the house. When I brought to D's attention that we rarely use things in our home only once, and that if we followed this rule with everything, he would not be able to get in to bed because the floor on his side of the bed would be overrun with things we were going to use again...aka everything, he just shrugged his shoulders to let me know he didn't really follow my logic.

All I can say is it is a good thing I am a stay at home mom instead of D being a stay at home dad...otherwise my home might never be clean!

Battle wounds...

2008-11-05T13:12:00.005-07:00

I think that Fuss is at that point in his young life that he will always have some sort of bump or bruise. Yesterday he refused to walk on his foot and any time he would put any weight on it he would whimper and cry. Now, my child bumps and falls and scratches and all sorts of things all the time without crying. The only time he really cries is when he is really hurting. So, of course I was worried. I called Angel to see if she could come watch him limp around to see what her opinion was. I needed a second opinion on whether or not his unseen injury was doctor worthy. I had pushed and squeezed and poked his entire foot and leg. Instead of whimpering in pain when I hit the spot that was hurting him, he laughed the entire time. Unfortunately, Angel wasn't home, but suggested that I walk next door to her house to see if he would run around like he was in charge of the place like he does every time we go over there. As soon as her daughter opened the door, I tried to set Fuss on the floor. He cried and lifted his feet and refused to be put down. Angels daughter asked immediately if there was something wrong with his foot and if I was taking him to the doctor. If a 12 year old notices, then it is probably doctor worthy. Since I knew he wasn't faking it, because how would a 1-year-old know how to fake limp, I decided the doctor was the only choice. So, our monthly visit to the after hours Kids Care began. Fuss immediately began hobbling around the waiting room, the consultation desk, the exam room, the x-ray room, and then the exam room again. Following the x-rays the doctor told us that there was swelling around his ankle and that he had a sprained ankle. Great! How does a 1-year-old sprain his ankle? I have no idea! How does a mom not know that her 1-year-old has sprained his ankle? For the rest of the night and all day today, Fuss has hobbled around walking only on the toes of his right foot with the tiniest Ace bandage I have ever seen wrapped around his little foot. He whimpers when he slides down the bed and lands on it, but other than that it hasn't slowed him down one bit!

Tonight, D and I went out to dinner. When we returned to D's parents' house to pick up Fuss, he was crying. He had fallen off one of the kitchen chairs and hit his head, but no one knew where. As apologies were flying towards me and Fuss, I had to point out the big bruise in the middle of his forehead from falling Halloween morning, the red mark next to it from hitting his head on the corner of my laptop screen today, the purple toe nail from dropping a can of hairspray on it last week, his purple fingernail from slamming his finger in a drawer last month, the scratch on his chin from falling on our neighbors porch Halloween night, the scratch down his arm from me picking him up with a broken fingernail that I was unaware of, the 2 scabs on the other elbow from mosquito bites, the red mark on his cheek that I think maybe a zit, but I don't know, and the sprained ankle...all of which happened while he was in my care. I can't really be judgmental about a fall from a chair. One thing is for sure...Fuss inherited my lack of coordination!

A few bumps in the road...

2008-10-31T15:58:00.002-06:00

Today has been an interesting day in the life of a 1 year old, which has been an roller coaster of emotions to watch. I look at my little Fuss and I have to think...it must be hard to be that age! The morning started with Fuss' first gesture of helpfulness, which I found to be amusing. D was getting ready for work, and as he got dressed Fuss ran into the living room to get D's shoes. At first I was thinking that this is a pretty smart kid on my hand to know when his daddy needs his shoes, and to remember where they are. D was very appreciative of this gesture. Seconds after putting his shoes on, D was walking out the door. Fuss and I stand on the porch when it is warm enough to wave goodbye as D leaves, otherwise Fuss cries when daddy goes to work which makes a mom feel so good! Anyway, as D is walking down the front steps he says, "It feels like there is something in my shoes." I am totally thinking a rock or something that could have gotten in there anytime, maybe even the sole was coming up. As Fuss and I were standing on the porch, D opened the door to his car and took off his shoes to which he declared, "LEGOS! There are legos in my shoes!" Oh, how I loved my little Fuss and his love for putting things in random places at that moment. It was a great way to start my day!

Then came the down of the day...I was leaving on some errands and knew Fuss would come running if he heard me turn off the alarm and open the door, and he did. When he was almost to me he realized that he had forgotten something very important and ran back for it. I honestly thought he would be back with his blanket, binki, or sippy cup, but instead he came running down the hallway as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him with a bottle of my perfume in his hand. Maybe he thought that I was stinky...I don't know. But as he got to the place where the tile and the carpet meet, he tripped and went crashing head first into the tile. The problem was that the lid to the perfume flew off as he flew and his head landed right on it squishing the lid between his head and the tile, and leaving a bumpy bruise that looks like a third eye in the middle of his forehead! Oh, the tears that were cried. The only way I could get him to stop was to promise him I would get him some Cheetos when we got to the store. That cheered him up!

The rest of the day seemed to go ok, other than the 2 phone calls to fake numbers, 2 phone calls to D, and the call to 411 Fuss made while playing with my cell phone. Even when we went on a walk to get the mail and he hugged the light post in front of our neighbors house for ten minutes and declared, "ligh" whenever I told him it was time to go. After that I was ready for a little relaxing time. We came inside. I turned on the TV and my computer and Fuss sat on the floor with his book. A few minutes later Fuss got up, walked over to the TV, and turned it off. I immediately told him, "Please turn the TV back on." He pushed every button on the front of the TV except the power button. I was sitting 5 feet away in my chair telling my 1 year old, "Not that button. It is the one on the end. No, the other end. Push the one on the end." Just as I was thinking, "this is ridiculous!" Fuss walked over to the little table at the side of my chair and grabbed the remote that was sitting right next to me the whole time, until now...Now I really don't know how the TV will get turned back on.

It was a trick...

2008-10-29T16:10:00.005-06:00

As an update to my previous post regarding the extreme numbers at the zoo trick-or-treat occasion...I KNEW there were more people there than had ever been there before, and now I have proof. I received the following email from the zoo today!

I hate to say it, but I cannot ever share this information with my husband...he might not forgive me for making him go!

I'm it again...

2008-10-29T10:12:00.015-06:00

I got tagged again...I told you I was popular! This tag was a journey of self discovery. Oh, how I wished that I didn't follow the true instructions, but I did! The rules are: You have to take pictures of the following things immediately! There can be no cleaning, straightening, or wiping your child's nose!

Here goes a peek into my life...hold on!!

1. The kitchen sink...complete with dishes that you would assume were from last night's dinner, but we didn't eat dinner at our house yesterday. Angel and Mike had us over for dinner--Mike

cooked!! We had Taco Bell the night before, and dinner at D's sister's house on Sunday. So, it can be easily concluded that these dishes have been here for a while...

2. The laundry room...we believe in piling things on top of the dryer. Hey, it is the only place in my tiny laundry room that there is room to put something. Well, there is the washer, but then I couldn't open it to do the laundry I obviously don't do. (Notice the basket FULL of towels on the side).

3. The fridge...well decorated with pictures, bulletins, and other random items. This one could have been much worse if I would have taken a picture of the inside!

4. Bathroom...I chose the kids bathroom. Notice the cute decorations in the mirror, but please ignore the water spots on the bottom of the mirror. If the cupboards would have been seen, you would have seen the toothpaste marks on the cupboards below the sink.

5. Closet...I chose mine and D's closet. I really don't know why. I know...we need to de-junk!

6. Favorite room...I chose the living room, because it is really the only one that is slightly presentable right now! Of course there is the mini volleyball in front of the fireplace. Fuss likes to stand at the top of the stairs across from the living room and throw balls down to watch them bounce into my living room.

7. Favorite shoes...I would wear flip flops year round if my feet didn't get too cold! Do you like the spot on the floor next to them though? I found my shoes right where they belonged...in the kitchen. Someone needs to mop around here!

8. Self portrait...if this doesn't inspire me to get ready before the middle of the afternoon, nothing will! Seriously! No makeup, hair not done...so scary!!! I am wearing an old "design team" t-shirt from cosmetology school, and if you could see my pants you would see they are plaid pajama pants--pink, green, and white---I so don't match or look good in any sense of the word!

9. Children...the older boys are at Luci's, or more likely school! While I was running around taking pictures of my house and sadly me, Fuss decided to climb onto the counter in the master bathroom, which is his favorite spot recently! Earlier I found filling the sink. He thinks he is so funny. I can hear him on top of my kitchen table as I type this...ugh!

10. Dream vacation...Luckily I have a picture from Paris in my living room. I want to go to France more than anything! D is fluent in French, which is really just a bonus in case we ever make it there!

Now I get to tag...I choose Brianna, Carly, Julie, Kacy, Lisa, and Rachele! Have fun! Hopefully you will be better prepared than I was!

Trick more than treat...

2008-10-26T20:39:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I had a brilliant idea! We (I) decided that we should take our boys trick-or-treating at the zoo. This year we joined the zoo as a family membership. I didn't even know that you could join the zoo. I had hoped that there would be a habitat for us with comfy beds and food served regularly...there wasn't. It just means we can go to the zoo as often as we want for a year without paying anything more. D and I have never had the opportunity to take our kids trick-or-treating. The way the custody agreement works out, Luci has had the boys on Halloween every year since holidays have been split. So, I decided that it would be fun to take our kids trick-or-treating, and since you can't really knock on your neighbors' doors 6 days early, so going to the scheduled trick-or-treat at the zoo seemed like the best idea. The problem is that we weren't the only ones who had this fantastic idea...half the people in the state did too! I guarantee that there has never been that many people at the zoo at one time ever before. I think that 90% of the people that have ever been to the zoo were there yesterday.

Our day began at 7:00 am because I was sure if we were there near 9:00 when the zoo opened that the crowd would be significantly less than in the warmer afternoon. Whether I was right or wrong really doesn't matter, because if there was more people there in the afternoon they would have had to put a sign up that read: "Full to Occupancy--Every Square Inch Occupied!" Let's face it, my plan was the greatest one that I have ever come up with. It was so full of flaws right from the beginning. Since we don't ever have the kids on Halloween, we don't have costumes. So, I bought some face paints, but Olie and Moo didn't want their faces painted. So, our make shift costumes were as follows: Olie wore jeans and a T-shirt and left his hair messy. When I asked him what he was he said, "a boy who just woke up." Skater wore jeans and a T-shirt and painted his face like a bloody, dead zombie. He said he was a "Skater zombie." Moo wore jeans and a T-shirt with a plaid flannel shirt over it and a straw cowboy hat. He was a cowboy, but didn't have any boots or really look like a cowboy. Fuss had a costume. He was a dragon, and a cute one at that!

When we first arrived at the zoo, people were parking blocks away and walking. D asked if we should find a parking place. I assured him that we shouldn't park miles away. As we got closer we discovered that the entire parking lot was full, the 2 parking lots across the street were full, and there wasn't a spot on the street as far as the eye could see. The line of people waiting to get in was the entire length of the parking lot and back around the first line of cars. D is not a patient man when it comes to crowds, so I assured him of a secret parking lot with its own entrance. Luckily, we were one of the first to find it and were able to get in with just a short wait in line. However, that was the only short line we stood in for the next hour and a half! By the time we left, our secret parking had been discovered and over taken by countless cars. The insanity continued!!

We got to trick-or-treat at a couple of booths without waiting 10 minutes just to get to the booth, then we hit the main part of the zoo! All I can say is "HOLY CRAP!" There were so many people lining up just to get a piece of hard candy, or some tootsie rolls, that you might think that all the stores ran out of candy and this was the last chance anyone had to get any. An hour and half after we arrived D asked if we had been there long enough for the kids to experience the "Boo at the Zoo" and for us to have experienced taking our kids trick-or-treating. We had only visited 10 booths at the most! He promised that if we left we could stop at the store and buy the kids candy, but we didn't. Regardless, the kids had a fun time. I am still wondering what possessed me to experience this once in a lifetime adventure (because we are never doing it again!), and D is learning more patience in crowds. There really is nothing like filling a large area like a zoo to its brink and sticking my honey in the middle of it! Most of all, Fuss learned that if he dresses in a cute costume and holds a bucket that people put candy in it. This fascinated and delighted him for the rest of the night! Oh, the joy of what the real Halloween will really be for my 1 year old!

Tagged again...

2008-10-24T10:39:00.004-06:00

I was tagged again...I must be pretty popular! Anyway, for this tag you are supposed to go to your photos on your computer and find the fourth file then pick the fourth photo. We actually have 2 files of photos, one under my profile and one under D's. I liked the picture under D's better, so it wins! This is a picture of Fuss and his favorite nanny, Didda, on New Year's Day 2008. We went sledding as a family. Since Fuss was only 7 months old, it was obviously his first time, but not his last! We love the outdoors, and D's Grandpa has the perfect sledding hill at his house in Idaho, so we will be going again when the snow starts falling!! Anyway, when we got to the sledding area, the largest hill was facing the sun and mostly melted. At first we were a little disappointed that there was such a small hill to sled down, but the kids had a blast! I actually love the expression on Fuss' face in this picture because it shows just how much he loved it! He didn't know what to expect and this may very well have been his first time down the hill! As a parent it is hard to trust other people with your child, but with Didda I never had to worry for even a second! She was the best nanny a child or parent could ask for! Obviously I trusted her...I let her take my 7 month old son on a piece of foam board down an icy and snowy hill with no protective gear!

So, I guess I am now supposed to tag 4 people...hmmmm...I choose Kati, Rebecca, Elizabeth, and Monica! Get those photos ready!

I am expanding my horizons...

2008-10-23T15:44:00.002-06:00

I have a lot of time on my hands. I am only a wife, a mother, a step-mother, a medical transcriptionist, a web content writer, and I have church responsibilities...so not a lot at all! And because I have SO much free time, and I am so good at keeping up on this blog, I have decided to create a second blog. This second blog is not a reading blog, that would require way too much thinking on my part. It is a photography blog, so to speak anyway.

I would like to reassure my friends that have photography blogs (many of whom I worked with as a professional photographer), my blog is in no way competition for your blog. See I used to be a photographer in a studio. I was pretty good if I do say so myself. I had many customers request my skills for taking their children's pictures. When you view my skills on my second blog, you will undoubtly ask yourself, "WHY???"

Here is the thing...In the studio things were set up for me: the camera was in position, lighting was set, backgrounds were in place, props were available, and all I had to do was get children to smile from the side of the camera. Behind the camera I am horrible snapshot, point and shoot photographer. My husband bought me a very nice camera that after 2 and 1/2 years, I still don't know how to use! So in my angst, I have decided that it is time to share my photos with the world. I mean with as many skills as I don't have, what is the point in hiding them? So, please feel free to visit the second stop in my insane reality. Enjoy, comment, and return here for more enlightening opinions and observations of life...

www.hownottotakepictures.blogspot.com

He just doesn't get it...

2008-10-22T08:47:00.003-06:00

The other day D and I were watching "Two and a Half Men" on TV. Charlie was teaching his nephew, Jake, stupid jokes that all kids learn sometime in their lives. For example, Jake's dad, Alan, was sneezing and Charlie said, "You'd think it was a cold, but it-s-not." I couldn't help but to think back to Sunday. We were at a church and the boys were eating from their mini baggies filled with goldfish crackers. I know, why do our kids have snacks at church when they should be old enough to survive without them? It is for my sanity. Our church is from 11 am to 2 pm, which means that it is right in the time frame that I would be making them lunch if we were at home. It is because after several weeks of complaining about how hungry they were and could we please just go home, I decided that I would let them take a small bag of crackers to ease their "starvingness" and complaints. Anyway, they were eating their crackers. Olie was sitting next to me, and although Fuss had his own plethora of treats and snacks, he insisted on eating Olie's with him. Once Olie's were gone, Skater decided it would be funny to tease him. Skater leaned over and asked Olie if he "liked seafood," to which Skater promptly showed him the chewed up crackers in his mouth. I am quite familiar with this prank since my brothers and sisters and I showed each other what we were eating in the same manner when we were kids. I am sure all of you probably did too. Anyway, as the boys were giggling (quietly), Moo decided he wanted to play along. He turned to me and said, "Annie, do you like fish?" When I said, "Yes, Moo, I like fish." He moaned in realization that he had no where to go with it...if only he had asked if I liked see food.

So, you admit it...

2008-10-17T15:11:00.003-06:00

Every day I hear the words, "I didn't do it!" by one of the boys. Whether it be a question of leaving the bathroom door open so that Fuss could get in and climb on the counter or play in the toilet, or if it is who was hitting and kicking who, no one admits to whatever it is they are doing (or not doing). A brief synopsis of my day would be:

"Who left the milk out?" "Not me!" (up to 3 times)
"Who left the fridge door open?" "I didn't!" (up to 3 times)
"Who left their snack (or wrappers) on the family room floor?" "It wasn't me!"
"Who kicked who first?" "He did!"

I would give anything for a peaceful moment of honesty in my house. When the kids aren't not admitting anything that they have done, I have the great pleasure of being ignored. I call the boys to dinner 3 times, then I am done and they go without. Yesterday morning, I was fixing Fuss a bowl of cereal. Olie was still sleeping, and D had gone to work. Skater and Moo were upstairs in the family room. I called up to them to ask if they too would like a bowl of cereal. The second, more stern yell received a positive response from both of them. I told them to come down to the kitchen and I would fix a bowl of cereal for them. Skater came right away and was happily eating while I was still waiting for Moo. Wondering if the TV was too loud, or if he was just choosing to ignore me, I asked, "Are you ignorning me?" Imagine my surprise when I received a matter-of-fact "Yes!" from upstairs. At least he admitted it. I guess you've got to start somewhere.

He's on the move...

2008-10-15T19:06:00.004-06:00

From the minute Fuss showed even the slightest promise of crawling on his own, I anxiously awaited the minute that he would actually crawl. I was so afraid that he would crawl for the first time while I was working and that I would miss it. The day after Christmas we were sitting around upstairs, and Fuss crawled for the first time! I saw him! I was so excited that my little guy was self-mobile. D and I would laugh at how fast he could go on all fours. He was like a little speed-demon crawling through the house. It was only a couple of days, maybe a week, before he was pulling himself up to everything. Within a few more days, he was walking around the furniture he was pulling himself up to, and my anticipation of missing his first steps while I was at work began. I should have known I didn't have to worry. He is my child, which means he is a little on the wussy side. He could have let go and taken off, but he was too afraid to do it. Finally, he did take his first steps a couple of months later, and again I saw it! It was just a couple of weeks before his first birthday.

Now at 16 months, my child has become a climber. Today I was in my office, typing at the computer. Fuss had been behind my chair playing. Suddenly I heard a cry that sounded like he would have been calling for help if he knew that word coming from the kitchen. I have a desk that is next to a wall that is about 5 feet tall. The older boys Nintendo DS's were on top of that shorter wall. Fuss had climbed on the chair that is up to the desk, climbed on the desk, and was reaching for the DS. He couldn't quite reach the DS, but he couldn't get down either. I immediately put him on the floor and told him, "We don't climb on the desk!" We both went into the office. A few minutes later I heard Fuss giggle from the kitchen. I went in to find him sitting on the counter. He had climbed up the barstool and onto the counter top. I picked him up and put him on the ground and told him, "We don't climb on the counters!" We both went into the office. A few minutes later I heard Fuss talking to himself from the kitchen. I went in to find him sitting on the table. He had climbed up the chair and onto the table. I picked him up and put him on the ground and told him, "We don't climb! We stay on the floor!" I gave up on finishing up my work in the office.

I went into the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. Fuss followed me. As I was putting on my makeup, Fuss climbed into the basket with my toiletry magazines in it, onto the toilet seat lid, onto the toilet tank, and onto the bathroom counter. I picked him up and put him on the ground and told him, "Why do you keep climbing on everything? We don't climb on counters!" He held his hands out to his sides with his palms up, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Mmmm" in a high pitched voice, which is Fuss' version of "I don't know," which I have found to be a typical answer from any child for any situation.

I don't do windows...

2008-10-14T08:30:00.005-06:00

While cleaning my house on Saturday for my family to come over to celebrate my mom's birthday, I decided to dust the window sills in my kitchen. It was at that point that I stopped to think..."When was the last time I washed the windows in my house?" I thought and thought about it for a bit, then I realized...I have only washed the windows in my house 1 time (we have been in our house for 2 years and 4 months)! And that was only the insides. I have only washed the outside of my living room windows, because I am afraid of heights and the living room windows are the only ones that I can reach without a ladder. However, I have no excuse for the inside windows, except the one above front door because our front door is 8 feet tall.

The thing is, I never open my blinds. In the summer, it makes the house too hot and the air conditioner has a harder time keeping my house at a nice cool temperature. This is the first winter that I won't be leaving before the sun comes up and getting home after it goes down. There has never really been anyone here during the winter to open the blinds to see what the sun could do for us then. So, since I never look out my windows, I don't have to clean them. I have also decided that I really need a maid who does windows... Besides, if I don't clean my windows, who is going to notice? The peeping Tom that I don't want looking in them anyway?

I'm not the first...

2008-10-13T09:08:00.003-06:00

Here is the thing about being the second wife of your first husband, you will make sacrifices that you never thought about previously. I want to preface this with, I love D and I would not change him or our marriage for anything else or anyone else! When D and I got married, I was 29 years old. We were set up on a blind date, and the only thing I knew about him was that he had 3 kids from a previous marriage. He was so romantic when we were dating. He was so thoughtful and affectionate. He was everything that I had dreamed the man of my dreams would be--tall, dark, and handsome included.

So, when we got married, I expected the romance to continue and fulfill my fantasy of the honeymoon phase of my life. Here is what no one tells you when you marry a divorced dude, he starts the next marriage pretty much where he left on the first one. There is no rewind on a guy. So, D started our marriage on year 8 and I started it on year zero. The honeymoon phase did not exist. Really, I don't know if it does in real life for anyone, but I hope that it does. All the things that you hope to experience with the man of your dreams, he already has experienced. The wedding night, your first home, your first pregnancy, your first child, your first anything...all ready done...

During one of my specifically emotional times (remember, I am on hormones in an attempt to get pregnant so it is not my fault I cry a lot), I was complaining about how much I have missed because he is now on year 11 of our marriage and I am still wishing for the first year of bliss to happen. In an effort to keep me happy, my husband seems to have found his rewind button, and he is making an effort to be more attentive and romantic, like we were dating again, but without the dates. I love that my husband is making the effort. Even if we have already purchased our first home together, made it through the first pregnancy, and are surviving our first child together, we could have been married yesterday! Lucky, lucky me!

She's 29...

2008-10-09T20:54:00.003-06:00

Today is my mom's birthday. According to her Facebook page, she turned 29 today. Yes, you read that right, my mom is on Facebook, and she listed the year she was born as 1979 on her Facebook page "so that no one would know how old she really is." Because evidently my mom has a lot of Facebook friends that don't know her personally? Who is she trying to fool, her family or her friends from high school or her kids friends that want to be her friend too. I am pretty sure that all of those people know that she was not born in 1979, especially her dad (yes, my grandpa has a Facebook page too)! That is one of the reasons why I love my mom, because she is one of those people who can do her own thing and not worry about what others think. We have often said that my mom is slightly insane (really, who isn't) but trying to convince everyone that she was born after she had graduated from high school, got married, and had 3 of her children is kind of pushing it, especially since the fourth child was born 5 months after she was.

My mom is a trooper. As someone who has a medical history the size of China, she really is an inspiration of a positive outlook. Many times doctors couldn't believe she was conscious, let alone attemptting to vacuum her house (she always likes to vacuum when she is feeling her worst). She recently (a few months ago) had surgery on her foot, and since she is crutches deficient (meaning horrible at using them, which is funny for us to watch) she has been confined to hopping (equally as funny to watch) or using a wheelchair. And since her house is not really wheelchair accessible, especially during the remodel of her kitchen, she has mostly been confined to her bedroom, and her bed. A great example of my mom's positive outlook can be shown in her response to one of my favorite emails, a "getting to know you one." The question was: How do you relax? My mom's answer was: "It is hard to relax from resting. I usually just fluff my pillows, prop myself up, and pour a fresh Pepsi."

My mom is a wonderful woman who taught us how to laugh through basically everything, good and bad. If you can't find the joy in life, what is the purpose. Therefore, I believe she deserves to be 29 for as long as she wants! We love you, Mom! Happy Birthday!!

Just a size...

2008-10-07T08:37:00.002-06:00

D and I have been invited to a masquerade party in a few weeks. As such, we recently purchased costumes online. On the website that I ordered the costumes from there is a warning, "Costume sizes run small, please check the measurements to ensure accuracy in fit." What I would like to know is how does a size "run small?" Why isn't a 10 a 10? Why is a 10 an 8 in some stores and a 12 in another? WHY? It is very difficult to have to try on every single item that you would like to purchase just because you can't determine whether you will even fit in the item based on the size. When my sisters and I discuss pant sizes we always differentiate where that size is from, such as, "These new jeans are a size 12 from the Gap, which means a Wal-Mart 10!" When I went to get my wedding dress the sales lady asked me what pants size I wore and then got me dresses a size bigger because wedding dresses "run small." If items "run small" and the designers know that they "run small" why don't they put a tag in the item with a smaller number on it? I mean really, why simplify things for people, or make people feel good about the size they are wearing. Life is much better when people think they are larger than they really are. It really makes people want to shop more.

Yesterday, our costumes arrived on our front porch step, which is another whole story as to why the UPS man rings the doorbell and then bangs on the door like the boogie man is chasing him only to leave the package on my porch without even waiting the 10 seconds for me to answer the door. Anyway, our costumes arrived. The costume that I ordered for myself says that it should fit a woman from size 16 to 24. Well, since I am closer to the bottom of that, I figured there would be no issues. Let's just say that if a woman that normally wears a size 24 tries to fit into my dress, it will no longer be a dress because I, at an 18, barely fit into it! BARELY! It is just a size? Yeah right, how good do I feel now?

I told D that size shouldn't matter, it is just numbers. When I met D and we got married, I wore between a size 8 and 10 depending on where I purchased my clothing of course. Now after having a baby and gaining a lot of weight (sadly), I wear an 8 plus a 10, but they are the same numbers and sizes are just numbers. So, it shouldn't really matter right. One size fits most...yeah right!

Our joy in the journey...

2008-10-06T14:40:00.008-06:00

Yesterday while listening to the advice of our beloved prophet, Thomas S. Monson, during General Conference, I had to take a moment to determine if our family really takes "joy in the journey." I don't want to have the hopes of tomorrow be shadowed by the emptiness of yesterday. Really, I don't. I had made our family watch conference in mine and D's bedroom because it is more comfortable to me than our family room couches. So, as I sat in my recliner, completely comfortable, I looked over to my bed where D, Olie, Skater, and Moo were lying side by side. Fuss was sleeping in his room, which really made things more joyful overall for everyone at that moment. I thought about how our boys who like to eat nonstop had eaten dinner with their mom on Thursday night and then stopped for a hamburger with their dad on the way to our house. That is joyful for them, not so much for me since I had dinner waiting at home. Friday night the older boys had slept over at D's parents' house, which was joyful for all of us. Saturday we had gone to lunch with my family to celebrate my graduation from the medical transcription program. That was joyful as well. As "joyful" as our journey has been, we could put a lot more effort into it.

We did let the kids basically eat whatever they wanted for dinner on Saturday. D took the kids to the store and let them choose what to eat while watched a movie together. My boys came back with dinner, which I think for kids is very joyful. We had Laffy Taffy, Gummy Worms, Smarties, Lemonheads, and Carrots with light ranch dip (that one was my choice). We are totally winning the "fun parents of the year" award. As conference ended, and Fuss woke up, I realized that the peacefulness that had just filled my home would soon be over. Fights would begin again. There would surely be complaining of some sort. I was now standing in the doorway of my bedroom. D was in the recliner with Fuss on his lap. Olie was sitting on the floor leaning up against the recliner. Skater was on my bed. Moo had disappeared. So, I picked up a pillow and started smacking the boys. As the boys smacked me back with other pillows from my bed, the giggling began. D and Fuss just sat there and watched as Moo appeared and joined forces with his brothers. Sadly, my joy lasted longer than my energy and I threw myself on the bed, and continued to get pummeled by the pillows. Then D and I traded off. I took Fuss, who was laughing hysterically, and D took the pillow from me. I knew that had created joy when even though D had Skater pinned on the bed under one arm and Olie under the other, all 3 of the boys continued to attempt beating him with the pillows.

And I made an executive decision (as an executive in our home) that we definitely need to have more pillow fights in our house!

It happened to me...

2008-10-05T08:12:00.001-06:00

Well, it has happened. I have read it on other blogs, but never have had it happen to me before. I have been tagged. I am a player so I will play along...

7 Things I LOVE:

1. I love sweats. I love the comfy warmth of thick cotton on my legs. I love that they are not too tight. I love that they have an elastic in the waist, but it is supposed to be there so no one thinks that I am just too large for non-elastic sweats or too old like if I wore Jeans with elastic waists. I love that I can wear them all day and then to bed if I want to. I love that I can wear them when I take Fuss on walks and no one thinks I am weird. They just think I am attempting to exercise. Oh, the deceit of sweats!

2. I love TIVO. I love that I can record what I want, when I want to, and not have to watch it on somebody else's schedule. I love the total and complete control of only watching the commercials if I want to. I can even pick and choose which commercials I watch.

3. I love having milk delivered to my front porch. I love milk alone, but having it delivered in any quantity I want each and every week just makes my life so much simpler.

4. I love ceiling fans. I love that if I am a little too hot, I can flip a switch and a nice breeze fills the room. I love the purr of the ceiling fan that lulls me to sleep every night. I love that the ceiling fans are high enough that although I know there is dust on the blades, I can't see it. Therefore, I don't have to do anything about it.

5. I love pictures. I love to take pictures. I love to look at pictures. I just don't like to be in pictures, which is the main reason that I love to take them!

6. I love my recliner. I love that it was purchased with the money that I received after my grandma passed away. I love it because it was purchased because Fuss was on the way. I love it because we call it the "Grandma Rocker" and it reminds me of the way she used to sit in her rocker and visit or read with us when we went to her house. I love it because it makes me think of my grandma every time I rock my own baby and read to him.

7. I love breakfast. Breakfast really is the most important meal of the day. I love breakfast foods, sausage, bacon, eggs, french toast...mmmm! I love having breakfast for dinner. I love that as much as I love breakfast, I usually just eat cold cereal for breakfast. That makes "real breakfast foods" a treat when we have them!

7 things I HATE:

1. I hate cherry flavored ice cream, or ice cream with cherries in it. I love ice cream, and hate cherries so the cherries just ruin a beautiful thing, and I hate it when beauty is ruined!

2. I hate weeds. I hate that they make it known to everyone that drives past my house that I don't do yard work. I hate that they are much more prominent than the plants that I don't really like either.

3. I hate dust. I don't mind doing the dusting, I just wish it would stay that way a little longer. It seems that as soon as I am done dusting, the dust is creeping back onto the surfaces that I just dusted.

4. I hate laundry. I hate that it is such a time consuming process and requires so much remembering. It would be much easier if the washer and dryer were just one machine that would wash and then automatically dry. I hate that I have to remember when I put a load in the washer and how long it has been there to know if it is still able to be dried, or if I need to waste more time and money re-washing the load I forgot about. I hate that when the clothes are dried, if I don't take them out and immediately hang them up, I will be stuck ironing (or wearing wrinkled clothes, which is more likely). I hate that I have to fight the hangers on the bar in the closet trying to gather enough to hang up the load that I just threw on my bed.

5. I hate scary movies. I would rather watch the news where I get just as frightened.

6. I hate living far away from my family. I realize that it is only an hour away, but with the price of gas I might as well move back to Florida since I saw them about the same from there. Except I hated living in Florida.

7. I hate my storage room. I hate that in all actuality we have no idea what is down there. I hate that there is just a plethora of boxes filled with items from mine and D's lives before we even knew each other, but that neither of us has the desire to go through to see if we can get rid of it. I hate that it is looming over me and that I know that one day I will break down and go through it....maybe it will just loom until I die!

Now for the rules: You can't use your husband or kids as things you love (or hate depending on your mood) that would be too easy.

Tags: You have to make your own list...maw ha ha ha (in case you watch Hannah Montana like we do!) Tagged: Angie, Theresa, Stephanie, Melissa, Erica, Sheryl, Missy. And I do LOVE my friends...all of them!

I said, "I love you..."

2008-10-04T17:26:00.004-06:00

I think that it is very important to tell your children that you love them frequently. The problem that I have realized recently is that although I do tell my children that I love them frequently, it is usually followed by a request. Such as, "I love you too much to allow you to act this way!" "I love you and that is why I won't let you do something stupid." or "I love you, now be quiet!" I am not sure that this is the best way to express my love for my children to them, but when it is a non-stop day of noise...that is the best way to describe it...it is hard to stop and sincerely tell the noise makers how you really feel about them without trying to establish some sort of sanity first. It stems from adult interaction that this is the way I deal with my kids. Whenever someone in my family says something that they know is going to get under someone else's skin, they follow it by a somewhat sarcastic, "love you." D does it too. He teases me, then he tells me that he loves me and grins in a hope that I will not be mad at him. I usually follow it up with, "No, you don't." It is hard for me to point a finger when I do the same thing to him too.

When kids tell you they love you, it is because they do. Kids have yet to learn the manipulation the words "I love you" can hold. Recently, I had a conversation with my nephew Buddy, who is 3, and he loves me. I know he does because he told me in a way that made me know that he did. It was the day I found out that I had passed my final, Buddy called to congratulate me. Our conversation went like this:

Buddy: Dood (good) dob (job), Annie. Dood dob on you test.

Me: Thanks, Buddy! I love you!

Buddy: I love you too. I don't hate you.

That is true love!

To accomplish something...

2008-10-03T14:16:00.003-06:00

Throughout life we are put through a series of disappointments and failures, but there is no reason to be upset about it. Everyone goes through the downs in life, and sometimes the ups. I recently completed the medical transcriptioning course that I have been taking. This coarse is designed to be done at your own pace but within a year. It is a good thing that you can purchase time extensions when needed, because I needed 4 of them. The reason I needed 4 of them is because I was working outside of our home when I started the coarse, and I was pregnant. So, my ambition towards this extra work was not really all that high. I thought that I would have more energy to work on it after Fuss was born. I was wrong. I had less energy and less ambition. It wasn't until I became unemployed that I realized where my ambition had been hiding. I realized that this coarse was the ticket to me being able to stay home with my Fuss all the time. I started working on it, and I finished in 5 1/2 months! Oh, why I could have done with that before Fuss was born...I wouldn't have missed out on the first 10 months of his life! I realized just how much I was missing when his nanny had to tell me what his favorite kind of juice was. I should have known that!

Anyway, I have now passsed and I am graduating from the program with honors. You are allowed to take the final up to 3 times, but I only had to take it once! I called my mom and told her how excited I was to have finally accomplished something. She asked me what in the world I was talking about. So, I explained: I finished high school and graduated with high honors, then I finished a 2 year college, got my Associates degree, went to 1 more year of college and dropped out. I went to cosmetology school, finished, graduated, and never got my license. I have a habit of not finishing what I started. Until now!

It is amazing how one little accomplishment can change your whole perspective on things. I have put my family first. I will be working from home while my son is sleeping, not missing a moment of his awake life. I did it, and I feel great about it. Suddenly, I feel like I can accomplish anything! I may even be able to lose a couple of pounds now! We'll see!

No cavities...

2008-10-02T11:29:00.003-06:00

So, yesterday I had my biannual visit to the dentist. Although I have a wonderful dentist, the best I have ever had in my life actually, I still get anxiety before I go for this visit. The morning of a dental visit I always use my Sonicare toothbrush to make sure that my teeth are as clean and shiny as possible. You would also think that I would floss, but I don't. I really like my dentist's office because everyone is so nice. You walk in and they greet you by name and with a smile. How they remember everyone's name, I don't know, but for the most part they do. There is no receptionist desk. There is no counter with a bell. There is just friendly people all dressed alike, smiling and telling me how nice it is to see me. If I was greeted like this at more places, I might leave the house a little more often.

Anyway, it is inevitable that every time I sit in the dentist's chair, someone is going to ask me how the flossing is going. I would like to tell them it is going just wonderfully, but I can't lie. It is like when the eye doctor asks me if I ever sleep in my contacts. I told her that I could say I didn't, but that she and I would both know I was lying. That story holds true for flossing as well. So, yesterday when the wonderfully nice hygenist, who can carry on a conversation with anyone who can't talk because they have dental tools and the hygenist's hands in their mouth better than you would imagine, asked me "how the flossing is going," I answered honestly, "Well, you should know since you were the last one to floss my teeth, which was about 6 months ago." I can't lie to her, which I kind of wish I could. So, I again promised to try to focus on flossing more. She even gave me 6 spools of floss to encourage me, but I can't promise that I will get it done. I just don't enjoy forcing a string in between my teeth and moving it back and forth to remove the gunk that I didn't know about, and really didn't want to know about. I prefer to think that brushing alone does a good enough job. I haven't had a cavity for years, and I hope I am not jinxing myself by saying that. (I am knocking on wood as I type this).

I realize that dental health is important, and a great smile is important too, but I promise no one is looking in between my teeth when I smile. Most of the time they are probably thinking, "Wow, you have a huge mouth!" Because I do. My family is known for their large heads. Fuss' pediatrician comments on Fuss' noggin every visit...because he is in a higher percentile for head size by about 20 points over height and weight. My nephew's head was so large that we used to laugh that the reason he fell over so much when trying to walk was because he was so top heavy. My dad can't wear normal hats, and I fall into the large noggin catagory too. My mouth is so wide that my large-headed nephew once tried to see if his head could fit inside of it. It didn't, but let's just say my smile is in proportion to my head size. I am probably the only one that dental people have to tell, "don't open quite so wide." I can fit my fist in my mouth, which means that the dental hygenist can easily fit both her hands in my mouth for easy accessibility for cleaning.

As I type this, I realize that I real have no excuse for not flossing daily, but most likely the hygenist will be the next person to floss my teeth...maybe.

Sing it, baby...

2008-09-30T10:22:00.002-06:00

My sister once said that she wished that life was a musical. She thought it would be so fun if the whole world could spontaneously break out in a song and dance that everybody knew. I agree, the world would be a much happier place if the world would sing together more. I am not a singer so much. D and I had been married only a week when the truth of his feelings toward my singing came out. We were sitting in church, singing a hymn, and D turned to me and said, "You don't sing very good do you?" No, evidently I don't. I have actually been told that I don't sing well throughout my entire life, even when I was forced to publicly sing while working at a karaoke restaurant. The words "tone deaf" have been used more than once.

Even so, I sing at home all the time. I sing whenever I have the radio on. I dance too, but that inability is a whole different story. I sing to the kids while making them meals or treats. Sometimes, I sing just to annoy them. I can't help it. I think it is funny! Usually the songs I sing are songs that are either completely made up by me, or they are real songs that I have changed the words to. I like to include the kids names in them when possible. That is why I make them up. Sometimes the songs that I make up are completely based on the feelings that I am having at the time or the activity that we are performing. For example, I sing the following made up songs to Fuss almost daily.

Bathtime Song:

We wash your face, and wash your belly.

Wash your arms and legs.

We wash your toes and wash your fingers.

And wash your little dinger.

We wash your back and wash your bum.

We'll wash your hair, and then we're done.

Bedtime song when a fight is given:

Rock-a-bye, close your eyes.

Go to sleep 'til morning.

Rock-a-bye, don't you cry,

Because this is your last warning.

While my children think I am weird, I think I am fun! Really it is my opinion that matters...at least that is what I have decided.

Getting to know me...

2008-09-27T08:09:00.001-06:00

In the last week alone, I have had probably 5 or 6 emails asking me questions to "get to know me." While I find them fun to read from my friends, I don't really know how many people really want to get to know me, especially since they are usually sent by people who already do. However, I feel like there is this pressure that you feel if you don't forward emails to other people, or respond to the one that sent it to you, like they aren't important or something. I really don't like the ones that say, "if you don't forward this..." these are the consequences. Really, because when I broke my foot we didn't even have the internet, so I don't think my bad luck comes from the lack of forwarding emails. I don't really think that not forwarding emails is effecting my life that deeply overall. I also dislike the "getting to know you emails that ask, "Who do you think will reply to this email?" There are enough unavoidable pressures in life that this question is really just unfair. Sometimes when I am reading someone else's answers, I chant the phrase, "please don't be me, please don't be me!" over and over and over again, and then I scroll down to see the answer. Usually, it is me. I think it is because I have no other life but to send and respond to emails, so I do it. When I send these emails, I put the least likely person to responds name, followed by something like, "She never replies." Ok, I have only really done that once, but it totally worked and I got a response from that person (Lois).

Well, I got another one today, and I decided that I am just going to give the whole world (or at least the few of you that read this) my answers, and don't worry I cut down this 55 question email--no one needs to know that much about me!

1. What time did you get up this morning? 4:34 when I had to use the bathroom, 6:03 to 6:32 when Fuss thought it was time to get up until I convinced him to go back to sleep, and 6:54 when Fuss woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep.

2. Diamonds or pearls? Both...why can't I have both? Don't I deserve nice things for all occasions? While diamonds are always gorgeous, pearls have their place. I would like both of them to be real also.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? "Iron Man" I have 4 boys, and when my husband took me on a date, we saw "Iron Man." (I did like it though)

4. What food do you dislike? Foods that have no calories, like onions and asparagus.

5. What kind of car do you drive? I have a 2001 Chevy Malibu, sauteed mushroom color, that has a dented hood from when I ran into the back of another car, a big scrape down the side from when I ran into the side of my garage while pregnant and backing out, no hubcaps since my husband said I either had to buy new ones or take off the 2 1/2 that were on it, and that has 185,000 miles on the odometer! I also drive a white Eddie Bauer Edition Ford Expedition XL, but only once a year since we can't afford the gas to take it further than the grocery store...ok, really we drive it when the older boys are here, but it has less than 8,000 miles on it and it is 1 1/2 years old. Obviously, I drive the mushroom mobile more.

6. What characteristic do you despise? Dishonesty. I would rather someone be honest to a fault rather than dishonest...don't lie to me!

7. Favorite item of clothing? Anything that is large enough to not accentuate the midsection rolls.

8. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? Disneyland or Washington DC. I wouldn't be expected to wear a swimsuit, and both require a lot of walking...exercise and fun!

9. Favorite brand of clothing? Anything with a plus size that doesn't make me look like I am wearing my grandmother's kitchen curtains. I would also like brands that have sizes that run big (as if that ever happened).

10. What was your most recent memorable birthday? When I was 10, I didn't get a cake...my dad was working out of town and my mom said that we would have one when he got back, but we didn't. When I was 21, my mom made me 2 birthday cakes to make up for it, but you can't make up 11 years with a cake...more ice cream would have been better!

11. Are you a morning or night person? Neither! I am a middle-of-the-day person. My good hours are 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.

12. What is your shoe size? 9 1/2 wide and without any arch support for my flat feet.

13. Pets? Unfortunately...

14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? Yesterday, we had no junk mail and no bills in the mail! Only the insurance cards for the truck! That is new and exciting for us!

15. What did you want to be when you were little? Erma Bombeck (the writer)

16. How are you today? Showered with makeup...totally presentable for public!

17. What is your favorite flower? Fake ones...I kill them if they are real, and I don't even mean too. If you don't believe me, you should see my front yard.

18. What was the last thing you ate? None of your business...dang it, I wish I would have read this question before I just scarfed a mini Take 5 bar.

19. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Yellow-green, because what do you use yell0w-green to color, dying grass?

20. Favorite soft drink? Pepsi, sweet Pepsi...don't be mad at me because I gave you up. I have not replaced you with any other soft drink, only water.

21. Favorite Restaurant? Italian and Mexican ones because I love cheesy foods...again, why can't I lose weight?

22. Real hair color? When I was in cosmetology school, one of our instructors held up a hair color swatch and declared, "This is the ugliest color. No one will ever want this color. The only purpose for this color is to create other colors." That color was an exact match of my real color...6A (very ashy brown).

23. Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate poured over vanilla ice cream!

24. What is under your bed? I don't want to know!

25. Salty or sweet? Salty followed by sweet....

26. How many years at your current job? Motherhood...almost 1.5. Wife....just over 3. Collecting unemployment...about 5 months.

27. How many towns have you lived in? A better question for me is, How many times did you move OUT of your parent's house? 9

28. How many people will you send this to? I hope a lot!

Girl hair...

2008-09-26T10:48:00.006-06:00

I have girl hair. I know I do because a few years ago my niece told me that I did. We were sitting at the computer, me and Lou, playing a game that had colored blocks. When a purple block appeared on the screen, Lou, who was 3 years old at the time, declared that purple was her favorite color. Then an orange block appeared, and Lou told me that that was Oni's (her younger brother) favorite color. So when a green block appeared, I told her that green was my favorite color. Lou got a puzzled look on her face, then furrowed her brow and studied me for a little bit before she matter-of-factly stated, "That can't be your favorite color, because green is a boy color and you have girl hair." That was a big relief, but I still like green.

It has recently come to my attention that Lou is not the only child who uses hair to help her determine gender. During the great weight debacle of 2008, my sister and I have joined forces to help encourage and berate each other when necessary. During one of our conversations about how well she is doing and how well I am not, she mentioned that she had lost 8 pounds in 1 week since starting a new dance class. I was very excited for her, but I was not the only one. Her 5-year-old son also noticed her weightloss, and told her that she is "looking better, and when you lose all the fat on your tummy, you will look like my daddy. Except that you will still have long hair." Oh, what we all wouldn't give to look like our husbands with long hair. If I am going to look like D, I will have get some testosterone shots to improve my mustache and goatee...

Here is the thing, with my football player shoulders, and my thunderous thighs, I already look like a boy. I have a picture that D took of me riding behind Fuss on a carousel at the zoo. After seeing it, I was beyond extatic that I decided to get off of the zebra and stand to the side for the rest of the picture taking opportunities. I look like a middle-linebacker with girl hair. It almost made me want to grow my hair even longer, to feminise my box-shaped body. Then I saw our family picture from when I did have longer hair, and the flatness on the top of my head only accentuated the roundness of my second chin. Therefore, it has been decided that it is a good thing that I have short girl hair, and no facial hair...otherwise children all over the city might think Fuss has 2 daddys...

Stop thinking...

2008-09-25T12:05:00.005-06:00

So at the age of 32.8 years old, I have gone back to "school" to start a new career. I am very excited about the possibilities that will come with this new career, and that I have finally decided what to be now that I have grown up. I am going to be a medical transcriptionist. Yeah! I actually find it quite fascinating, for the same reason I find the obituaries fascinating, I like to know about other people's lives. I also read People magazine for this same reason--I find other people fascinating and yes, I am a people watcher. Anyway, back to the point. After studying occassionally for 1 1/2 years on the one year course that I could do online at my own convenience, and after having to get four 3-month extentions to finish the course, and then studying diligently for the last 5 1/2 months, I have completed the course! I took the final over a week ago, and in a test of my patience, am still waiting for the results. It is not the school's fault, they told me it could take up to 2 weeks to get the results back, but I had so hoped for it to be sooner! I am so ready to start contributing to our families financial income again!

I have practiced, and practiced, and then drove myself nuts wondering if I was good enough. Finally, I emailed my student counselor, who is so supportive, informative, and encouraging, to ask if my productivity was high enough to get a job if I do pass my final. When she told me that the expectation for new MTs was 100-150 lines per hour, my confidence boosted...I am currently averaging 164 lines per hour in a 9 pt font! Yeah!! Now it is just for the waiting!

I should really be used to the waiting part. My whole life has been spent waiting. I told my mom that I think that the Lord is trying to teach me patience, because it is the one thing that I can't seem to grasp the concept of, which is strange because when it comes to other people I have loads of patience. I just don't have any for my own life! I grew up in the land of "marry young and have lots of kids before you are 30," and I didn't get married until I was 29. We wanted to wait until our house was built before we had any children of our own because we were living with D's parents for "3 months" until it would be completed. Well, that 3-months turned into 11. Now we are struggling to have another child...oh, the patience that I am learning!

The funny thing is that when you are hoping for something that you have absolutely no control over (i.e. test scores), people tend to give you really good and useless advice. I was just chatting with my sister, Gillette, and she gave me this very type of advice. She said, "Don't think about it." Okay, because it only affects my whole life and my family's whole lives...it isn't important, so I won't think about it. The only problem is how do I not think about it! When I asked Gillette this very question, her answer was very helpful, "I don't know." And truth be known, I would have given her the same advice she gave me.

People always tell you to just put things out of your mind, but I really need someone to teach me how. Are there special pliers that can reach in through your ear and pull out the item that you need to "put out" so that you can just set it aside and reinsert it when the time is right? If so, I need some of those, and until then I will continue to hope to know if the next chapter in my job life can begin...

I'm in charge...

2008-09-23T08:36:00.004-06:00

When I first started blogging, it started as almost a journal of the chaos that happens in our house daily. Well, now the older boys are in school, and they are only here with us every other weekend. I have finished my online medical transcriptioning course, and I am awaiting the score of my final. Five months after taking over being the full-time caregiver to Fuss, I have finally gotten him on a schedule, which helps me have a more planned out life. Life actually seems to be settling down a little...something big must be on its way! Nothing ever settles down around here for too long.

I am still waiting for a full night's sleep as well. Fuss has this habit of throwing his binki out of his crib as he falls asleep. The problem with this is that when he tosses and turns in the night, if he wakes up even the slightest bit, he starts to cry because he can't find his binki. And since I have those super-mom powers that wake me from even the deepest sleep or most involved dream at the slightest little whimper, when this happens I lie in my bed and silently hope that he will find the binki in his bed. Inevitably, I always get up, go to his room, get down on my hands and knees, and search for the binki. If I remember, I actually put an extra binki on D's dresser before I go to bed so that I don't have to search in the middle of the night. Last night this was the routine. This morning, I was up early writing for my part-time job when I heard a second round of whimpering coming from Fuss' room. Knowing that I had work to do, and that I can't do it with Fuss up and about, I went into his room, crawled around his bed until I found the binki. Thinking it was time to get up (it was 6:30 am, which is what time he typically wakes up), he reached for me to hold him. I rubbed his back, and told him that it was still dark and that meant it was still "nite nite time." Happily, he lied down and went back to sleep, at least for another 30 minutes! Oh, the trickery that as parents we sometimes have to use.

Here is the thing, my son already seems to understand manipulation. What Fuss wants, Fuss gets--he makes sure of it! If he wants to get into a room, he throws a fit until he figures out how. If he wants something to eat, he will stand at the pantry or fridge until I pick the right thing. If I pour him milk instead of juice, he lets me know he isn't happy about it. And Fuss is very jealous of my computer. I can understand it some; I use the computer for my job, my studying, my blog, to check the news, read the obituaries (yes, I read the obituaries because I find other people's lives fascinating) and although most of this is done while he is sleeping, he doesn't like it when I am on the computer and he is awake! Just moments ago my toddler climbed on my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck. He hugged me so tight that of course I put computer on the floor next to me. As soon as I had done so, he let go of me and ran off to play...that is my life now...everything revolves around Fuss, and I am thinking that maybe I need a new boss.

Don't share with me...

2008-09-22T13:33:00.004-06:00

Our family has the habit of sharing food with each other. If D orders food that I didn't, but upon seeing I think looks good, he gives me a taste and I do the same for him. We also share with the boys, and they with us and each other. If someone can't finish their fries, someone else will. When Fuss eats only 1 of his chicken nuggets, the other 3 never go to waste. When I cook, everyone gets the same thing anyway so no sharing is necessary. However, during the day Fuss and I occasionally share breakfast or lunch, depending on what it is I decide we are having. Because of this family ritual, Fuss also likes to share his snacks. Recently every time he has a snack, he thinks that he has to feed a part of it to me. There is nothing quite like chocolate covered fingers, drenching in saliva reaching into your mouth to give you a Reese's Pieces.

Fuss has his favorite snacks, and all of them are messy. He loves Cheetos, Kit Kats, Reese's Pieces, crackers and chips of nearly every variety, various fruits, and cheese. His favorite thing to do with a bag of chips, crackers, or Cheetos is do dump the entire bag upside down on the floor and eat them from the ground. My carpet has never been vacuumed more since he started this ritual that I cannot seem to stop. It was when Fuss offered me a Cheeto with a hair on it that I realized 3 things: 1. I need to vacuum even more than I do. 2. Since it was long, I may be balding, and 3. I have got to somehow teach my 1 year old to stop sharing. It isn't like he just offers either; he shoves the food in my mouth without even asking and without warning. I will just be sitting there, and without any notice an item of food is shoved between my lips.

Today, I was carefully watching Fuss eat his Cheetos from the bag in an attempt to prevent the inevitable dumping, Fuss took a bite of a Cheeto, licked the cheesy side of it, and then put the Cheeto back into the bag. This visualization taught me something. Obviously, I can't share snacks with him at all, even if I do feed them to myself.

I'm not buying...

2008-09-18T12:19:00.011-06:00

I have started to wonder why I purchase expensive toys for Fuss or the other boys. We have so many toys lying around this house that no one even remembers what they have. This past weekend the boys went through the toy boxes in their bedrooms and in the family room to throw away the things that are either broken or that they are no longer interested in. Now I have 3 small garbage bags of McDonald's, Burger King, and Wendy's toys that no one wants...shocker. There is also the the lock box that Olie had to have, and numerous other odds and ends. However, there are still too many toys that haven't been touched in months in our house. I keep thinking I should have a garage sale, but I am not really sure that anyone would buy a half-deck of cards.

Fuss has more than enough toys for a one-year-old. He loves his Leap Frog music table that he got for Christmas. He also loves the Leap Frog fire truck that Nana gave him for his birthday. We are both learning so much. I know now all the lyrics to "I'm fire fighter Tad. Let's give a shout! If you see a fire, I'll put it out before you count to..." I am such a good counter now. I am also learning the alphabet in Spanish thanks to the musical table. The thing is, that Fuss loves the basketball hoop that he got as a hand-me-down from D's sister. Even more than that, he loves to play with toys that are regular household items, things I didn't have to spend more money on. He currently enjoys playing in the bathroom cupboards, which motivates me not to do the laundry and refill them with towels. He also loves to play with the step-stool from the kitchen that allows Olie, Skater, and Moo to reach the kitchen sink so I don't have to get all their drinks for them. Fuss thinks it is a hat, a bucket, or a chair that is meant for him to carry throughout the house for his own convenience. The other day he thought that the baby wash sitting on the edge of the tub looked fun, until he spilled it all over my bedroom carpet. At least he tried to clean it up, and he wouldn't let me help him once I had showed him how. Yesterday he discovered the joy of a spray bottle full of water. He drenched himself and my bed. I don't ever have to buy him a little table, because he has discovered that if he sits on one pedal of the elliptical machine, the other pedal is the perfect height for a table. He loves mirrors, pots and pans, measuring cups, and a variety of other household items, including the computers and cell phones. He would rather play with these things than his own actual toys, which is fine because the older boys think that Fuss' toys are more fun than what they have.

This doesn't make sense to me since Fuss loves his brothers' old toys, like the game boys. So, with Christmas lingering in the not-so-distant future, (yes, it is only 3 months away) I have to ask myself if it is worth purchasing more toys when the ones I have bought are hardly used, at least by the person it was intended for. I am thinking that maybe I should wrap up the toys we have in the house right now and rotate them throughout the boys. Maybe Moo would like the rocking horse, and I know Fuss would like his I-pod. I am also considering giving Fuss a new set of glasses and some matching serving dishes would be nice. Maybe Fuss would like a new sweater in my size also...

Pay attention...

2008-09-17T21:16:00.002-06:00

Attentiveness has always been an issue for me. When I was younger and in trouble, I would actually get myself into more trouble because I couldn't look at my mom when she was talking to me. If I did try to look at her, I couldn't hear a word she was saying. It was simply too much focus on one thing, but trying to explain that to a normal person is a difficult fete. My mom questioned whether or not I had ADD as a child, but since I got good grades no doctor would treat me for it. After I had struggled through two and half years of college, I did some extensive research on ADD for myself. Then I went to a doctor and asked him to help me focus. I was 21 years old, and it had taken me that long to realize that things that I thought were logical weren't to other people. If a brainstorm picture (where you draw a bubble with the main thought and branch off to sub-thoughts) were a normal brain, mine would look like a mess of bubbles overlapping each other. Thoughts that most people think are not related, are in my mind. Things that take most people 5 to 6 steps to complete, I can usually do in 2. I never did well in classes where you had to list your steps and you got a point for each one, because even though my final answers were correct, I lost points in the steps. I was explaining this description of an ADD mind to my friend and her son, who also has ADD, and his face lit up, like he couldn't believe that someone else thinks the same way he does. When you realize you aren't "normal," it is always comforting to find someone that does understand you.

Usually when I make comments about needing to take my Ritalin, people laugh because ADD is the butt of many jokes, and that is fine because I think it is a funny excuse too. I don't mind, and I am not embarrassed that I take it. While ADD has a few downfalls, it also has a lot of benefits. I can type this while watching the evening news, and I will remember both. I can talk and listen at the same time. In school, I could doodle, talk to my friends, pass and read notes, and still hear what the teacher was talking about. I could do my homework in front of the TV. I can drive better while I am talking on the phone, or talking with other people in the car. My mind can literally focus on more things than 1 at all times. I had a friend once question why I would read during church meetings, and he laughed when I told him that it was so I could listen better, but it was the truth. I have decided that my dentist is trying to test my patience though. I am what he refers to as an "aggressive brusher," and it shows in my gums. Because of this, he asked me to get an electronic Sonicare toothbrush. At first I thought this was a great idea. That is until I realized that you cannot do anything else while you are brushing your teeth with an electronic toothbrush. Using an electronic toothbrush is a timed event...TWO MINUTES! Two minutes of doing only 1 thing...it is enough to drive me crazy. I had to make a compromise that my dentist doesn't know about, I only use the Sonicare every other day, because it is too hard for me to give up two minutes every day to focus on one thing and one thing only. Oh the pressure that I cannot handle. Especially because I tried to pull the toothbrush out of my mouth once just to spit, and I had to wash my entire bathroom from the splattered spit and toothpaste that had been spun around by my Sonicare wonder brush.

You would think with all of this multi-tasking ability that I have, I would be able to accomplish numerous tasks each day. Luckily, I have my patience pills, which is what I call my Ritalin since it gives me the patience to try to figure out the way "normal" people think. My patience pills help to slow my mind down, that way I don't become too much of an overachiever. I don't need the pressure of people expecting too much from me...especially not from D.

Carefree and happy...

2008-09-15T19:46:00.003-06:00

So, as I am watching TV last night, I see a very familiar commercial that states, "Have a happy period." And I had to ask myself, was that written by a single man or a prepubescent girl who is eager to jump into that "happy" time of her life? I never in my life have had a "happy period." What is happy about a period? It must be the cramps, because as much as I love the bloating and swelling of every ounce of my being, I love the cramps more. I don't really love that I get moody, but my husband does and that truly makes it a "happy period" for everybody! The boys don't even know what a period is, but I think they recognize how "happy" I am each and every month around the same point in the month. It must be all the "happy" tears that I cry. Maybe it is all the chocolate that comes into the house each month...that really does make everyone happy, except me when I step on the scale at the end of this "happy" time, and see that all the bloated weight has been replaced with chocolate weight....it makes me so "happy." The announcement that we are, in fact, not pregnant again is such a "happy" time also....well, I guess that one could be if I were not wanting a baby and thought it could be a possibility that one was on the way, but that isn't the case for me. Oh, the happiness that comes in abundance each month! The happiest part of my "happy period" is the period at the end of the sentence when I get to say, "It is gone for another month." But that really should be an exclamation point!

That is a treat...

2008-09-14T07:27:00.002-06:00

My children and me define the word "snack" completely differently. To me a snack is something to put a hold on my stomach's grumblings in between meals. A snack could consist of several different items, maybe crackers, chips, some sort of fruit, or possibly even something in the vegetable family. To my boys, a snack is something that I would define as a "treat." To me a "treat" is something sweet. It is something that I can hold over the boys heads if they don't behave. I could never say, "If you don't pick up your toys, you cannot have any carrots tonight after dinner!" My house would be a pigsty. I can say things like, "If you don't stop hitting your brother, there will be no brownies for you tonight!" That they will listen and respond too. Maybe it isn't the best way to get them to behave, but it works.

Yesterday morning I was feeling especially domestic, and so I decided to get up early (or Fuss decided I would get up early) and make the boys breakfast...something other than cereal for a change. I made scrambled eggs with cheese, sausage links, and toast. Moo refused to wake up until 2 1/2 hours after breakfast was over for the rest of us. So, his breakfast was cold, and I didn't warm it up for him. I think about it now and it seems cruel, but he should have taken advantage of my window of domesticity....his loss. Skater ate his meal and left all his dishes on the counter. Olie had about 2 bites of egg and 1/2 sip of milk, and he left all his dishes on the counter as well. Heaven forbid they move them to the sink, or rinse them off. They could at least hide the evidence that they didn't eat anything healthy. To make matters worse for themselves, they left wrappers from the mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cups on the counter, next to their full plates of food. Evidently, they prefer to make their own breakfast. Later on, Moo asked me if he could have a snack, meaning he wanted candy. I asked him if he really thought that he deserved it since he didn't dispose of his uneaten cold food, or take care of his dishes either. I told him that they all should know that if they don't eat something healthy, then they don't get treats later. I don't think that this is an unfair rule. And we agreed that he didn't get any more treats than he had already taken without permission.

Now, fast forward several hours. I prepare dinner, the boys sit down to eat. Moo refused to eat his Macaroni and Cheese (I know...how domestic am I), but he did eat 2 helpings of salad and all of the tomatoes from Skater's salad as well. Skater refused to eat his Mac'n Cheese as well, but he also ate a hearty plate of salad. Olie refused the salad, but ate his Mac'n Cheese. And they all cleaned off their plates and put them in the sink. I was so pleased that each of them had at least eaten something with nutritional value, and had paid attention to my early rants about not being their maid. So, when Olie asked me if he could mix up the box of brownies in the pantry, I told him to go ahead. As the smell of fresh baked brownies drifted through the house, Moo came running. As soon as he got to the kitchen, he asked me if he could have a brownie. I told him that he could. The end of the word "yes" was still coming from my mouth when Moo said, "You said I couldn't have any treats." Is it just me, or is there something wrong with a 7 year old arguing about whether or not he can have a brownie when he is the one arguing against him getting it? I tried to explain to him that since he had eaten his dinner and cleaned up his plate, he had earned the treat. When he wouldn't stop arguing with me about what I had said earlier, I finally told him, "If you want me to tell you that you can't have it I will, but you really won't get one then." He shut up...finally!

As the boys were dishing up their brownies, I asked them if they would like to have some ice cream with it. Olie told me he wasn't in the mood for ice cream, a concept I don't understand. Ice cream doesn't require a mood, just its presence is enough. That statement from him alone is proof that we are not genetically linked, and that I have so much to teach him. Skater wasn't in the room at that time, so the offer wasn't extended to him...mostly because I didn't think about it when he came in for his brownie. It was Moo's answer that made me regret asking though. He said, "Sure, I would like some ice cream, but only if you have my favorite kind." We had several containers in the freezer so I asked, "Ok, what is your favorite kind?" To which he replied, "I don't know." Unfortunately for him, I knew we didn't have that kind, so I didn't even look...

Call the concierge...

2008-09-13T09:28:00.002-06:00

Last night as I asked the boys to pick up the toys that they had so kindly left out, I received a series of moans and groans. I rolled my eyes and told them that this was not a vacation. To which Skater informed me, "But this is our vacation house! This is the only place we can come to get a break." Well, if this is their vacation house, I guess I must be their concierge, chef, maid, and chauffeur. What I would really like to know is, where is my vacation house? I want a house where I can go, sit, relax, watch TV, play video games, ride my bike, and have someone cook for me, clean up after me, and buy me stuff. That does sound like a good deal, but then who would do it for my family if I weren't here. As I turned off the TV and left the room that I had just helped the boys clean up, I kept repeating Skater's words in my mind, "This is the only place we can come to get a break..." And I wondered, "Where do I get to go to get a break?" If I suddenly showed up at my mom's house, I do not think that she would wait on me hand and foot, and then allow me to complain if I didn't like what she made me for dinner. She wouldn't let me roll my eyes at her, or stomp and pout all the way downstairs if she asked me to pick up the crap that I left out. She wouldn't buy me new toys and then let me leave them out for a baby to play with and break. She wouldn't let me spend all day in front of the TV watching episode after episode of Ben 10 and Naruto (not that I would want to). What have I done to create an atmosphere in my home where after 3 years of the same ridiculous arguments, the boys still think that this is their hotel? Where did I go wrong?

When we first moved into our house, D and I decided that we would have consistent rules for all of our children whether the boys were here or not. We did not want to have one set of rules for Fuss and any possible future siblings and another set for the older boys. We also didn't want Fuss to think that he could get away with whatever he wanted just because his brothers were here. I am not one who makes the boys slave away washing walls whenever they are here. I only did that once, and it was because Olie volunteered to wash the walls because he thought it was fun to use the "Magic Eraser" on them. I don't make them do dishes, laundry, vacuum, or dust. I have only asked them to clean their own bathroom not mine and D's, and that is only because I had it cleaned before they arrived, and they were the ones that let the tornado in to destroy it. I ask them to keep their own rooms clean, and I don't even uphold my standard of what clean is in their rooms because they are downstairs and no one ever sees them. I ask them to pick up the family room, because it is their messes that need to be cleaned. And really I don't ever ask them to clean, I ask them to straighten. Yet, they need a break?

At this point, I can see their point. Just thinking about trying to get them to help out is making me exhausted. I think I am going to take a hot shower or a bath. If only there was someone that could get that started for me, and bring me some fresh towels. I would really like it if there was a mint on my pillow when I went to bed tonight also...too bad I don't have a vacation home.

Will you be my friend...

2008-09-12T13:11:00.003-06:00

I am addicted to the online social network of Facebook. I kid you not...I am addicted, and at the same time intimidated by it. I feel like I am in the midst of a popularity contest, and sometimes I get a little anxious about it. I worry how people will perceive my life, and if they will be comparing that perception to their own lives. I have to admit that I feel like I am in high school all over again. I joined facebook over a year ago when a friend of mine told me I should check out his Facebook page. I had no idea what he was even talking about, but I logged on anyway. He didn't tell me I would have to create a profile in order to see his, but I did. I was a member of Facebook for 8 months and had only 3 friends. I didn't know that I was supposed to look for friends, family, aquaintances, people I wanted to compare my life too, etc, etc...so, I just let it be. I never logged on, and I never really cared. Then one day, I received an email from Facebook letting me know that one of D's cousins wanted to be my friend! Oh, the joy of acceptance! I love D's family, so of course I accepted. This is what began my addiction.

There was the first cousin, then there were all the other cousins the first one was friends with too. Then there was their spouses. Then I thought that perhaps I should see if my cousins were members of the addicting society...some were. I requested to be friends, and they accepted. I found some old friends from high school, college, and various other aspects of my life. I had friends that I hadn't thought about it years. It was all very nostalgic for me. I was feeling very popular as I had gone from 3 to 39 friends in just a few short weeks. Since I had never been popular in my whole life, I was thinking that maybe I hadn't given myself credit. Then my siblings started to join... My sister, Gillette, joined first. She was followed by KM, then Fluff. They all 3 started connecting with friends immediately, and their friend counts were quickly catching mine even though I also continued to add. It was when my older brother, RJ, and his wife, Jonsie, joined that I realized I will never be as popular as I had hoped. They had both been very popular in our high school. They were the kind of people that you would want your kids to be friends with and look up to. They treated (and still do) everyone with respect and kindness. So, it should be no surprise that after 3 days of joining Facebook they each had nearly 50 friends. Granted, I did all the leg work for finding our cousins, which of course they are friends with. Since everyone else in my family was on, I called Agee and made her join immediately. She in turn called my mom and made her join. Yes, my mom is my Facebook friend, and I couldn't be prouder than to call her my friend. One of my cousins gave me credit for recruiting the fam, but I didn't recruit anyone except Agee and D.

D is not addicted to Facebook. He couldn't care less if he was on Facebook. This whole thing has caused me to realize that at 32 years old, I still feel the need for constant reassurance. D is my security blanket. He is the one man that chose to love me, not because he had to, just because he did...and does. I made him join Facebook so that I could have his name listed under mine as my spouse. I know it seems ridiculous, but I think that I am not the only one out there that feels this way. I just maybe one of the few who are willing to admit it. Still, I have a lot of friends...and I am very grateful for each one of them. Even if my brother has more.

Flip Flops Forever...

2008-09-11T21:13:00.004-06:00

I do not love feet. I do not in any way, shape, or form think that they are attractive. There is nothing sexy about them. There is no reason to show them off. Yet, I do not like to wear shoes. I think that pedicures were invented to try to convince people like me that feet can be attractive. While I am a BIG fan of the pedicure, feet will never be attractive. I am okay with baby feet, but that is because babies rarely have shoes on, and they don't really sweat. So, baby feet are still touchable, but they are the only ones. I knew that I loved D the day I let him give me a foot rub, and then I gave him one in return. I remember thinking, ""Oh, crap...he gives a good foot rub, that means that I will have to touch his feet if I want another one. And if I am willing to touch his feet, that means we are in it for the long haul." That is the real reason we got married.

While I love to shop for shoes, wearing them is a different story. Closed shoes are so restricting, and that is just the beginning of their problems. They make your feet sweaty, sticky, and not so pleasant smelling, which wouldn't be bad if the smell remained only on the feet and people could only smell it if they were on the floor next to your feet. That, however, would be creepy. So, feet smells just drift up to offend anyone who may be in the vicinity like an announcement "ANNIE JUST TOOK HER SHOES OFF AFTER 9 HOURS OF WEAR! STAY AWAY!!!" To try to minimize the smell, sweat, and stickiness, socks are worn. Socks, however, only add to the sweat and stickiness. They also add the element of toe fuzz. There is nothing more disgusting than trying to generously give your husband a foot rub (while trying to pretend it doesn't bother you) and having sock fuzz between his toes. D knows that I don't love feet. Because of this he kindly washes his feet when they are really bad, like after a full day of shoe wearing rather than just a couple of hours.

As a woman there are several varieties of foot wear available; however, the majority either cause the above listed problems or pain. I do not know how women wear high-heeled shoes all day long. While working outside of our home, I tried to wear heels to work once...after that I gave up and swore it would never happen again. I promised my feet that if they would continue to walk, I would not make them face more than 3 consecutive hours in high-heels ever again. And I haven't! If it were up to me I would wear flip flops all day, every day, all the time...either that or I would go barefoot. And no, I don't know why it isn't up to me, but people think your weird if you wear flip flops in the snow. Therefore, I guess it isn't up to me because I am afraid of society's opinions...oh, society...

My feet, above all others, are disgusting. My heels are cracking under the pressure of the extra weight and stress that I can't seem to ever rid myself of. My toes and the balls of my feet are callused due to me walking with my heels off of the ground to protect myself from the pain of the canyons in the heels. I do not currently have a pedicure, so the nail beds of my toes are not even trying to pretend they are attractive. And structurally...let's just say there hasn't been hope for my feet since the beginning of time. I have an extra bone in my foot, which wasn't discovered until I broke one of them at 18. I have another bone that is longer than it needs to be. The tendons are too long and ball up below my ankle, making it look as if I have 2 ankles in each foot. The combination of these items means that I have flat, wide feet....so not attractve. Someone once told me that he could tell what any girl was going to be like just from looking at her feet. I replied, "I could see that...flat and wide...that pretty much sums me up!"

In an effort to rid myself of the hideousness that has become the bottom of my feet, I bought a "Ped-Egg." I saw one on TV, and I wanted it. I saw one at Walgreens, and I bought it. D asked me if I realized that it is basically just a little "cheese grater" for my feet. I don't care if it is a blender for my feet, if it gets rid of the dry, cracked calluses that used to be skin, which it does! It is amazing! I never thought that I would be able to touch my heels again without having to get a band-aid for my bleeding finger, but I can. I can even play footsie with my husband again. I haven't, but I could. Feet will never be attractive, but at least now I have the tool to let me wear my flip flops with confidence. Just because I don't like them doesn't mean I am going to cover them up...at least during the warm months.

I've lost it...

2008-09-10T09:00:00.004-06:00

I just spent the last 20 minutes looking for my cell phone. Usually, if I can't find my cell phone, I have D call it from his and I just follow the ring. D is at work, and we don't have a home phone, so there was no way for me to have someone call it for me to listen for. Unless, of course, I went next door and had Angel call it after I went back home, but then I would have to haul Fuss over there, and then haul him back crying because he would want to stay and play at Angel's, and my phone really isn't worth all that hassle. D loses everything. Just yesterday he had to come home on his lunch hour to find a tool that he needed for work. He was sure he had left it on his dresser, and that I must have put it somewhere. I assured him that I had no idea what he was talking about, and explained that if he had put it away he would know where it was now. His excuse, "I didn't have time to put it away." Really, because "away" is so far away? I don't understand that train of thought. The funny twist is, that when his tool was finally found it was in the case it came in. Turns out he actually didn't have time to leave it out.

We had been married only 11 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days when D lost his wedding ring. He has lost his keys more times than I can count, and the last time we never found them. I lost my wallet the other day, but found it a short time later. I had tucked it into a cubby on the desk in the office. So while looking for my phone, I looked in all the places I had been this morning since I last used it to call KM. I went to the kitchen...not there. It wasn't in the sink, the pantry, the fridge, on top of the stove, the counters, in the cup cupboard, the bowl cupboard, or the silverware drawer. It wasn't on the table, the desk, or on the floor. It wasn't it in the living room, not on the coffee table, not in the couch cushions. It wasn't in the laundry room, not in the washer, the dryer, or the cabinets. It wasn't in the office, not on D's desk, my desk, or the filing cabinet. It wasn't in Fuss' room, not on his dresser or in his toy box, which is where I feared it may be. It wasn't on the bathroom counter. I knew it wasn't in the toilet because I have had the bathroom doors shut or blocked all morning to keep Fuss out, and I wouldn't put my phone in the toilet. It wasn't under my bed, on D's dresser, on my dresser, on the night stand, on the end table by my chair, in my chair, in the elliptical machine, or in the laundry basket. Before I finally found the phone, I found my contact solution, which made me wonder when the last time I actually took my contacts out was. I found my electronic sudoku game. I found an old sippy cup with a little bit of milk still in it....yuck! I found toys in the elliptical machine, and a ball under my dresser. I found cookie crisp in the laundry basket, crackers under my chair, Doritos under my bed, and I have decided Fuss can no longer eat any snacks in my room.

I couldn't imagine where Fuss could have taken my phone to, and was about to give up when...I saw it on top of the TV, in my bedroom, the place where my search had started and had been given up. And since Fuss can't reach the top of the TV, I am pretty sure that I must have put it there since we are the only two people here. I am still looking for my mind...

To have or not to have a baby....

2008-09-09T08:41:00.003-06:00

When you have the desire to have another (or a first) baby, and mother nature isn't cooperating, it is one of the hardest and most emotional things to go through. Some people only have to look at their significant other, and bam...a baby is on the way. Then there are those of us who struggle and suffer the disappointment month after month, sometimes for years. After months of trying to have another baby with no success, I went to see my doctor, who did some tests and come to find out we are lucky to have the one we do. It makes sense that I had unknown issues, after 3 years of marriage with no methods of prevention, we have only 1 child.

Today I am supposed to go have another test to see if there is even a possibility that this month we could have success. And here I sit, trying to decide if I should make the call to the doctor's office to have the test ordered...then I have to go and take it. Once I get the results I will wait again...Will the test results be good or bad? Even if the results are good, will this be the month I cry happy tears, or will I again be feeling sorry for myself? I have a baby, and I know that there are others out there who are hoping for even 1, some of them my dear friends, but that doesn't change the fact that I feel like something is missing. It doesn't change the fact that, although it may be selfish, I want another. I want Fuss to have a full sibling, that lives with him all the time. I need him to have someone else to distract him and play with him and help me regain some sanity.

The clincher came this morning when I logged onto the local news stations' website only to see an article about some European country doing additional testing on fertility treatments, including clomid, which is the treatment we are using, and how they are being found to be ineffective. It is like someone is trying to shoot an arrow through my heart. And I must say that if you are ever feeling baby hungry or baby disappointments, do not watch women's television, WE, Oxygen, Lifetime, etc...there are way too many baby commercials. Oh, the tears that are to be cried...over a commercial, and I am not even pregnant!

All I know is that D is a trooper. I am an emotional person anyway, and then put me on additional hormones, and you might as well call the psychotherapist and lock me in the looney bin. Seriously, I have a hard time living with myself. I don't know how D does it. Another hard part is that I know deep down D would be okay if we never had any more children. He has 4, and he is satisfied. I love all 4 of our boys, but I only got to hold one as a baby. I only got to cuddle and snuggle and feel that instant bond with one. The others were older, and a relationship had to be built between us. Besides, I still have the hope of having a girl, and the fear that if we do have another one it will be another boy. And maybe "fear" is the wrong word, because I know that if we have another boy I will love him as I do the others. Still, I girl would be fun. The more I think about it, the more I know I need to call the doctor and order the test, even if I am disappointed in one way or another. At least we get to enjoy the trying....

It's a slippery slide...

2008-09-08T20:46:00.013-06:00

Oh, to be a kid again. There are many things from my childhood that I miss. Things change and the fun of old yesteryear is not the same as today. There is a country song that says something to the effect of, "we didn't wear helmets, and we still survived." This is true, I never wore a helmet when I rode a bike, but as my older brother once said that the ones that didn't "survive" so much aren't really here to tell their side of the story. So, our kids wear helmets, and elbow pads, and knee pads, and wrist guards, and.....I can't really think of anything else. Oh yeah, they ride in car seats and booster seats until they are 4'9" or 8 years old. I remember holding my little sister on my lap from California to Utah...oh yeah, it happened. I am not complaining about the new laws or requirements, or safety measures. In fact, I agree with them quite heavily.

It is the playgrounds that I miss the most. I miss the thrill of spinning so fast on a merry-go-round that you never knew if you were actually going to fly off, throw up, or survive long enough to want to spin again. I loved it when my dad would spin the ole merry-go-round, because he could spin it faster than anyone. When no adult was around, or willing to spin, we would run and run until we could no longer run, and then jump as best we could to get on to the spinning puke machine. Playgrounds when I was a kid were all about the danger, which as a child equaled fun. And I was by no means what one would consider a brave child. The swings, the teeter-totter, the moon walk, the tire walls, the monkey bars...most of these exciting equipment features are missing from today's playground.

My sister was more easily pleased; she loved the slippery slides. Wherever we went if someone saw a slide from the road, my dad would stop and KM would jump out of the car and run to the slide. There was one in particular that she loved. It was the tallest slide that I have ever seen in my life. I can't even imagine how tall it was, but it was probably a 10-minute hike up the ladder to the top. Ok, that might be an exaggeration, but when your 10 it sure feels that long. I remember being a bit afraid of it because I am so terrified of heights. Now, my own child follows in the love for playgrounds, and especially slides...maybe he was supposed to be KM's.

While at a park on Saturday, I was disappointed to see that the entire playground consisted of 3 slides conjoined by the same set of stairs, that was it. I was even further disappointed by the warning sign that stated that the playground was meant for children between the ages of 5 and 12 only. I knew that Fuss was going to be able to stay away for the entire duration of our family reunion, which was the reason that we were at this particular park. (I know...another family reunion!) So, I climbed the stairs to the top of the highest slide with him, and then very trustingly placed my little Fuss in the arms of my 6-year-old nephew. I didn't know what to expect because we had tried this before, but he didn't like it so much. This time Fuss loved the slide. It was only a matter of minutes before he decided it was something he wanted to do again and again and again and again and again....and you would think that I would get tired of taking pictures of all of these slide rides, but I didn't. I would have taken more had we had more time. The realization came to me that my son really is growing up faster than I want him to when he started to climb the stairs on his own, position himself on the slide on his own, go down the slide on his own, and then turn around and get himself off the slide...on his own. Good thing I had my camera to keep me busy. I kept thinking, "He is too little for this. He isn't 5! He is 15 months...that is a big difference! And according to the manufactures instructions, I have 4 more years before he should even be allowed to do this." Try explaining that to a 1-year-old...Every time he went to climb the stairs, I had a mini heart attack. Every time he was trying to balance himself into the tube slide, which became his favorite, I had a mini heart attack. The stairs had a railing on only 1 side. The slides were too high for a 1-year-old to encounter on his own. It didn't matter...he was on his own as far as he was concerned, and he was not about to accept help once he had it figured out. I found myself wishing that harnesses for the measly playground equipment of today were required. And I wonder, how did we survive? Even more importantly, how did our parents survive?

As we watched the kids go down the slide time after time, my sister, Gillette, thought that it looked like they were having fun, so she decided to join them. There is nothing like watching a woman who is 6 feet tall slide through a 7 foot tube slide on her stomach. When we could see her feet at the beginning and her head at the end, it reminded me of some sort of circus trick. Especially when she emerged with her 3-year-old daughter on her back. Oh, to pretend to be a kid again... So, my point...we do all we can to protect our children, but it will never be enough. Eventually they will have to go on their own, and climb to the top of the big slide, take the ride, and hope that we are at the bottom to catch them.

Say it like it is...

2008-09-06T08:36:00.002-06:00

Children say whatever is on their minds. Good or bad, it doesn't matter. As a parent, I find it both entertaining, and embarrassing at times. One evening while we were sitting on the front porch of our friends', Angel and Mike, house visiting with them, their son was in their backyard with his own friends building a fire in their fire pit. At one point Mike went to the edge of the porch where he could oversee the teenagers building fire, which can be scary. As he was yelling some instructions, or discipline, to them, Fuss ran up beside him and pushed his face into the railing and yelled right along side of Mike. When Mike was done, Fuss was done too. I wish I knew what was on Fuss' mind at that point. With the older boys I get to know...

Every night before bed the boys take a shower. One night as Moo was exiting the bathroom I noticed that his hair was still dry. Wondering how this could be since he was instructed to wash his hair, I asked him if he had in fact washed his hair. He rolled his eyes at me in response before saying, "yes." "Really," I started in (remember he is a bad liar), "did you use shampoo?" He rolled his eyes again before muttering my name in annoyance. So, I continued, "Did you even use soap on your body, or did you just get in the tub and play?" He looked up at me and said, "You ask too many questions!" Yep, I've heard that before.

When D gets excited about a subject he is discussing, he has a tendency to raise his voice a bit, which can sometimes sound like he is yelling. When he is angry he does yell (who doesn't). One day, while we were sitting in the kitchen, we started discussing something (I don't remember what) that D seemed extremely passionate about, and that I didn't catch on to (it could have been a number of things). In his frustration of trying to explain things to me, his voice got a bit louder than normal. Finally I looked at him and said, "You don't have to yell it. I am right here." To which Skater quickly interjected, "Oh, he isn't yelling at you, but he yells so much it just sounds like it because that is what his voice is used to." Oh, how happy I was with this proclamation of truth, and D...not so much!

A week or so ago we were at a barbecue at D's cousin's home. As the boys were playing, Olie became very frustrated with his brothers and decided that they were not being very nice, and were picking on him. He announced to D and I that he didn't want to play with them anymore and that he was considering skipping the sleepover they were planning to have that night at Nana's (D's mom). We told him, of course, that it was his decision, and we would deal with his brothers according to their actions. Later on, as we were preparing to leave, Moo begged us to let him ride home with Nana and Papa. Since we live less than a mile from them, and the boys were spending the night at their house, we agreed. Olie and Skater were already in our car by the time this request was made and granted. So, as D and I got in the car and started to pull away, a concerned Olie asked us where Moo was. I told him, "Moo got too whiney so, we decided to get rid of him." To which Olie replied, "YES! One down, one to go!" At least he didn't hold back...

Losing the race...

2008-09-05T09:16:00.005-06:00

Today was a very good day on my roller coaster of weight loss and gain. I lost 2.8 pounds today! I was very excited, but not as excited as I would have been if I had lost 5 or more pounds. I know, slow and steady wins the race, but does the race have to take such a long time? Seriously! My race has been going on for several months now. I have been distracted by a couple of vacations, a few bad days (weeks), and a lot of ice cream, but still...this race is getting ridiculous. My sisters run, and because of it they lose weight when they need to. I used to jog/speed walk and I have to say, I looked good when I did. Now, I have let time and calories get away from me, and to run would be an embarrassment to the human race. Yes, even animals would be laughing at me. I have tried to use the elliptical machine that so tauntingly resides in my bedroom, but when the little leg poles come out of the machine Fuss thinks it is a game where he has to try to catch them. I work when he is sleeping, so that option is out. And while his playpen is set up in my room also, it is to block him from getting into the master bathroom and he cries when I put him in it. His crying while I exercise is not a good combination, because then I can't hear the TV and time drags on and I realize how long 60 minutes really is. If I am watching TV while elliptically then time goes by much faster, especially if I turn the alarm clock around so I can watch the minutes slowly change.

I may actually lose more weight today, because during my race to lose I weigh myself several times throughout my weigh in day in an attempt to find my lowest weight, and then that is the one I go with. It is amazing to me how I can fluctuate within a 5 pound range throughout the day. I weigh myself first thing in the morning because I have been told that this when I should weigh the least. So, right after I potty, I weigh. However, so far I have found I weigh the least at 11:07 a.m. after I have eaten breakfast and used the restroom at least 3 times by this point (I drink a lot of water), and I am getting ready to shower (yes, it is this late in the day before I shower...sometimes later), I strip down and weigh myself, and I have found I can lose up to 2 pounds in this 5 hours alone, which makes me wonder what has happened throughout the past 7 days that I had to wait until the last 5 hours of it to get any results.

I actually blame the bathtub for the main reason that I can never be happy with my body. When relaxing in the bathtub, I like to lay back and rest my head on the wall behind me. This is not a flatter point of view to observe my large body. Being in the water makes a person look wider and whiter no matter who you are. When you are already wide and white, you don't need the extra emphasis. Not to mention that it takes a LOT of bubbles to try to hide what I don't want to see. I used to take baths to feel better when I was feeling blue, but then when I realized no matter how blue I was, I was whiter than I thought (and wider) and I felt even bluer. Therefore, I avoid baths. I do still enjoy a swimming pool, because then I can crouch if I have to to get the water up to my neck, and my body is below me and is out of my view. I enjoy a good murky lake even more for the same reasons.

The best time of all...

2008-09-03T07:43:00.006-06:00

My very favorite time of the day is my children's least favorite time of the day...bedtime. I love bedtime! I love the quite of the night. I love the warmth of my bed. I love snuggling up to my husband with his arms around me, at least until I am ready to fall asleep, then it is back to his own side of the bed. I love the break from fighting, whiney, and changing dirty diapers without having to feel guilt of knowing about any of those things happening, and choosing to ignore them. Every night for 6 hours or longer (and I hope each night it will be longer), I get to have time to myself without having to worry about anything but sweet, sweet sleep. However, no matter how much I love bedtime, I am the only one in my house that does.

When bedtime is announced in our house it is followed by the protests, such as:

"My show is almost over."

"I don't have school tomorrow."

"I need to go to the bathroom."
"Uh, my friends are still outside."
"I wanted to sleep at Nana's."
"I need a drink."
"I don't want to."
"No, no, no, no, no." (from Fuss)

I don't know why my boys dislike going to bed so much, because once they are there and have fallen asleep, they always want more time when I tell them to get up. It really doesn't matter if it is going to bed or getting out of it, I think the boys just like to disagree with what I would like them to do. Regardless, they really dislike going to bed...all of them! I know that D doesn't like going to bed because he doesn't like our mattress. He tosses and turns night after night. He blames me because I bought the mattress without him, and he thinks it is too soft. It isn't my fault I chose a mattress that I loved without considering him, because I didn't know D when I bought it. I love my mattress. I love the way it feels underneath me. It is soft and cuddly like a giant pillow...perfect for me. D would like to have a firm, rock hard mattress. One that, no doubtly, would keep me awake, and I feel that it is very important for me to get good sleep. Knowing that my husband is not getting good sleep is not reason enough for me to lose any myself.

Once we finally get all the kids to bed, and then get there ourselves, D loves to cuddle with me (I know "awww", but it is not so "awww" once I tell you why he likes to cuddle with me). Every night as I am preparing for bed I have to place my pillow right in the center of the bed, and that is where my night begins. It is not because I am selfish, and it is not because I am so large that I take up that much room on the bed. It is because my husband does toss and turn throughout the night, and with each toss he moves further and further towards my side of the bed, which by the time morning comes is usually occupied by Fuss also. This can get very crowded. The reason that I start in the middle is because both D and Fuss like to lie near me, and no matter where in the bed I start I will be moved closer and closer to the edge. If I were to start in the middle of my side, I would end up on the floor in the middle of the night. D knows that I cannot sleep when I am feeling claustrophobic, and yet he moves in on my space every night. He starts by cuddling me really close to him, sometimes with his extremities over me to keep me from moving away. He laughs when I tell him, "You know I can't sleep when you are claustrophobitizing me!" And he continues to do it anyway. At least until it is time for his first toss, and he turns away from me. Then begins the night of us both moving to the right, which is my side of the bed.

When it is time for Fuss to go to bed, which is before we do even though the scenarios are out of order (I do not let my 1 year old wander the house while I sleep...even when I want to--like when I need a nap), anyway...when it is time for Fuss to go to bed, we have a ritual to let him know that he will be going to bed shortly. First we go to his room and choose a story. Fuss loves books, so this is his by far his favorite part. After I read him the story, he flips through the pages and tells one to me (I wish I knew what he was saying). After we have read the book twice (once each), we put it down and then we say our evening prayers. This is my favorite part. I love seeing my 15 month old son fold his arms and mumble a "prayer" while listening to me pray also. He does close his prayers with "Men." By the time the prayer is finished, he jumps down from my chair and runs to the hallway. When I tell him to go to his room, he turns to tell me "No, no, no, no" while frantically shaking his head. He starts walking slower, and usually stops in front of his open bedroom door. Then with pleading eyes he looks up at me and whimpers, and then again repeats, "No, no, no, no." When I lift him into his crib, he puts his binki in his mouth, grabs his blanket, and rolls so his back is towards me. I tell him goodnight and that I love him, and I leave the room pulling the door until it is opened only a crack. He used to cry when I left. Now, he only cries when he hears me walk past his bedroom door, not when D does. He only cries for me (oh, the guilt). Somewhere around 4:30 to 5:00 every morning, Fuss awakes and starts to cry. I go get him and put him in bed with D and I, and he falls asleep again. He loves our bed. I love our bed. D does not love our bed. Fuss does not love his bed. Maybe, I should have D sleep in the crib with the firmer mattress while Fuss sleeps with me, and he takes up way less space on my side of the bed.

No one will ever know...

2008-09-01T08:34:00.002-06:00

Having a conversation with members of my family can be quite an entertaining fete. Whether the conversation is in person, over the phone, or through email doesn't matter. When planning upcoming events or activities, my family (meaning my brothers, sisters, and parents) send emails back and forth replying to all, and teasing and making fun of each other. During one such email chain my younger brother, Fluff, decided to joke that he was offended at a comment that I had made about how he never really participates in getting things done. So, KM decided that if we were going to start airing out when we were offended then she was offended that people always tell her that she never answers her cell phone. She concluded with the fact that when left a message, she always returns it in a timely manner. The message was then followed with: "P.S. Do not try to call me today. I forgot my phone." Conversations like these are the norm with my family. I once had a cousin ask if she could come to our family dinner one Sunday. She promised not to eat, but she just wanted to watch and listen as we interacted with each other. Watching and listening to my family converse is somewhat like watching an episode of "Seinfeld."

We had one such conversation while caravanning to our family reunion. As we were driving through a very small Southern Utah town in the dark of night, we came upon a skunk in the road that was, of course, run over and dead. Now I have passed many a dead skunk in my life, and I know that the smell is one of the most unpleasant, but I would gladly repeat passing any other skunk that I have ever passed in order to have avoided this most wretched smell. We had no sooner passed this animal of putrescence than my dad called from the car in front of us. While D was rolling down the windows (or rather pressing down--no one rolls the windows down anymore) to allow the smell that had entered through the air conditioning vents to escape, I answered my cell phone. I did not answer with "hello" however. I answered with "Can you taste it too?" My dad proceeded to tell me that the smell was so bad that he was sure he had to have run over a stink gland and popped it into his car. I replied that it was so bad in our car that I had resorted to drinking warm milk from Fuss' sippy cup just to get the taste out of my mouth. Yes, it was so bad that I could taste the skunk, and having now tasted a skunk I can assure you that I will never eat one, even if my life depends on it! Our conversation ended there after losing cell phone reception, and we all continued on our way.

About 90 minutes later we arrived at our cabins, and the skunk conversation continued, as if no time had passed at all. It started with my mom asking those that had been in the cars front of us (D and I had been the back of the caravan with my parents directly in front of us) if they too had smelled the skunk. KM and her husband, who had been the first in line, had not smelled it. Right after mentioning that it had not been smelled by them, Fluff walked through the door (almost as if on cue) and announced that as he bent down to pick up a bag he found that he could still smell the wretched skunk on his tires. This began the great debate of 2008...Who ran over the skunk and how long had it been there? My mom was certain that the skunk had to have been there for a least a few hours if not days. The rest of us were certain that KM and Whitey had run over it, otherwise they would have smelled (and tasted) it as the rest of us had. My mom's response was that since they were in a truck that was much higher than the other vehicles it was possible for them to pass right over it without notice. D responded that the size of the vehicle wouldn't matter because they still had the air conditioner on, and the vents would have pulled the smell into their truck. The thought was proposed that maybe the poor skunk was hit by the trailer hauling all the 4-wheelers, which would have allowed KM and Whitey's truck to have passed before the skunk was killed. While the majority of us thought that this was the most likely scenario, no one would volunteer to go smell any of the tires to prove it, even though we knew that the smell would still be remaining there thanks to Fluff's experience. My dad was still certain that no matter who initially hit it, he had to have hit a stink gland. Fluff was certain that he must have too. All D and I knew was that whenever the poor skunk was taken from life, we were the recipients of his ultimately and smelly deceasedness. The debate continued for several minutes before Whitey announced that truly we would never know. However, the next morning I did ask my grandparents, who had arrived from the same path we had taken only several hours earlier, if at any time during their trek they had smelled or even seen a skunk in the road. My grandpa assured us that they had not. Therefore, I stick by the thought that Whitey ran over it with the 4-wheeler trailer in an attempt to torture the rest of us with the smell.

True Love...

2008-08-28T10:14:00.029-06:00

I know that I am not Fuss' first love. I know this because every time he hears the keys in the door he runs to it. He wants to be there when D opens the door, and from 5:30 until bedtime Fuss is D's shadow. I love that my son adores his father so much, but he doesn't have to stop spending time with me just because his daddy comes home! Even still, I come after D and I can accept it, but I'm not even second in his life either. There is a little girl at church that Fuss has a crush on...she comes before me too. I'm going to call her Lovey. Lovey is 3 and beautiful. She has blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, and Fuss loves to watch her. When there are toys, books, or snacks to be had, Fuss is in that no-sharing stage, except for when sharing is with Lovey. He will hand over whatever he has and then follow her to wherever she takes it. It is fun to watch my son be so twitter-pated at such a young age. He truly is smitten. And I do approve of the girl, even though he is betrothed to another. Being third to his love for D and Lovey is fine with me. The crush I have a hard time being after is his love for 4-wheelers. As soon as Fuss has access to the garage, he makes a run for it and does his best to climb on a 4-wheeler. It doesn't matter if it is the large, real one or the motorized toy one that is Moo's or the mini-motorized one that Fuss has been borrowing from Angel. When a 4-wheeler is involved Fuss is truly in love. He loves them so much that he is even willing to wear a helmet to go for a ride.

It took only seconds for Fuss to figure out how to maneuver the mini-wheeler and run into whatever gets in his way. Moo's is a little bigger, so when he climbs on to it he just makes "vroom, vroom" noises, and pretends to steer the wheeler around his imaginary trails. I have to wonder where he learned to make these noises--I think with boys it is in their genes. Whenever Fuss has the chance to go on a ride with D and/or I on the largest of them all, he grins from ear to ear, and holds on tight to either the 4-wheeler or the back of D's shirt (only when I am sitting behind D with Fuss in between us). I knew that Fuss has a knack for adventure due to the fact that he tries to stand on a skateboard or ride a scooter whenever he has access to one, and has since he could walk, but his 4-wheeler obsession is getting ridiculous. At least he knows at an early age that protective gear is required for any of these activities and he willingly wears it, unlike his brothers who unwillingly are forced to wear it.

It was this week that I realized how true Fuss' love for the 4-wheelers was when D decided that it was time to wash the red dirt from our recent trip (3-weeks ago) off of the 4-wheeler. My son who can't sit still long enough to have his diaper changed, let alone participate in a long and tedious project, spent at least 20 minutes helping his dad wash and scrub the machine. No matter what I did his attention was focused on finishing his project. All the while I was ignored, and focus was on his true love... I can't help but wonder where the attention would have been if Lovey had walked by.

Just a haircut...

2008-08-25T16:39:00.019-06:00

During part of my I-don't-know-what-I-should-be-when-I-grow-up stage of life, which I am still in by the way, I went to cosmetology school. The reason that I paid a couple of thousand of dollars (or whatever the cost was) to go to a school to get training that I would never use as a vocation, was because of Lois. One day Lois told me that she wanted to be a cosmetologist, but she didn't want to go to school alone so we should go together, and we did. I had never before, and really never since, considered working as a cosmetologist, but I could if I ever decided I wanted to. Now, I have this skill that I use solely to benefit family, my friends, and on occasion...myself. Yes, it is true. I broke the code of cosmetologists world wide and I cut my own hair. I colored it too, which isn't that difficult compared to cutting your own hair. I had to do it, because I haven't had the chance to find a stylist of my very own that I love and trust since moving to my current city...three years ago. I have been very busy for the past 3 years! It was when my brother-in-law lovingly pointed out my graying hairs, several of them, that I knew that it was past time for me to get my hair taken care of. Since it needed to be taken care of immediately, I still didn't have the chance to find a stylist. So, I decided to color my own hair, and you can't color your hair without a cut to go with it. Cuts and colors go hand in hand like peanut butter and chocolate--both are great on their own, but much better together. I like things to be complete so, I cut it too. Since I can't really see the back of my hair, I had to have D tell me if it was straight (once it was done), and overall there are some flaws, but it is as good as I could get it myself. I have to tell you that cutting your own hair is one of the hardest things that I have ever done, especially in the state of a long bobbish style--it matters if it is straight. The good news is though that my arms got a bit of a workout, and I think that my triceps are more toned than they have been in years, just from this one haircut. Most importantly of all, the job was done, and oddly I could feel better about my hair when in public (even if I shouldn't)!

While in the haircutting mood, I also decided that it was time for my little Fuss to have his 7th haircut...that's right barely 15 months old and has had to have 7 haircuts (he gets it from his dad)! Although I have given Fuss all of his haircuts, this is not one that I am as pleased with as I have been with previous ones. Lucy has this horrible tendency to shave the older boys heads, which I don't think is a very flattering look for them (for some kids yes, but not for ours). I have always made comments (not in front of them of course) about how much better the boys look when their hair has a little style to it. Anyway, the comments have come back to haunt me. Let's just say that I was cutting Fuss' hair, and since Fuss is one year old, that doesn't constitute a still sitting session. In other words, he moved. And what does a stylist do when their client moves while scissors or clippers are in the middle of being used and the mistake cannot be otherwise corrected...therefore, Fuss' head is now shaved to a #4 on top and a #2 in the back...in case that means anything to anyone. And honestly, I don't love it almost as much as I don't love it when Lucy does it to Olie, Skater, and Moo. With Fuss I don't love it for many reasons. One being that it isn't the best look for him either (they must get it from their dad). Another being that when I am rocking him to sleep I have nothing to run my fingers through as I gently scratch the top of his head, which he loves. And the third being that it has moved his appearance from baby/toddler to toddler/boy, and I don't like it! My little boy is growing up and it is happening too fast! People keep telling me "it is only a haircut" when I mention I don't love the look, but it is sooo much more than that. It is a milestone. It really is bittersweet. It is just a haircut...but it is the haircut that changed by baby to a little boy... Just a haircut...I wish!

He's safe...

2008-08-24T09:41:00.006-06:00

When you have children I know that it is very important to "childproof" your home. However, after doing so, Fuss still seems able to get into whatever it is he wants to and I cannot. I swear that I am going to break a cupboard door off before I remember that there is a safety latch in them. I get anxious to open the cupboards, for whatever reason, and so I pull and then get yanked back by the door stopper itself--it is like a game almost to see if I am strong enough to pull the cupboard open, and I assure you the cupboard is winning. It has also become nearly impossible for me to vacuum some rooms because I have inserts in all of the low outlets, and once those things go in they are never coming out! That leaves me only able to vacuum the kitchen (and yes I vacuum my tile--with the attachment of course, I don't love the broom), my bedroom (thanks to the connecting bathroom with high outlets), the hallway, and Fuss' room (thanks to the other bathroom with high outlets also). If my house is a mess it is because I can't get to the cleaners that are so neatly tucked away under the sink behind the cupboard door that I cannot open. My once beautifully decorated living room has had to be rearranged so that all "breakables" are in high enough places that Fuss can't reach them. In doing this I also discovered that everything I own could pretty much be considered a "breakable." Therefore, when safety-izing my house I created an unbalanced display of nick-knacks that I could not live with, and felt the need to rearrange, not for decor, but by how much I care about the breakable item. If it is an item that I like but could live without, it goes on the bottom of the shelves or the coffee table. If it is an item that I really do love, it goes on the top and out of reach from little hands. I love my son, so I live with the unbalanced and locked away chaos that has become my home. Such is the sacrifice of a mother...just don't judge me by my apparent lack of decorating (and dressing) fashionista...it is my children's fault.

The thing I have yet to discover is how to "childproof" my home from the older boys. If something is out of their reach, they climb on the counters to get it. If they can't get on the counters, they grab a chair or a stool to climb on to climb on the counters. When they pick up a plastic bat or sword and swing it, they are much more likely to hit and damage things that are raised in an attempt to protect them from Fuss (and vice versa). Not to even mention that small toys are a hazard to all of our children evidently (Moo vs. the marble). My walls are dinged (some of them are from D moving sheetrock to the basement, some from the kids...none from me...yeah right). There is splatter on my walls that I am really not sure where it came from, let alone what it is. There is a cute display of 2 jars in my kitchen that used to be 3 until 1 was dropped on the tile floor. Doors now have to be shut that I used to keep open, which has given D what he feels to be the privilege of leaving those rooms (our office/computer room) in a state of unacceptable and unfiled piles of papers, computer parts, and whatever else no one wants to put away...all because I "childproofed" my home. How can a woman live like this? In this never ending cycle of attempting to keep up appearances, safety, and sanity, I feel at times as though I may be failing. And during those times I am sure that somewhere there is a pill that I could take to make me feel better about it, but even if I had one in my house, I doubt I could get the cupboard opened to get it out.

Time for a change...

2008-08-23T19:59:00.004-06:00

Everyday I get the privilege of smelling an unpleasant smell coming from my little Fuss, and every time I smell it I ask Fuss if he wants me to "change his bum?" And as I hear myself repeat this question, I frequently think to myself, "he doesn't need a new bum, I do!" In all truthfulness and actuality I do want to change my bum in for a new one. I would like one that is way more firm than the one that I currently have. I would like it to be rounded with some definition--one that does not run directly into my thighs making one wonder where the bum ends and the legs begin. I would also like it to be at least 2 sizes smaller than the one I currently own...I would really like it to be 5 sizes smaller, but that would require me to also change my hips, thighs, and stomach in as well, which would lead to the necessity to change my chin (or at least get rid of a couple of them) and my arms...this would be a very big amount of changing, and I really would be willing.

Yesterday, I took Fuss to the doctor's office for his 15 month check-up. Upon measuring and weighing my son, it was discovered that although he had grown 2 inches he had lost 1 pound. As I spoke these facts aloud, the nurse replied that "he walks now and that is why he lost the weight." Well, I have been walking for years and I still have a bum that needs to be changed for another (I don't want anyone thinking that I have done something in my pants). I actually thought about lying in bed for the next 12 months and having someone carry me around everywhere I go, and then start walking again to see if the weight comes off, but upon thinking about it I see some serious flaws with this plan. The first being that who would carry me? There are very few people that could stand carrying my weight, and even fewer that would be willing. Another would be how much weight might I gain while doing nothing at all for 12 months. Too many flaws indeed; therefore I will have to go back to wishing for the magic melt away pills or cream.

There is a difference...

2008-08-20T09:24:00.012-06:00

Before leaving for our family reunions D and I were discussing the fact that we would like the house to be "clean" before we left so that we didn't have to come home to more of a mess than what we would be bringing with us. The day we were leaving D called me from work to ask how the cleaning was going. As I explained to him that I didn't really have the time to get things clean, but that the house was at least "straight", D asked me what the difference was. The difference, I have decided, is that I am a woman and he is a man. My expectations of "clean" can never be reduced to what his are, and he will never understand mine. This was made even more abundantly clearer yesterday when I was sick, miserable, and yes whiney. D won himself some brownie points (which, of course, he lost later by making a stupid comment) by staying home from work to take care of me, Fuss, and the house. Upon reviewing his work, our house is definitely in better condition than it was when he woke up yesterday morning, but I still wouldn't call it clean, and here is an example of why:

The kitchen has some dishes in the sink, the highchair tray unwashed on the counter, and the food storage products we purchased still sitting by the desk. Straight enough that if company came by we don't look like slobs, just that we actually live in our house, but clean...I don't think so. Clean would be if the sink were not only free from dishes, but scoured itself. The food storage would be down in the basement, but at this point that would require we first clean the basement to make room in the storage room for the storage that we need to store instead of the junk that is currently there. (So, I can't really blame him for that). The stove needs to be scrubbed with the cleanser that is specifically made for cleaning the stove to remove the burned on gunk. The top of the fridge needs to have all of the papers that D throws up there removed. The front of the fridge needs to have the fingerprints washed off of it, as does the pantry door. The windows definitely need to be washed, and the blinds dusted. Lucky for D, I dusted the shelves, the table, and the desk recently. I also mopped the floor, so he got off easy on that one too. And that is only 1 room, imagine what the differences were in the entire house.

To a woman doing laundry means: washing, drying, folding, hanging, and putting away. To a man doing laundry means: choosing which 2 from the list they would prefer to do and doing only those 2. To a woman cleaning the bathroom means: scrubbing tubs, toilets, floor, sink, and counters, refilling soap dishes, moving any counter-dwellers (nick knacks) and washing underneath them, as well as washing them, washing the mirror, and washing rugs. To a man cleaning the bathroom means: washing off the counter, possibly the sink, and closing the shower curtain.

Why the difference? I have no idea. I can tell you this though, I remember the same issues with my parents and cleaning, so I think that it is universal (either that or I married a man much like my father, which isn't all bad). For me, I have tried to explain the differences, but I don't think that it will ever "click" with D what it is that I am saying. Even after I "clean" a room instead of just straightening it, he can't tell the difference from the deep clean to the quick-and-acceptable-for-living-in straightening. I guess I will just take the help I do get. It was pretty easy to show him how much he does have to learn about how much I really do around here when I had to put the majority of the clean dishes from the dishwasher away. Ironically D only knows where dishes used in eating go...dishes used for cooking are in the kitchens at Taco Bell or McDonalds as far as he is concerned...so why am I always washing pans?

Don't question the question...

2008-08-18T12:41:00.009-06:00

D complains that I ask too many questions about whatever it is he tells me, does, etc. I would disagree with him except that my mom used to tell me the same thing. I actually asked so many questions as a child that my mom once told me that she had a teacher that said there was no such thing as a stupid question, and she wanted that teacher to meet me so that my mom could prove him wrong. D thinks I ask questions because I doubt his ability or judgement. It isn't because I doubt his ability, his judgement sometimes, but never his ability. (It is a good thing he knows that I am joking with that--in case he ever reads it.) I am just a naturally curious person. I learned at a very young age that my brain processes things differently than what the "normal" person would process in a variety of different circumstances. As such, I ask questions to make sure that I am on the same page as everybody else...this is evidently annoying. Well, I do have something to say to that...too bad! I am still going to ask questions. It is impossible for me to stop now! I thought that maybe it was me and only me that had this problem until I was talking with D's aunt and uncle. It seems that they also have a daughter that finds entertainment and security in asking questions. For her parents, annoying. For me, relief that I am not the only one! Sometimes I wish my children would ask more questions. Perhaps, "Why shouldn't I put marbles in my mouth or my binki in the toilet?" would be a good place for us to start. If they were to ask I would give them very good reasons, and yet they don't and I find myself asking, "why would you do such a thing?" regularly.

What D and my mom don't understand is that I ask myself questions quite frequently too. The questions I ask myself are things like:
"Why did I come in the kitchen again?"
"Do I really need this Pepsi, or do I just want it?"
"What will happen if I just hit snooze...7 more times?"
"If I make this for dinner, how many complaints will I get?"
"When was the last time these pants were washed?"
"Did I brush my teeth today, or was that yesterday?"
"How many weeks have I been wearing the same contacts?"
"Is it worth the fight?"

I question my life all the time! What would life be like if we all just took things at face value and never tried to understand another's point of view? I think that I would be holed up in my house somewhere afraid to face the unknown...sad, but true. I don't do well with the unknown, which is why me and the future have a big problem. I have questions for the future everyday. If I ever got to talk to the future I would ask if I will ever be successful at getting skinny again, if I have more children, and if I do will I be living at home or in the asylum, will I win the lottery, and will D and I ever get to take a trip that consists of just the 2 of us? I think that these are totally fair questions, especially considering they will never be answered in the present.

The group of questions that I do ask D that I could see might be taken as annoying, are questions that begin with "What if..." Even I can recognize the "who cares" answer to that question, because things are what they are and you can't go back to change it. Still, as the second wife I think I am entitled to ask questions like, "What if D had met me before Lucy, would he have married me instead of her?" and "Where was I that year that this didn't happen?" or "What if I wouldn't have agreed to go out with D just because he already had 3 kids (which honestly scared me a little)?" Although things can't be changed, I admit that sometimes I question where my life would be "if." I don't really know that there is anything wrong with that.

I do have end by saying that I love my life, for the most part, most of the time. I wouldn't give up the challenge and the love that comes with being a parent, and even more with being a step-parent. Even if I question my ability at times. I wouldn't give up the home and the neighbors that I love. Although, I will give up the chance to clean the home I love...if anyone wants to volunteer. I wouldn't give up being a part of a huge family. Although, the attention from being an only child might be exciting to try out. I wouldn't give up the challenges that have made me who I am, even though I question if there could have been an easier way. D should also know that the one thing I would never question, is when I answered the most important question and said, "I do!"

Not for your mouth...

2008-08-17T19:57:00.013-06:00

As a parent I have this horrible fear of my children putting things in their mouths that do not belong there. This is a really strange fear since I have a tendency to hold things in my mouth quite frequently. I am a pen chewer of the worst kind. It is not hard to recognize a writing tool that I claim as my own; they all could be identified with dental records if it ever actually came to that. I also hold needles (from popping blisters--I don't sew) in my teeth. I have been known to even carry groceries and Fuss' binki in my mouth when my hands are full, which they frequently are. Even so, I do not like my children to put things in their mouths...and now I know why. Olie, Skater, and Moo love to build things with their Magnetix sets, and they have plenty of sets to build things with. Since Fuss was born I have begged, pleaded, and even threatened the boys that if the Magnetix are stored low enough or left out for Fuss to get into that I would be throwing them away. I also told them that I would do this because they were small enough that if Fuss were to accidentally swallow one or more of these pieces it was possible that he could die. I thought that they understoood...I thought wrong. They did understand that they shouldn't leave them down. They didn't really understand why, at least Moo didn't.

On Saturday I was attending a baby shower when I received a call from D. It went something like this:

D: Moo swallowed a metal ball from the Magnetix set.

Me: What??

D: Moo swallowed a metal ball from the Magnetix set.

Me: He's seven!

D: I know...

Me: How did this happen?

D: He had it in his mouth and he swallowed it.

Me: [Thank you Captain Obvious!] Why in the world did Moo put a marble in his mouth?

D: I don't know, but what should I do?

Me: I don't know! I never imagined that it would be our 7 year old that I would be worrying about swallowing a marble! [So, I asked my aunt whose home I was at and is thankfully a nurse...if your child swallows a marble, as long as it is not magnetic, it should pass okay once it makes it to his stomach.]

Thinking there was nothing we could do since it was not stuck in his throat, we didn't end up taking Moo to the doctor...until the next morning. Sunday morning Moo woke up complaining of a stomach ache, which he does every Sunday morning in an attempt to get out of going to church, so we made him continue to get dressed and ready. He continued to complain. Finally, D told him that if his stomach was really hurting then we would take him to the doctor, but that he would probably have to get a shot. When Moo said, "Ok" we thought, "Maybe he really is sick." He really hates shots...who doesn't? While D braved church with Olie and Skater alone, I braved InstaCare with Fuss and a soon to be puking Moo alone (I definitely had it harder). Once the puking began I figured that he might actually be sick, because who would puke on purpose just to get out of going to church. Long story shorter, after 1 1/2 hours at the InstaCare, including a fun ride for

Moo on the x-ray table, and a fun tour of the facility guided by a running Fuss for me, we found out that the marble is currently in his intestines and the puking was most likely not related to the marble at all. The doctor suspected he may have the flu on top of the marble issue...what a lucky kid. We have no need to worry unless it doesn't pass within the next couple of days--and by "pass" you know what I mean. Luckily for us D took the boys back to Lucy tonight, so she gets to check "things" out to make sure that the marble comes out...fun times! This is one time I am not sorry that our kids have 2 sets of parents.

There is a sad, but funny twist to this as well...because of my warnings for Fuss' sake when Moo told D that he had swallowed the marble it was followed with, "Am I going to die?" I guess I need to explain the "why" a little better. Moo thought that all the attention he received at the doctor's office and at D's parents' house afterward was so great that D and I took it upon ourselves to explain to him how they would have to get the marble out if it didn't come out on its own to deter any future swallowing experiments. I did ask Moo how it was that he had swallowed a marble, and I have come to learn that he is as helpful as his dad. His reply: "I put it in my mouth, and when I swallowed it just went down." That explains everything!

That was out loud...

2008-08-15T09:31:00.005-06:00

Angel and I were recently discussing the annoying habits of our children. She mentioned that one of her children does not rinse the sink after brushing her teeth leaving a sink full of spit. I replied that at least her children brush their teeth. Whenever we have the older boys I remind them several times a day to brush their teeth, and inevitably whenever we go somewhere I will ask one of them if they actually did brush their teeth and the answer is usually, "I forgot." What I would like to know is how did they forget? Was it during the short walk from the kitchen to the bathroom after breakfast, or were they doing their bathroom thing and they didn't notice the brushes and toothpaste that they left out the night before? Either way they "forget." I think children choose to ignore their parents just to test out what the repercussions will be. As a parent, I am not sure what the repercussions for anything should be...I make it up as I go along, which can be very complicated since the older boys don't actually "live" here, so I have to remember what I have done so that I can be consistent on their next visit--I need to keep a journal.

My daily struggle is with Fuss though. He hit the terrible twos at about 8 months. My aunt recently referred to him as "high-maintenance." To me that is putting it lightly--he is ultimate maintenance! Fuss is going nonstop from the minute he wakes up to the minute he falls asleep. It is a constant test of my patience and ability to stay a step ahead of him. The most exciting part for me is that every day he learns a new trick--from climbing up the magazine rack to get on top of the toilet, or opening the toilet itself and throwing things in (I have fished out 4 binkis in the last 2 days), or dropping his toothbrush down the air conditioning vents he loves to lift out of the floor, I have to be on the go from Fuss up to Fuss down! And yet I still don't get enough exercise in a day to lose the weight... The thing about Fuss is that he still listens to me...sometimes. He gives me a sarcastic little smile to make sure that I know that he knows exactly what he is doing, but he does listen. The older boys choose to ignore--a trait I know is coming from Fuss before too long. My sister once suggested that when Fuss bites me in anger (I know--terror child), that I bite him back. So, I did. Fuss has never bitten me again. Therefore, I decided to take the same approach with the older boys. One day while the boys were here I called them for lunch and Olie was the only one that came. I called for Skater and Moo two more times, nothing. Olie even ran upstairs and told them loudly enough for me to hear that it was time for lunch. Still nothing, not even a response or acknowledgment. So, I made lunch for me, Olie, and Fuss. About an hour later Moo and Skater came downstairs and asked me what we were having for lunch. I told them it was over and that they had missed it since they ignored my calls to them. "But we didn't hear you!" was the response and pleading, "What can we eat?" I simply replied, "Dinner. In a few hours." I haven't been ignored since...at least whenever meals are involved, and that is progress!

How big was that...

2008-08-13T12:31:00.005-06:00

In my attempt to continue to lose the unmentionable number of pounds that I have gained, I have become very aware of a serious portion size problem...the makers of delicious food puts their nutritional information in unrealistic portion sizes. Seriously, who breaks a delicious "Granny B's Pink Sugar Cookie" into 4 pieces and then shares it with 3 people? Not me and not anyone that I know of! And I have never shared a small container of "Ben and Jerry's" ice cream with 3 other people--maybe eaten it in 3 different sittings, (ok 2, or 1 1/2) but never shared it with more than 1 person. Why is it that you can eat 1 cup of corn or sliced carrots, but a serving of "Cookie Crisp" is only 3/4 of cup--that is like 10 crisps? Who was it that decided what a portion is, and why don't they package things as 1 portion size if it is intended to be eaten by only 1 person? It is no wonder that I am struggling to lose weight when I walk into the kitchen and see 3/4 of a pink cookie staring back at me wanting to be eaten. How must that lonely piece of cookie feel? It is never my intention to make my food feel bad about being left behind, so I eat it. Seriously, have you ever tried to measure food out in it's suggested serving sizes? It is not an easy fete I assure you.

I am a sucker for dairy products. The more cheese the better! As a child I used to order foods at restaurants based on the dairy products included, such as if it had cheese and especially sour cream, there was a good chance I would order it over something more dairy free. Now, I have to measure my cheese in 1 ounce increments. I know that an ounce of cheese is approximately a 1 inch cube, but I am not in the habit of coming home from the store and cutting my cheese into 16 cubes for my convenience in measuring, because this does not constitute convenience in use. Have you ever tried to slice a 1 inch cube of cheese for sandwiches, or tried to grate 4 inch cubes individually for a recipe...what a pain! I prefer to pretend to know what 1 ounce of cheese is based on how much I currently desire.

The other problem that I face in losing weight is that my husband loves me. It really is his fault that my self control can be nonexistent at times. Whenever I tell him that I am taking a break from my diet, he says "ok." Which makes it very easy to do. He tells me that he loves me no matter what and that if I want to lose weight it should be for myself and not for him (what a sweet and smart man). The problem here is because he is on a double-edged sword, and he knows it. Even if he does wish that I looked like the woman he married, he can't say it unless he wants to sleep on the couch (which really isn't that comfortable). If he were to tell me that I really shouldn't give up the diet because I really needed to stay focused on it, I would be hurt and he knows it, so he doesn't. However, this doesn't change the fact that I need him to say that to keep me focused...no wonder weight loss is a never ending war!

I never stick to my diet when on vacation, and after 2 vacations this summer I also now know that I need a week to recover from the time off of the diet. If I don't take this much need recovery week, then I feel deprived and depressed, and end up eating even more in my angst. So, I allow myself that extra week of Pepsi and ice cream and focus on what I will have to do the following weeks to make up for it--at least I am planning ahead! It is no wonder that I have been "plateau-ing" since the time of our first reunion. At least my husband still loves me!

Now that's fun...

2008-08-11T11:40:00.025-06:00

While traveling 4 hours in a caravan of 6 cars, my family discovered the best way to get other drivers to notice you--have 1 of the trucks tow a trailer that contains 10 4-wheelers, 1 motor-cycle, and 8 bicycles. Pretty much everyone stops to stare, count, and then pick up their jaws. When we were loading this alignment of travel accessories, KM asked, "What do you think people will think when they see us on the road?" I replied, "That we are a dealership." Gillette replied, "That we are rich." To these two incorrect answers, KM gave us the truth, "That we are going to have fun!" She is very smart. If you have never had the chance to visit Capital Reef or Escalante in Southern Utah, I highly suggest that you do (in case my opinion matters).

Our real adventures started on Thursday morning when my parents told us they had rented a 4-wheel drive vehicle and wanted to take an unpaved tour through the Cathedral Valley. I don't normally love drives where there is a chance that the car I am in can tumble off of the road and down the steep embankment that is right next to us, but D does...so, I went. Since I did go, I now know that I do not love rides where there is a chance that the car I am in can tumble off the road and down the steep embankment that is right next to us even more when it is raining. The clincher for me on this one was when we were on one of the above mentioned roads and had to manuever around a large rock that had rolled down the hillside. My grandpa (whose truck D, Fuss, and I were in) mentioned that he didn't think that my brother-in-law's larger truck would make it around the rock and it would have to be moved. My grandpa felf this way because he had "felt the shoulder of the road give way a bit as we were going around" the rock. This was not something that I needed to know, especially since we were coming up on more switchbacks and the rain storm was gaining on us! I let my grandpa know through my tears that it was ok to keep some information to himself. Although not my favorite adventure, the land is beautiful, and we were fortunate enough to mostly keep ahead of the massive storm that was moving in on us. Upon our return my dad was informed just how lucky we were since the area we had just been in is known for flash flooding. Again, something I did not need to know!

Friday was a safer day. We decided to take a hike on an unknown trail to an unknown destination. So, we spontaneously left from our cabin and started walking up the road--this is not what I would typically consider a hike, but it was unpaved and uphill so it was a hike. At the top of the hill we detoured from the road to a 4-wheeling path and continued on. While Fuss slept in the cabin with my parents babysitting, Agee had all 4 of her kids with her (ages 6, 5, 3, and 5 months) so she was not in the mood to take a very long and unplanned hike. The entire time we were walking we teased her that we were just going to the red rocks we could see in the distance, which we actually thought would be impossible to reach. After hiking for 1.5 miles, we reached the red rocks. Agee was the last one in and upon arrival announced her disapproval that we had kept our promise. On the way back to the cabin I was walking behind my nieces, Lou and Norman. As I got closer to them on an uphill part of the trail I announced that they were going to have to move out of the way since I had some momentum going. Lou looked puzzled and asked if that meant that I needed to go to the bathroom. If it was going to make her move or walk faster, then yes, that is what it means. Thankfully Agee survived and we arrived back at the cabin before Fuss awoke and minutes before another massive rain storm (during which we took a short 4-wheeler ride--we like the water I guess).

Saturday was by far our most adventurous (and rainless) day. KM researched and planned a hike that we felt would be enjoyable for all to go on. It was listed as "a very scenic day hike that follows Calf Creek. A trail guide brochure is provided at the trailhead with numbered markers along the route indicating points of interest....The trail is
well cut, with very little rise and fall although sandy in a few areas. The trail end is at the beautiful Lower Calf Creek waterfall, 126 feet high, falling into a lovely pond." This description sounds amazing and so misleading! I don't know who the lady that wrote it was, but "very little rise and fall?" She must live in the freaking Alps, possibly even on Mt. Kilimanjaro. Maybe I am just a wuss, or maybe she wasn't packing a 25 pound 1 year old on the 6 mile hike (3 each way--and yes, me in all my wussiness packed Fuss in the hiking backpack 1 way...mostly). We started the hike as a group of 47 and ended as smaller groups of 8 to 1. It was beautiful, but when you are hauling 20 children ages 8 and younger up a hillside (and I do mean hauling because if you were young would you walk 6 miles voluntarily?) there is no time to stop and enjoy the scenery...if you do, you may lose one off the narrow path and down the slippery slopes. Luckily we only had 1 fall, my aunt (the only aunt to brave the hike) slipped while trying to prove her quick and youthful descent methods. Through the exercise of this hike, I earned enough weight watchers points for a pink cookie, which is like 12 continuous hours of exercise. I do have to say though, that at the end of this all-day hike, there is a beautiful waterfall with a freezing (as in bucket of glacier ice) cold pond to refresh you and wash the sweat away. However, if you do make it to Calf Creek, make sure that you bring an extra set of shorts to hike the 3 lovely miles back, or you will find yourself regretting it for the next several days.

The week ended with my immediate family 4-wheeling to Agee's beloved red rocks, babies and all--and yes, we are very cautious. It was pointed out though that while D and I were the only adults wearing helmets on this short adventure, our child was the only one without a helmet that was made for 4-wheeling (he did have a helmet on--it was just bike helmet though). I am such a good parent! I also had the opportunity to learn about the negotiation skills of my 6-year-old nephew, Booga. During the week sometime Fuss had lost the binki, which is a horrible loss for everyone around. As Fuss was screaming and I was helping make dinner, I offered $1 to anyone who could find Fuss' binki. Booga found it shortly after and I promised him $1 as soon as I could get to it. Sunday came and I still hadn't given Booga his dollar, so D took $1 in quarters out of my stash of stuff in our room, and gave it to him. Afterwards, Booga came over to me and asked for his dollar. I told him that he had gotten a dollar already. He told me (in his gruff little voice that sounds like he is on the verge of losing it), "No, you promised me a dollar. You didn't give me a dollar, D did. So, you still owe me a dollar." How do you argue with that, especially when he gave his sister half of it since she saw the binki at the same time he did; he just got to it first.

Four days, 56 people (and that's not even all of us), lots of great food, 180,000,000 rain drops, including a delicious barbeque in the rain, 15 dutch ovens (in 1 meal), and KM was right---A LOT of fun! And the best part of all...we still like each other! When I told my grandma (who has had a stroke and doesn't talk too much) at dinner one night, that she had started all of this chaos...she shook her head, then put her head in her hand and said, "I know, I know." Hey, you have to blame someone...

A little courtesy, please...

2008-08-05T12:57:00.009-06:00

I remember the day when drivers were polite to one another...it wasn't that long ago, I was a kid...so maybe it was a while ago...but I do remember sitting in the car while my dad drove us to the places that we went as a family, which was rarely far from home. Whenever he needed to merge or change lanes, he would turn on his blinker and people would allow him to do what he needed to get where he needed to go. After he had changed lanes or merged he would raise his hand in courtesy as a "thank you" to the kind person who had let him in. The opposite was true as well. If my dad noticed a driver that needed to move into the lane in front of him, he allowed it to happen. When the other driver raised their hand in thanks my dad waved back...a polite unspoken conversation. Today, that is so not the case. If I turn on my blinker or try to merge into another lane, drivers speed up, like I am butting in line if I get in front of them. If I do happen to move over when needed, I raise my hand in thanks, usually 3 or 4 times, but I rarely get a response. When I kindly and patiently let another car move in front of me, I find myself raising my hand to them and saying, "you're welcome" even though it is rare to get a thank you from another driver. People are in such a hurry, and for what? Where do you have to be so quickly? In today's world there really is no reason to rush. Heaven forbid you have to call someone on your cell phone in your car to let whomever you are meeting know if you will be a little late. Is allowing someone to move in front of you really going to be the thing that makes you late anyway? If you are running that late, you should have left earlier...your bad! D is one of those that does not like people to change lanes in front of him. I usually try to calm him down by saying something to the effect of, "His 5 seconds are probably more important than yours." This doesn't usually work...

The one thing that really does bother me is when lanes are merging down to eliminate a lane or two, and people act selfishly about getting to the front, like no one else is sitting at a dead stop waiting for those that can't wait themselves. I do think that it is very rude to drive all the way to the front of the line where the lanes are actually eliminated and then try to cut over. I believe these are the people that should not be allowed to drive during peak times I actually think that you should have to obtain a special license to be allowed to drive during rush hour times. This could alleviate some serious headaches for impatient drivers, as this is when everyone else thinks that everyone else that is on the road with them is an idiot. If you had to have a special license declaring that you were not an idiot, then everyone would have no one to blame but their own impatience.

D is also one of those that thinks that the majority of drivers are "idiots." He always blames stupidity of drivers on the location that we are in, for example he will say, "stupid (insert city or county name here) drivers!" I love talking to my husband, except for while he is driving. I actually pointed out to him the other day that I do, in fact, think that there is a conspiracy between all the people in our county against him and his drive to and from work. I think that everyone that drives like an "idiot" sits in their homes or offices and waits until that exact moment that D is heading for the road himself, and then they leave and drive the same path he is going to take, just to tick him off! He has sooo many stalkers, because they actually show up almost everywhere we go. And when they aren't there, he points it out to me, and I get so excited that we somehow slipped past them and our ride will be pleasant, and free of fear, and me holding on to the "oh, crap" handles for dear life.

Next time you are able to move into another lane because of the courtesy of someone else, if you look in your rearview mirror and seeing them waving at you, it might just be me...

Children teach you so much...

2008-07-31T17:34:00.011-06:00

There are a few things that I have learned since becoming a mother that I think will always be true no matter how old my children are. However, I became a mother upon saying "I do" so, some may of these tidbits could also have come from marriage...in my life the line is blurry.

1. No matter what you ask for, you will get the opposite. For the first 2 years that we have been in our house, I have begged for the toilet paper to be put on the roll (don't we all wish for this?). It was never, ever put on the roll...we were always chasing it around the floor, fishing it out of the sink or (heaven forbid) the toilet, and eventually I would be the one to put the nearly gone toilet paper in its place. I hoped for this task to be accomplished every day, that is until Fuss realized that pulling on the roll of toilet paper was a great way to make a mess! He is delighted by the way it flies through the air on to the ground, where he can tear it into little, tiny, annoying pieces. Now, I have asked everyone to please NOT put the toilet paper on the roll and to keep it out of Fuss' reach. So, now everytime I go into the bathroom, I have to take the toilet paper off the roll and set it on the counter...where they used to leave it.

2. Children imitate their parents...even the things you wished they didn't notice. Since trying to lose the extra weight that I so easily added, I have been weighing myself weekly. The other day while I was in the shower, Fuss came trapsing through the bathroom and straight into my closet (where he normally plays with my shoes). A few seconds later he comes waltzing back out with the scale in his hand, and continued out of the bathroom into my bedroom. I heard him place the scale on the floor, and a couple of seconds later I heard him whimper and cry a little. Then he proceeded back to the closet with scale in hand...and I totally understand, if I had nearly quadrupled my weight in 14 months I would be pretty upset too!

3. Children understand more than you think they do, but they try to get away with pretending that they don't. We have a mini-refrigerator that we purchased when we lived with D's parents (while our house was being built). It has been sitting in our basement since we moved in just over 2 years ago. Olie has begged for us to let him put it in his room, and finally I have given in. He was so excited that when Nana took them to the dollar store (their favorite place) Olie purchased a box of baking soda for the little fridge as his treat. We did, however, tell him that we were going to set some guidelines. Since he wants to be treated more like an adult, I had him write up some rules that he thought were fair for us to go over. After much deliberation, he told D and I that he had decided that it would be fair if he were to pay for all items that were in the fridge in his room. He would only purchase healthy snacks, a small amount of chocolate, and non-caffinated drinks or water. He explained that since he was paying for them, if his brothers wanted a soda out of his fridge then he would make them buy one from him (seemed fair). Then he broke it down for us...since a 12 pack of soda is around $5, and there are 3 of them, each could have 4 cans of soda from each pack that was bought. So, Olie decided that he would charge his brothers $.75 for a can of soda (from the fridge he was borrowing from us)...that would cover the cost of the soda. He told us this plan so innocently that it almost made us think that it hadn't been thought through that he would be making $6 off of his brothers so that all of his sodas were free for him, plus he earned himself a little extra. As I asked him if he had purchased a business license for his little money-making-scheme, he grinned sheepishly...he knew exactly what he was doing. So, when he asked for a glass of milk, I told him "$1 please."

Make it a good one...

2008-07-29T19:53:00.006-06:00

I have come to believe that lying is an innate trait that all children must try out at some point or another. Some children (scarily) are very good at it, while others...not so much. Lying is one of the biggest things that I cannot tolerate, I rarely find there to be a good reason to lie. However, on a recent job application I was asked the question, "Is it ever okay to lie?" I honestly didn't know how to answer this. If I were to say no, that would be a lie, because I do think that at times you really have no option but to tell a small lie to protect someone else. There are also the times that you just neglect to tell the whole story, which my mom taught me is lying. There are also the times when you just omit the entire story and pretend you have no idea what is going on, also lying according to my mom (and that is who told me what lying was). However, if I were to answer this question with a yes, without having a spot for an explanation, well then that is just a stupid move if I expect to get a job from them... "Is it okay to lie?" "Yes, but at least I am being honest about it"? Give me a break! This really is beside the point though...because as a parent, I maintain that lying is never okay, but sometimes funny.

Moo is one of the very worst of liars, and as one of his parents it is very hard for me to keep a straight face when confronting him with his lies! I am hoping this is just a phase, and that he will realize there is no point to lying and get over it, but in the meantime I am going to enjoy it (not that I am pleased that our child lies...but come on we need some entertainment). Yesterday I had an early morning meeting which the boys accompanied me to. Moo is much like his dad in that he hates waking up in the morning...it is a long, drawn out, and whiney time. Since Moo refused to wake up in time to get dressed, he went to the meeting in his pajamas, which did not match. During the entire meeting, and the 2 minute car ride home, he complained and refused to be pleasantly social with his brothers or the other kids that were forced into this torture. So, as soon as we arrived home I told Moo that he needed to go take a nap and get over his attitude. He acted like he was going downstairs to his room, but then ran up stairs to the family room when I turned my back (I heard him, but hoped he would just fall asleep on the couch or something so, I let him go). About an hour later he came down to my office to ask me something. I asked him if he had taken a nap like I had told him to. He responded, "Yes." Knowing that he hadn't, I asked, "How long of a nap did you take?" He told me, "I slept until 2 o'clock." I looked at the clock on my computer...12:15. When I pointed out to him that it wasn't even 2:00 yet, I repeated my question about whether he had taken a nap. He lowered his head and under his breath sighed, "No." I told him that lying wasn't acceptable, and that he wouldn't have been in trouble for not taking a nap if he was pleasant to be around, but he needed to go to time out for lying. After 7 minutes (because he is 7 years old...I remember the rules of time out) I went to the corner that is "time out" at our house, to discuss, forgive, and try again, like a good mom would do. Hoping to effect a change in behavior I asked Moo if he knew why he was in time out. He got this really puzzled look on his face and replied, "Because you told me to come here." So, I asked, "Why did I tell you to come to time out?" He threw his hands in the air like he could not believe we were having this conversation and said, "Don't you remember when I lied to you?" The child thinks I'm crazy...

Today, I was getting ready to leave for another errand when Skater rushed into my room to tell me that Moo was "swinging a Nintendo DS charger, and it was hitting the walls and the pantry door." I walked out to find Moo sitting on the stairs, and I asked him if what Skater had said was true. The reply, "Skater always lies about me...he is lying!" Skater was not going to be the bad one, so he immediately protested, "No Moo, you were swinging a DS charger, and you hit the walls. I saw you!" This is the clincher that tells me Moo doesn't understand the purpose of a lie, "No, it was a game boy charger, but I didn't do it!" Really? You didn't? Then why correct the type of charger? I just pray that he gets over this before he gets good at it!

Did you think about that first...

2008-07-27T20:08:00.021-06:00

As we were preparing for a group 4-wheeler ride at our family reunion, one of D's aunts suggested that we all wear long pants and t-shirts to protect ourselves from the sun and the dust. Another of the aunts, Boo, realized that she hadn't prepared for such an adventure while packing, and had to opt to wear the shorts and tank top that she had brought. As we gathered around to pair up riders, Boo's husband appeared from the cabin with one of his short-sleeved shirts for his wife to wear. As he handed her the shirt, we all remarked how sweet it was that he made this most generous and selfless offer without even being prompted. He responded that he wanted this moment recorded (here you go!). I have heard the request for recording kind gestures from husbands (or just men) frequently. If you ask a man he would probably tell you it is because we as women never remember the selfless acts that they do. I am here to disagree. It is not because we don't remember. It is because every time they make such a prince-like gesture, it is canceled out by the thoughtless comments or things that they do...and I do mean thoughtless. I do not think, by any means, that men set out to say or do stupid (and that really is the best way to put it) things to their wives, girlfriends, or other women in general. I think that they don't think about it and that is what gets them in trouble. For example.....

#1. It has probably been 10 years, at least, since a family conversation where we were discussing "original weights." (I know what you are thinking, why didn't we just call it our birth weight, but for some reason I don't think that the original "original weight" referred to birth weight...it was more like a desired previous weight.) Anyhow, I made the comment that I would like to be about 20 times my original weight (at 6 lbs 6 oz at birth, this would put me around 130ish pounds as an adult). My dad quickly countered my idea by telling me that was impossible since I was already about "1000 times" my original weight. Appalled I declared that I was by no means over 6000 pounds! He quickly shook his head and apologized by saying, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean 1000, I meant 100 times." Really? Because telling your daughter she is heavier than 600 pounds is better than 6000 pounds? Ten times would have been just as (or more) unbelievable, but much better choice of apologetic correction...

#2. My dear, close friend, Angel, recently received a promotion at work. This promotion now allows her to work out of her home. Her physical activity at work has been greatly reduced, and she has more of a "desk job" then she previously had. Her husband (who is also a dear friend to us) unthinkingly expressed his concern by telling her that he would buy her an office chair that was perfectly fit to her derriere in it's current proportions. The purpose for this was that it would prevent her from allowing her rear end to get larger. What sane person can tell me that this comment was thought through before being spoken by a loving husband?

#3. D and I were to attend a dinner party hosted by his employer. Since I had not met most of the people that he works with, nor had I met any of their spouses, I was concerned about making a good impression. I was pregnant with Fuss at the time, and was very sensitive about how quickly I was gaining weight. As a means for reassurance, not really needing a real answer, I asked D, "Am I going to be the fattest and ugliest wife there?" Now, I know that there are a million correct answers to this question, even if they are untrue answers. Something like, "Of course not! To me you are beautiful and you always will be." Or "I don't even pay attention to other women, but I do know that you are the most beautiful to me." Something sweet and reassuring...that is all I was asking for. So, my husband's response..."I don't know. I haven't seen all the other wives." Now tell me that was thought through first...

#4. D and I were shopping at Babies 'R Us with our darling, little, binki-addicted Fuss, when D suggested that he go purchase a new binki since Fuss has a habit of throwing and losing them. Of course I agreed with this unexpected forethought from my husband, especially because Fuss likes a particular brand and style of binki, which is found at BRU. The binki Fuss likes is round and blue, and not hard to identify amidst the selection of binki options in a store. D left my side to go find and purchase the binki while I continued to shop. I, of course, assumed that D would be purchasing the brand and style that Fuss used. Upon his return to the shopping center D had Fuss still sitting in the cart with his new binki in his mouth...much to my dismay. D had gotten the brand right, but the style was nothing like the other 15 identical binkies that we had purchased over the past several months. The binki that D had purchased was green, softer, and so wide it had handle bars. Had D thought to consult me before purchasing the new gigantor binki that my son is not allowed to use in public, or even before opening it and allowing Fuss to put it in his mouth, this would have been a great achievement for the record...had he only thought about it first.

That's what friends are for...

2008-07-26T10:11:00.005-06:00

Throughout our lives we accumulate (for lack of a better word) friends. There are some friends that will be in our lives for only a short time, and then there are those that stick. The ones that stick forever are usually few in number and you come to cherish those friends as a life line to your own sanity. I have a few of these friends, the ones that I know that no matter what we will always be there for each other...and I love them like sisters. My friend, Lois, and I have been friends for probably going on 12 years now. We are of one mind and one soul. I think we were twins split up in Heaven. Sometimes it scares me how much we think alike (if you knew her thoughts, it might scare you too). We aren't friends that talk daily or weekly (anymore), but when one of us needs the other, we know that the other will always be there. And by "be there" I mean, if the other one needs to be laughed at, reprimanded, made fun of, cried with, or the like, we give each other a call or email, physically we haven't even seen each other in almost 3 years, but that doesn't matter. I love Lois because I know that no matter what I have done, she will make me see the path that I should have taken...for example...upon hearing about my skirt incident at church, she sent me the following email (editing is for names and a tiny bit of clarity only...the words and the meaning have been left intact):

"You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to seduce the unsuspecting elders with your totally unprovoked striptease! How do you think that made your child feel? And did you even think about the way it might effect D? Did you even ask him before you just opened up your marriage for swinging? I mean, I know that you have a strong sexual urge, and that you always have been inappropriate and immodest, but come on...church. Where else can people go to shelter or seclude themselves from all the worldly pressures and undue improper harassment? And just so you know, the fact that you quickly repented (mostly because you were already in the company of a bishop and counselors), does not make it right. You know as well as I that if something is preplanned and carried out, a simple "sorry I stripped at church, it won't happen again" just doesn't cut it. That image will be burned into the minds of so many people, and they will fight to make it stop. I hope your carnal desires have been satisfied for the time being. And I will do my best not to bring it up again. Everyone deserves a second chance."

If responses like that don't make you feel better about your mistakes, what will? Thanks to Lois, I have seen the light and my clothes will now remain on throughout every church meeting! What would I do without her? To me, that is the joy of my friends...life is too short to hide in embarrassment when things go wrong, so together we help each other find the laughter in all things...even the humiliating! This is a tribute to Lois, Hero, and Angel...because they always help me to laugh in the midst of crying, and cry in the midst of laughing (mostly because I am laughing so hard), and to all my other friends, even those I don't see or talk to often, you are in my heart and you make life enjoyable!

On an end note, I would like to share one last thought from Lois on parenting: "Can't we just freeze [our children] so that we can thaw them out when we are all rested and ready to parent? And then, when the going gets rough, we could just stick them in again. Oh well, they sure do make us tired, and upset, and scared, and annoyed, but aren't they the greatest things ever!"

My thoughts exactly...

We are family...

2008-07-25T11:17:00.005-06:00

When I was young a family reunion consisted of 1 afternoon of just a few hours in which my mom made sure that we had on matching, attractive clothing (usually new-ish), our hair was neatly combed, and we were on our best behavior for the hours that we were at the reunion. In my dad's family a reunion consisted of a picnic at the park where each family brought their own lunch and sat at their own table, and then we went at played at the playground with our own cousins. The only thing that made it a reunion was that my parents and grandparents spoke with the other people who were eating their own lunches at their own tables in the same pavilion we were eating in. Their children would play at the same playground my immediate family was playing at, but we rarely spoke to them. It was all about impression. We went to appease my grandma, who loved a good reunion, and I am still not sure what constitutes a "good" reunion.

With my mom's family, we rarely had a true reunion (maybe we didn't like each other, I don't know). We did have 1 annual family party that was held at my grandpa's sister's house every year on the 24th of July. Even though it wasn't technically a "reunion," my mom held us to the same expectations as a regular reunion. We were to talk only to our immediate cousins, just kidding. This yearly party was a barbecue/pool party. As children, we loved this party. Our great aunt had a built in swimming pool in her backyard, which made her by far the coolest aunt we had (no offense to other aunts--we were kids). Even though we were driving nearly an hour to her house in our station wagon to swim, my mom made us put on very cute clothes and would make sure that all the girls' hair was curled. Yes, my mom curled 4 girls long hair in order to take us swimming...if that is not about making a good impression I don't really know what is.

Today, the family reunion as I know it has changed. It is, in my current situation, no longer just 1 afternoon of trying to make a good impression, it is now 4 to 5 days of nonstop togetherness--and with a husband and 4 children, it is hard to keep up appearances for that long. I am truly amazed that extended family can still love each other following events like these. Having just returned from a wonderfully fun family reunion, I can honestly say from experience that it is impossible for me to be on my best behavior for 5 days--let alone hold my children to the same expectation. I don't know how anyone can be expected to chase 4 children around for 5 days while her husband socializes and maintain a respectful demeanor (for the most part), and still keep up the appearance of a perfectly sane woman. After recently reviewing some photos of this time period, I can also safely say that I did not keep up the best appearances and impressions were not all that mattered.

Perhaps that is the purpose of the extended family reunion, to show your entire extended family the typical dysfunction that exists in your immediate one in an attempt to help the others feel better about their own family functionality. If this is the case, we have truly been successful. The first day of the reunion actually went pretty well...we were all still in best behavior mode. It was the following days that I try to block out periods (hours) of time. Whether we were breaking up fights, or fighting ourselves, D and I were going from sun-up to sun-down. At one point I think I actually gave up for a minute...luckily Fuss needed a nap and it was best if I laid down with him. There was chasing down the boys to make sure that they had on bike helmets or lifejackets, sunscreen and bug spray, matching clothes, hair combed, had eaten something healthy over the course of the day, that they knew where the "things" that they had brought with us were (this could include Nintendo DS, worn clothing, shoes--always looking for shoes, toothbrushes, etc). It is hard to keep Fuss in control at our house, and I know where everything is that he can get in to here (at least I try to). At someone else's place it is a battle to make sure that their items are not destroyed, misplaced, or somehow otherwise abused. Needless to say this constant chasing does not constitute a good impression of myself. And what did I learn from this experience? That it is because of extended family that we survive. When we couldn't find Olie, Nana found him in the loft. When I couldn't find my flip flops, D's grandpa recovered them from their hiding place under his bed. When I allowed the wave runner to drift too close to the shore, D's uncle pushed me out. When Skater and his cousin rowed the canoe around the bend and out of site, D's aunt flew on the wave runner to rescue (and scold) them. Without the help of so many people, we truly may not have survived...and in the end, impressions didn't matter...at least I am pretending that they don't...for now.

Motherhood is an emotion...

2008-07-21T18:56:00.022-06:00

Fuss was only 2 weeks old the first time I took him to my parent's house. As a first time parent of an infant, I was looking forward to the day trip simply to have someone else hold him and allow myself a break. I broke down crying the second that my sister asked if she could hold my little bundle of joy (or so I was told he would be), because my wish had come true. I was also crying because 3 of my 4 sisters (sister-in-law included) were pregnant and I realized that it would only be a very short matter of time until he was no longer the youngest, and then maybe I would have to hold him the whole time again. As I sobbed this reality to my sisters and mom, I confessed that I was the worst mom in the world. How could I want to let him go so easily so soon after his birth? My sisters readily assured me that I wasn't horrible, that I was just the first to speak out loud what they had all felt. As reassuring as this was, I was positive that things would have to get easier as he got older...oh, how I was wrong.

The emotion that a mother experiences at any given time is like ranking that emotion on a scale of 1 to 10 and then having her multiply the rank by the number of children she has plus herself, and that is what she is really feeling...still on a scale of 1 to 10. For example, I love to go 4-wheeling, but riding on the back of a 4-wheeler scares me (I like to have the control of direction, speed, and turns). So, while taking our children on a family 4-wheeling adventure, with myself on the back of D's 4-wheeler and Fuss stuffed in the middle of us, and with each of the older boys on the back of various cousins' 4-wheelers, I would normally rank my nervousness about a 9. With 4 children plus myself, I would have to give myself a total rank of 45 out of 10 in the nervous department. As a mother, I have discovered all to well that you will always feel more nervous, scared, happy, excited, joy, ecstatic, etc than you ever thought possible. Everything changes and no matter what you do it will never go back. You can't stop feeling and worrying. The difference is that instead of feeling nervous or fearful for your own safety and well-being, the heightened emotion is for your children. Activities that you once found enjoyable without a second thought will suddenly open your eyes to every danger lurking around every corner. A swim from the dock at the lake, for instance, once a fun challenge now becomes a mathematical equation based on the amount of energy of each swimmer, times their age, divided by the weight of the life jacket, added to the distance of the swim, multiplied by the speed and direction of the wind, equals that you will never be at peace when your children are doing anything that has risk!

This past week D and I took our 4 boys to a family reunion...at a lake. I love lakes. I love water activities of all sorts. I have always hoped that my children would love the water as much as I do...and they do, somewhat to my detriment. I have become acutely aware of the dangers of the water as I never have before. Fuss hates his lifejacket. Skater thinks that if he can touch the mossy rocks at the bottom then he doesn't need his lifejacket, even if the waves from the wind and boats can quickly knock him from his feet and push him to deeper waters. Moo prefers riding his bike away from all adults to swimming in a freezing cold lake where supervision is prevalent. Olie loves the water, and much to my delight is very cautious. If you ever want to know if you have truly become a parent, take your children to a place that as a single person would have been your ideal vacation. If you suddenly realize that you are no longer concerned with your own safety or your own pleasure, then you are a parent.

The thing about releasing yourself from your own self-concern, is that you also have to realize that it will never come back. As a single person, or even just a couple of dinks (double-income-no-kids), you have the right to be selfish...as a parent you don't, and as a parent you don't care. The only thing that matters is that your children are protected and safe. The only thing that matters is that you are a mother. Why do we put ourselves through this? Because at the end of the day, when you are tired beyond exhaustion, and you think that you can go no further, or when you break down in tears because you just want a break, one of those little emotional tortures will stand at your side and say, in the sweetest voice, "mom," and he will hold up his arms for you to pick him up, and he will sit in your lap, and he will wrap his arms around your neck, kiss you, and say, "iluya" and the flood of emotions you feel will be joy...joy at the rank of 10, times the number of children plus yourself, times infinite...because you are his mother.

Oh, what a moment...

2008-07-13T17:01:00.011-06:00

The most recent event of my chaotic existence has brought me to the understanding that no matter how prepared for anything you are, you are never fully prepared. Today started with D having to leave for church a little early, which in turn left me alone to get Fuss ready and take him to church. This normally wouldn't be a big deal except that it was also my turn to do sharing time for the primary children, so I had props and handouts and such. Therefore my arms were very full. One member of our ward even commented that when we come to church, we move in...that is how much "stuff" I had. It wasn't until we were actually at church that I realized that I did not have a binky anywhere for Fuss. I diligently searched through my purse, my primary bag, and the diaper bag, but it was nowhere to be found. I went out to the car, looked under the seats, around the car seat, on the ground...no binky. There was no way that Fuss was going to make it through 3 hours of church without his binky, so D went home to get one. There I sat, all flustered thinking about how unprepared I was, how could I forget a binky? Did I not know the 5 B's of leaving the house (Bag, Blanky, Binky, Baba, Baby)? D was back only about 5 minutes, when I also realized that I had also forgotten to pack his scriptures (yes, I know...I forgot--because evidentially it is my responsibility to bring my husband's scriptures to church for him), and I had forgotten the information that one of the scouts requested for help in doing his Eagle Scout project. I started to think I was losing brain cells this morning. Since I had also forgotten to feed Fuss breakfast before we left, and he had thrown his sippy (aka Baba) on the ground in the parking lot and the lid had popped off, his milk was nearly gone before the first hour was even half over, and I had also forgotten to pack juice. Truly this was not my best day of preparation. I told D I would run home this time. I would grab the papers for the scout, get D's scriptures, and refill the empty sippy. Little did I know that refilling the sippy would lead to my most unprepared for moment of the day so far. I say "so far", but I am hoping for the day completely!

Shortly after I returned, Fuss was fussing, as this is what he seems to do best. D volunteered to take him out of the chapel into the foyer. I thought this was a great idea. I thought wrong. With only 5 minutes left of the first meeting, I glanced out the back doors to see D frantically scurrying about with Fuss in his arms. We made eye contact. He looked angry. He showed me the empty sippy in his hand that no longer had a lid on it. I immediately noticed the milk dripping from his hand and the cup. He pointed to Fuss and mouthed something that I didn't understand, and frankly don't think I want to. I quickly gathered the small picnic that Fuss had previously created on the bench. Picked up the toy car, gathered our papers and scriptures, and as discretely as possible took my luggage out to the foyer to see the damage my son had created.

Fuss had thrown the sippy and again the lid popped off. Since I had wisely refilled it, approximately 12 ounces of milk flooded a spot on the floor. There were 4 people on hands and knees with paper towels mopping up what my son had done. D handed off Fuss to me so that he could help with the mopping process. As D ran off for more paper towels from the bathroom, I struggled to balance the load of bags on one arm with the load of my child in the other. I was frazzled at this point, and contemplating why I let my easily stressed out husband be the one to take our overly tired child out of the meeting. Fuss was trying to crawl up my body by walking up my side. As his feet pushed against the fabric of my clothing, I thought to myself, "I better just sit down with him." It was then that I made eye contact again. This time it was with a woman sitting across the foyer. She mouthed the words "Your SKIRT!" to me. I looked down to see my skirt, the one that had just moments ago covered my legs, lying in a pile on the floor around my ankles. The entire skirt did not just slip from my waist a little, but fell entirely to the floor. Luckily, I was wearing a slip for a change. Unluckily, when your skirt is around your ankles, you can't really run away. How do you escape that moment? Do you pick up the skirt and run down the hall to the bathroom while half naked? With all my items still in arms, I quickly moved Fuss to the baggage arm and crouched as low as I could and pulled up my skirt with one hand. I just have to say that this is not the best method for correcting a moment like this. When pulling a skirt up with one hand it can cause the slip underneath to be pulled and bunched around the waist line. Not to mention that it wasn't even on remotely straight, but I couldn't leave my 1 year old and my bags alone, nor could I carry them all and hold my skirt up on the trek to the bathroom. So, I did what I had previously thought was a good idea, I sat down on the couch that was near me. The men that had been helping mop up milk were polite and tried to look away, but let's face it...inside they were laughing as hard as I was bawling (inside...outwardly I maintained as much composure as I could). Oh, how unprepared I was for that moment. I didn't even feel my skirt falling. When D returned and I explained the moment I had just been through, I also included that it was entirely his fault. Had he not been frantically trying to get my attention and been flustered in explaining the situation to me, I would not have been flustered and may have tried to get things better situated before taking Fuss from him. Maybe not, but I still like to think that the moment could have been prevented by something that D did. After I had suffered the complete humiliation, I opt to forgo the responsibility.

Dry Clean Only...

2008-07-09T14:48:00.011-06:00

Technology has brought us so far in creating quality fabrics of all kinds and simplifying the means to clean them. We now have stain resistant everything in our homes, carpets, furniture...well, that's about it, but it is more than we used to have. I can even wash my husband's nicest dress slacks in the washing machine without ruining them now! It amazes and thrills me. So, with all of this nice technology you can only imagine my surprise when I decided that after several months of use it was time to renew the look of the seat cover to Fuss' highchair, and found that the care instructions were "Dry Clean Only." Seriously, when making this adorably cute highchair that matches the colors of my kitchen, did the manufactures forget the age of the children that would be using it? Have they never seen a child eat? Were they more worried about the rounded fit of the seat that would hold the cute little bottom in place, and the convenient lift-off-the-tray-to-wash top, that they forgot about the arms that would throw Spaghetti-O's and juice from above the tray? Did they not even take the time to consider that it was even a possibility that any of these items might actually land or splash onto the seat cover itself? Who are these people that while bringing joy to the decorative accessory of the kitchen, also cause greater anxiety by these care for instructions? I can see why they may not think this is such a big deal, I mean as a mother I have plenty of available time to load my children into the car, drive to the dry cleaners, pay for same day service, drive home, sit around doing absolutely nothing but waiting for the chance to leave my house again, reload the kids in the car, drive back to the dry cleaners, drive back home, and replace the adorable seat cover that I will stand to admire for hours on end...seriously, no inconvenience whatsoever?? And since my child rarely spills on his highchair, if I were to actually do this activity as needed, it should only cost me about $100 a month for the gas and the cleaning. Now, I know I do have the option of not paying for the same day service, but in the time that the highchair seat is not in position, where do they expect me feed my child? Should I feed him in the $600 stain-resistant recliner, or do I opt for the couch, since the slip covers can easily be removed and thrown in the washing machine (What a novel idea--a seat cover that can be washed in a washing machine, in my home...). Or perhaps I can set him on the bar stools that are too high for him to sit on safely, but at least he would still be over the tile floor where spills are most easily wiped up. I could let him sit on the floor, we have stain-resistant carpet (or so that manufacturer tells us, but that is another whole story). There is always the option of holding him on my lap at the dinner table, since that is a very enjoyable way for me to have my dinner. I have no solution for this, but let's just say that I do know through my own sources, that if you were to protest these "care for" instructions, and forego any warranty that the highchair may or may not have, and actually just wash the seat cover in the washing machine, any damage that is done to it is internal and will never be noticed by the diaper clad butt of a 1 year old. You might also be rewarded by the curiosity of your 1 year old realizing for the first time that there are cute animals on the back fabric of his chair--they just needed a bath.

Mail Call...

2008-07-08T06:56:00.008-06:00

I remember when I was kid, we used to get so excited to get the mail for our mom. It seems ridiculous, but that is what childhood is, finding pleasure in the simplest of tasks. My brothers and sisters and I would run up the stairs (yes, up...we lived on the downhill slope of a mountain) to the mailbox. The first one to reach the mailbox would use his or her body to block the others from being able to open it. With his chest pressed against the box, he would slide one hand up and open the box just enough to allow his other hand to enter from the small gap. The hand grabbing the mail would be tightly pressed between the mailbox and his body. He would have to grab the mail quickly, before anyone else the chance to reach a hand in and take it out from under him (which did happen since the metal door on the mailbox opens symmetrically). The excitement of this task was always heightened if we were able to have the mail handed directly to us from the mailman himself. We had a good mailman and he would split the mail between the children that were waiting as much as possible so that we could all participate.

I have to admit, I don't love getting the mail anymore. In fact, when D asks me to go get the mail I kind of roll my eyes and sulk away to the place where the bills are delivered. Every time I get mail it is from people who either want money from me, or people who want me to apply to get money from them so that they can get even more money from me in the end. I don't even like getting mail on my birthday, who wants to get a bill on their birthday? However, the tradition and excitement continues. Our boys find great pleasure in getting the mail. Olie actually called me on the 4th of July to make sure that I didn't get the mail without him. As soon as we had arrived home from a days activities (the parade was only the start) he and D trekked about collecting the flags that the Boy Scouts had placed in yards that morning. Olie asked me not to send someone else to get the mail, he wanted to be able to do it when he got home...now that is dedication. When I reminded him that we didn't get mail on holidays, he was slightly disappointed. It got me thinking though, getting the mail is a completely different experience these days. There is no meeting the mailman at the curb and having the mail hand-delivered to you. There isn't even a mailbox at our curb. Our mailbox is a "community box" halfway down the street. Even if we were to meet the mailman there, he doesn't know us, so he wouldn't just hand over our mail. We would have to stand there and watch him put the mail in our "box" and then lock the "box" back up so that we can unlock the box that he just locked and remove the mail that we just watched him put in there. It is similar to hiding a toy from a toddler in your hand, but the toy is slightly too big to be completely hidden so when you ask them what hand it is in, if they guess wrong you start to worry about their intelligence level. That is what the joy of getting the mail has come to. Although, I am no longer excited about getting the mail, our children still are. For the last 2 weeks that the boys have been with us, Olie asked me everyday if he could go get the mail. He was thrilled when our next door neighbors went on vacation and he was able to get the mail for both us and them. Double the fun! One day he returned with only 1 pile of mail and announced that since ours was just "junk mail" he didn't worry about keeping it separated. I was very tempted to just throw the double stack of coupons in the neighbors pile, but I like them, so I separated them and threw my own away. During this 2 weeks, it was also brought to my attention that the boys realize the thrill of mail leaves as you get older. What a sad reality for a child... Olie came back from retrieving the mail one day and announced that "there were no bills!" He quickly grinned and followed up with, "Do I get a treat for that, for not bringing back any bills?" What a kid won't do for some candy...truth is, if he could repeat the task daily (without disposing of anything along the way) I would buy him a freaking candy store! I do have to admit though, that I feel kind of sorry for the boys. They will never get to experience the race to the mailbox with the anticipation of being first and receiving the award of retrieving the mail that their parents don't want. They know who will get to open the mailbox...the one who has the key.

As I was pondering what getting the mail has become, I also started to question what else this new system of mail security was affecting...so, as we were standing in our driveway one afternoon I asked. "Do you know what our address is? If you were lost, where would you tell someone you lived?" Moo just said that he didn't know. Skater shrugged his shoulders and told me that they were only there sometimes, so he didn't know either. Olie looked at the address block attached to the front of our house and read it aloud to me. At least he knew where to find it. I honestly started to feel guilt about being such a horrible parent that I hadn't taught our boys their address, even if it was just their every other weekend home. So, I asked them, "Do you know your address at your mom's home?" Skater proudly rolled his eyes as if questioning why I would even ask such a ridiculous question...of course he did, "P.O. Box..." I pray that they never get lost!

Oh say, who can't see...

2008-07-07T10:07:00.015-06:00

I love parades! I love being a part of a crowd, cheering on the beauty queens (since I never was and never will be one...I choose to live vicariously through those on the float), city floats, large balloons, and high school bands. I love watching the horses of all sizes pulling various wagons for various people of various causes. It seems that no matter what your purpose, cause, or company your message can be delivered effectively by horse and buggy. It was my love of parades that prompted my family's 4th of July activities. I had this great idea that we would wake up early and drive the hour, fight the traffic, and enjoy the festivities of the "American Freedom Festival." The day would start with the launching of the hot air balloons. I warned D and the boys for several days that the balloon launch started at 6:30 a.m. This meant that we would have to leave our house by 5:30 at the very latest, earlier if we wanted to park beforehand. I prefaced this with, "I want to have an enjoyable day. I do not want fighting or complaining about how early it is. If you do not want to go, let me know now and I will make other arrangements for you." Every single guy in my family agreed to accompany me. The boys showered early the night before and were in bed by 9:00 p.m., voluntarily! Fuss refused to go to sleep early, but with a little coaxing he seemed to realize he didn't have much choice. Sleep finally came for me, until the alarm rang at 4:00 the next morning. I hit the snooze...repeatedly. By 4:45 a.m. I decided that I could no longer prolong what I had started. I showered and started to get ready. At 5:15 I went downstairs and woke up the boys. I came back up to wake up my husband, who is not a morning person at 7:00, let alone at 5:15, which started the day off just as I had imagined but tried to avoid. Through the morning chaos of 6 exhausted people getting ready, we managed to get loaded in the car...camera, stroller, chairs, blanket, diaper bag, snacks, and yes, the kitchen sink. By 5:45 we were on the road. Normally our 15 minute delay would be no challenge for D, but as soon as we hit the freeway a Highway patrolman pulled in front of us and helped us to maintain the speed limit perfectly...all the way there. We arrived late and missed the launch of the balloons, but I was glad to see that the boys were fascinated by the large hot air balloons above us as we drove, and drove, and drove to find parking. Olie told us he had never seen a hot air balloon in real life before. Their excitement started to make me feel confident that the early morning adventure (and the earlier morning fight between unhappy D and I) was worth the effort of getting there. By the time we parked we had missed the launch of every balloon, but we still walked toward the field they were launching from. I was hoping that we would be able to see at least 1 land and that the boys would be able to see a balloon up close. We had to walk about 6 blocks through crowded streets to make it to the launching field. By the time we got there, D was worn out, Moo was still tired and not the most chipper child you have ever seen. He practically had to be dragged by D to keep up with the rest of us. Skater had stepped in front of a car pulling out of a parking lot and almost been hit, and Fuss was humming from his stroller. D was not in the mood to sit amongst the crowd waiting for balloons to land and suggested that we just move on to the parade. I was not about to tell my crowd-hating husband that we would have to back track, so I took him on a longer journey to get to the parade route. As we were walking we discovered that there was parking available for $5 right in between the balloons and the parade route, within 3 blocks of both. Needless to say, this discovery was not responded to well. By the time we reached the parade route we had walked nearly 1 1/2 miles. D had not worn very good walking shoes, which just added to his frustration. I have to admit that although I did anticipate some resistance to the activities, I took some great joy in the fact that the one who was complaining was the one who should have known to be better prepared--therefore I released myself from feeling any responsibility.

When we finally hit the parade route, the area was packed with people whom had spent the night to "save their places", or by those whom I can only assume live closer than we do. We ended up sitting on the road in the middle of a crosswalk--the only place we could find that was large enough to fit us all. We had a blanket for the boys to sit on, but the only place to lay it was behind another family's chairs. D and I had brought chairs for ourselves, but not the boys. We settled in as best we could and tried to save places for other members of my family (who do live closer, but were not yet there). Then the adventures began. Fuss had a dirty diaper, which had to be changed while he laid in the stroller, and there was no place to throw it away. Skater and Moo were lying on the blanket in the middle of the road fighting about who was closer to the edge. Olie sat in my chair while I followed Fuss as he wandered the streets fighting the crowd for entertainment. By this point we still had 2 hours before the parade even started! My sister brought relief when she showed up with breakfast, until Moo realized he would have rather gotten what Olie did. By the beginning of the parade we had filled in our small section of road with KM's family of 4, Gillette's family of 5, our family of 6, and my parents. We consisted of a wheelchair (my mom), 7 chairs, 2 blankets, and 2 strollers. The entire crosswalk (which was just a 2 lane road with a left hand turn lane) had well over 100 people in it, squishing us like little sardines who need to make new friends. The kids hadn't been able to see, so the family in front of us kindly offered to let them sit on their blanket in front of the crowd. Although this seemed like a great resolution, I soon came to realize that it is much harder to yell at your children to sit down so they don't get run over, to stop fighting, and to be nice with strangers lined up in between you and them. It was within the first 10 minutes of the parade that the sun came to it's peak and Olie complained that he was hot and asked if we could go home. Two hours of waiting had worn him out, but there was no way I was leaving at that point--I came to see a parade, and by golly that is what we were going to do! By mid-parade Skater was getting frustrated that he wasn't able to catch the many pieces of candy and random other items that were being thrown from the floats. Moo was crying because Skater was sitting too close to him. Olie elbowed Moo in the stomach for reasons that I am still unsure of. Fuss was exhausted and refused to go to sleep. Although, he was absolutely fascinated by the bands, horses, and motorcycles, the floats really did nothing for him and caused his attention to fluctuate, which in turn caused his fussiness to increase. My nephew was crying because his little brother had his hat. My niece was upset because she didn't have a chair beside her mom. All the while my dad was taking pictures of the reality that is a family outing. By the last 10 minutes of the parade we had spent ridiculous amounts of money purchasing 4 bottles of water and 8 Otterpops. We had stopped 1 bloody nose, broken up 3 fights, been poked with the mini flags Fuss was holding at least 6 times, changed seats 4 times, repacked the diaper bag in an attempt to find something at least twice, spilled 1 Diet Coke that ran towards the lady in front of us, changed 1 diaper, served 3 bottles to the babies, and moved to let people through more times than D would like to remember. D asked if we could start walking back to the car early--of course I refused, we came to see the parade and we were going to do it clear to the end! And through of all this adventure, I was brought to the realization that I loved parades...when I was single.

Defining Moments...

2008-07-06T19:58:00.008-06:00

My older brother was not very old, I want to say early elementary school age, when he told my mom he "felt like a word without a definition." Honestly, at that point in life I can totally understand. It is through life's experiences that our self purpose is defined, and in most lives I would say by age 7 we haven't really had many of those defining moments. Today is the anniversary of an event in my life that I wouldn't necessarily say completely "defined" my life, but it definitely added a line to the alternate definitions.

It was 9 years ago, July 6 at 11:00 a.m. I was driving north on the freeway with KM, Agee, and our cousin Belle. It only took a few seconds for all 4 of our lives to change forever. A day that was meant to be spent in fun and laughter was altered to a day of grief and fear, but it also became a day of hope and faith. Although this is a more solemn subject than I usually share, I want to share some of the things that I came to know as complete truth that day. I was driving Agee's car to take my 2 youngest sisters and my cousin swimming at the lake up the canyon. This was an activity that I frequented with my friends. Belle was a lifeguard and the rest of us had been to the lake so water safety was not something that we felt would be an issue, but for some reason I had this nagging feeling that we shouldn't go. We hadn't been on the road for very long when I needed to move over to allow another car to merge. There was a car in the lane to the right of us, which I believe sped up, but whether I misjudged his distance I will never know in this life. Either way, I started to move and the other car was there. I swerved back to our original lane, but that was now occupied by the merging driver. I was stuck in a car that I was unfamiliar with and didn't know how to handle. It took just one split second, just one wrong move and we were rolling on the freeway. As our car flipped forward and to the right, Belle was catapulted out of the back that didn't have a top on it. The rest of us remained in the car as Belle was using the freeway as a trampoline, bouncing around as if she were a rag doll. Our car finally settled (somewhat) by balancing on the edge of the top of a hill on the wrong side of the concrete barriers. We were just south of the overpass facing south. How we landed further south than we had begun, since we were driving north, is still a mystery that no one has been able to answer. However, our landing spot is highly significant to the survival of my 2 younger sisters. I don't know how long I was unconscious, but I know I was because I remember waking up. The roof of the car was caved in and holding Agee's head in an unnatural position. KM was unconscious in the back of the car, sprawled across the seat. I was still buckled in my seatbelt, but somehow my legs were hanging out of the side window, and the steering wheel was pushed in over my stomach. My seat was broken in 2 piece by a lengthwise split. My position was also significant, not only because had I not been twisted sideways the steering wheel would have crushed my chest, but also because it kept Agee behind me keeping me from the gruesome reality of her extensive injuries. I did notice that there was a lack of traffic passing our accident scene, but did not find out until later that it was due to a semi-truck driver who had pulled his rig across all lanes in a means of protecting Belle from traffic during her acrobatic moments. There were 5 cars that made it past before the truck blocked all traffic. Two of the cars were driven by nurses, friends who had attended nursing school together. One car was driven by an off duty firefighter. A fourth car was driven by an off duty EMT, ironically the firefighter's brother. The fifth car was a forest service rescue truck, and a friend of the 2 brothers. His truck contained a wench, which was used to stabilize our car and allow emergency personnel to remove us from it. An officer, who was not on duty, but had his radio on, was driving directly below the overpass that we nearly rolled off of when the call came through and was on the scene within seconds. The miraculous placing of each of these individuals is a blessing that saved lives that day, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

At the hospital we were told of the extensiveness of Agee's injuries. She had been scalped to the bone, every layer severed completely. In wasn't until she was in surgery that it was discovered that each and every piece was still there and able to be reattached. She had a skull fracture from ear to ear. She had a compound fracture in her arm, just to name a few of her injuries. The surgeons told my parents that if she were to live that she would never make it past a vegetative state, there was no way with the extent of her injuries. Belle, who had been thrown, walked away without a broken bone. She had severe road rash on her arms and legs, but her life was intact. KM suffered a severe concussion and a fractured wrist. My only injury was an unattached shoulder that the extent of the injury would not even be discovered until I had surgery 5 years later. Agee spent approximately 5 weeks in the ICU, 2 1/2 weeks in inpatient rehab, and several weeks in outpatient rehab. She took the experience in stride. When she was relearning to speak the speech therapist would have her come up with as many words that started with whatever letter they were working on as she could, and then to create sentences with those words. Her favorite was "R" because she was able to come up with things like, "ridiculous, retarded, this is retarded, I am not retarded, but this is retarded." We knew she would be okay.

The girl that wasn't supposed to survive graduated with her high school class 10 months after the accident. She is now the slightly insane mother of 4 young children. The best part of her injury is that she lost a portion of her memory and forgot that she had broken up with her boyfriend, who is now her husband of nearly 8 years. (We liked him, so we didn't remind her, and neither did he).

Why am I telling you this, because each year on this date I reflect. I reflect at how my personal knowledge of a loving Heavenly Father came to be so strong that I knew that He knew of me and watched out for me. I am telling you this because this helped to define who I am. It made me realize that I will never doubt my faith or the principles that I was taught as a child by my parents and my church. I am telling you to build my own strength and to remind myself that no matter where I am or what I am doing, I know I am being watched over and taken care of. I also know that you, whoever you are, are being loved and watched over also.

I know that this entry isn't as lighthearted as most of the entries in my blog are, but thank you for allowing me the opportunity to share a defining moment in my life. Sometimes it takes the roll of a car for us to realize how entertaining the rest of life really is.

Perfect understanding...

2008-07-03T09:43:00.009-06:00

It has recently come to my perfect understanding, that to perfectly understand is completely relative to the situation, especially for children. Fuss thinks that he is older than he is. His perfect understanding is to do whatever it is everyone else is doing in the same manner that they are doing it. For a child of 13 months, as you know, this is not capable of being done. For months now he has refused to eat unless he has a spoon (or preferably a fork) in his hand, even if he doesn't use it. He prefers to drink his drinks straight from the bottle or the can that they are purchased in, but doesn't want to drink them in his highchair--he wants to drink them on the couch in front of the TV like daddy. I recently poured a soda into a sippy cup for him and he threw a fit! He threw the cup on the floor and cried while reaching for the can, back arched, arms eventually thrown to his sides, head drooping, eyes squinted, crying, the whole of what a "fit" is. Knowing my child like I do, I picked up the sippy and started drinking. It's true, I drank from a sippy...and it is harder than you might think. It is actually like trying to drink out of the tiniest little straw you could find with the expectation of getting the liquid consumption of a large fast food straw. No wonder the kid doesn't like it. Anyway, as I started to walk away with the sippy in my hands, Fuss came to the realization that it was okay to have a cup instead of the can. This was also in conjunction with me throwing the can away. Due to my child's perfect understanding of independence, I have also allowed him to feed himself completely. I no longer participate in feeding even the messiest of foods. Fuss has also shown me that to fully appreciate food you must wear at least part of it. The more food that you have on your face, the bigger the smile you give to those that gave you the food. My perfect understanding is that children should eat naked.

By the time a child reaches another age (and I am not really sure which age it is) their perfect understanding is that if you do not explain every possible scenario in stated expectations or requirements, then the unstated scenarios are null and void. To explain: Last week I took the boys to the zoo with a play group from our church. When the older boys arrived from their mom's on Sunday night, I told them about the zoo trip that would take place on Thursday. I also told them that I would give each of them $10 to spend at the zoo. However, the $10 was a starting amount. I gave them an outline of ways in which this money could be revoked in $.50 increments. If they were to fight with each other, including yelling, kicking, hitting (with hands or other objects) they would lose money. If they were to back talk, roll their eyes, ignore, or sigh in annoyance to either me or their dad, they would lose $.50. If they did not pick up their toys after use, put their dirty clothes in the hamper, brush their teeth daily, or go to bed when told they would lose $.50. The list also included complaining about what was made for meals (I thought we would deduct large amounts for this since someone is always unhappy about what my cafe's daily specials are...but I was pleasantly surprised). Anyhow, by Wednesday night we were doing better than expected; Olie had $6.50, Skater had $6.50, and Moo had $6.00--for 3 boys in 3 days, not too bad.

On Wednesday the boys had their cousins over to play. D would be watching our 4 and his sister's 3 while we went to get mani-pedi's for his brother's upcoming wedding (great tradition by the way). To ease D's stress, I made dinner before I left (mostly due to the movie incidence, I wanted to make sure that real food was served). As I was calling the boys to dinner, Olie, Skater, and cousin Sporty (it is getting hard to make up fake names) came immediately. Fuss was in the highchair, so I was missing only 2 (the youngest cousin hadn't arrived yet). I yelled and yelled, but they didn't come. I opened the front door and yelled again...nothing. I went out to the garage...no one. I went up to the family room...empty. I hustled to the backdoor...just the dog out there. I ran to the basement stairs, yelling the whole time for the 2 that were missing. My heart was pounding, harder with every empty response. I was in true panic mode when I saw something move under Moo's bed. It was Charmer's (the 5 year old cousin) foot. In my most stern voice I told them to get out from under there and get up to dinner immediately. I told them that they were never to do that again. I expressed to them that they had given me "a heart attack!" Upon arrival to the kitchen, I told Moo that he had just lost $.50 for his little stunt. He protested with, "But you never said anything about heart attacks." Perfect understanding...

I have also come to understand that to get the results that you want you can't describe what you may think are very clear instructions, a child will never have a perfect understanding of that. "Put the clothes on your floor away" can mean to throw everything in the hamper, even if the pile was recently washed. The clothes are away. Instructions followed...NOT! That 1 sentence must be dragged out to: "Pick up each individual item of clothing on the floor of your bedroom and on your bed. As you pick each item up, you must determine whether that item has been worn since it was last washed. If it has been worn, then place that item in the hamper (that is the basket looking thing in the corner of your room that you see me occasionally pick up when it is full, and return to your room empty). If it has not, in fact, been worn then you must neatly fold or hang the item and place in it's appropriate, pre-assigned place. Those places include drawers, hangers in the closet and on the rod, or the bag from your mom's house. If it is an item that you brought from your mom's house, place it in that bag. If it is an item that you received from our house, either for your birthday, Christmas, Easter, or just because I love you, place it in the closet or your drawers--neatly folded or hung. The area underneath the bed is considered part of your bedroom floor and the same expectations apply to clothes that are there. The floor of your closet is also considered the floor of your room and no clothes belong there." Perfect Understanding! One can only hope...

Oh, the pressures...

2008-07-01T11:20:00.009-06:00

In life there are enough pressures to keep up with and cause anxiety without the undue additions that society brings. As a wife and mother there is constant pressure to keep the house clean, the children fed (healthily even), make sure the kids get enough sleep, play nice, share, take baths, that I get a bath, church responsibilities, that my husband is happy, etc, etc, etc...you get the point and if you are a wife, mother, and/or human being, you understand what I am saying.

What really got me thinking about all this pressure was that I was given a starter for Amish Friendship Bread by my sister-in-law. There is a lot of pressure in accepting a starter for AFB. It is not just a one time event, this is a commitment, a repeated 10-day commitment...it is almost a part time job! You must squeeze the bag daily. I can't tell you how many times I have woken up from a near sound sleep with the realization that I did not, in fact, squeeze the bag that day. Of course I can't sleep knowing there is an unsqueezed bag in my kitchen. You also have to keep track of how many days that start has been sitting in it's beloved ziplock bag, because on day 6 you have to add ingredients. That leads to the pressure of knowing when day 6 is. Do you count day 1 as the day the start was placed in the bag, like you would do with your menstrual cycle, or do you count day 1 as the next day, as in 24 hours or 1 day? Personally, I fluctuate it between baking days and I have found that either seems to work fine--in case you need relief from the pressure of making that decision. After the milk, flour, and sugar are added you have more days of squeezing and letting out the fermented air (which I have to tell you, learn from my mistake, point the bag away from your face when releasing the air). Finally day 10 comes! The great day of reward when you get to make this delicious loaf of bread, but it doesn't end with the reward. Every 10 days that you make the bread, you have also created 4 starts and a whole new list of pressures. Do you keep a start for yourself with the commitment to make bread again in 10 days, or do you give them all away to your friends, since it is "friendship bread?" Not to mention that you do have to keep in mind that if you do keep a start, at some point you will run out of friends to give the bread to. The length of time you can continue to give away starts of friendship bread is based on the size of your circle of friends. If you give a start to a friend with whom you share a mutual friend then you take the risk of the second friend receiving a start before you have the chance to rid yourself of a future start. Not to mention that you may have to buy stock in milk, flour, and sugar if you continue to keep starts for yourself. To add to the pressure of your decision is a warning at the bottom of the recipe "only the Amish know how to make a start, if you give all the starts away you will have to wait until you receive a start from another friend before you will be able to make the bread again." Why can't my next door neighbor be Amish? That way I could have the bread for holidays and special occasions without the risk of having so many loafs of bread I could build a house out them. Upon my last batch (of 4 so far), I called my sisters to see if any of them wanted a start. My youngest sister, KM, wisely asked me to bring her a mini-loaf of just the bread without having to accept the start (why didn't I think of that?). Ten days later at Didda's bridal shower, my sister, Gillette, who had accepted the start, announced to everyone that she had AFB starts available if anyone would like one. KM immediately said that she would take one. Of course I protested and told her she would have to take one of my starts since I had made her a loaf of bread previously. Our third sister, Agee, said, "you can do that? You can just get the loaf without the start? I want that deal!" No go, KM ruined it for future freeloaders. So, here I sit, staring at 3 ziplock bags (I didn't even have time to offer starts this round) with starts for AFB in them...do I make them? Do I throw them away? Oh, the pressure of this decision....

Another pressure that I do not like having to deal with is driving in the fast lane. Sure, you typically get to your destination slightly faster...typically. But in doing so you also have the pressure of having to go fast, and sometimes it is just too much. If I am in the middle of a line of cars in the fast lane I can deal with this pressure. It is when I am the first or second car in the line of fast lane dwellers that I get a little anxiety. If you are the first car then you have to be moving at a speed that is consistently faster than the lane to your right. You also have to be constantly aware of available "move over" spaces that arise. Upon upcoming arrival of these spaces, you must be able to judge your speed verses the length of the line behind you to quickly calculate whether you will be significantly slowed by letting the line pass you before you have the opportunity to move back to the fast lane, or if you will be fast enough to pass the closest car in front of you in the right lane before those behind you get annoyed. And no matter how fast you are going you know that there is someone in the lane behind you cursing that if you would just move over the entire lane would be able to move faster. Who needs that kind of pressure? Being second is no better, because you know that as soon as the first car finally does move over you will become the first car and feel all the pressures that come with that responsibility. Honestly, I would prefer to be near the middle complaining about the first car.

There are other pressures that I recognized throughout this week, but with all the pressure of everyday life, I have inadvertently chosen to forget them...who needs the pressure of trying to remember? And on an end note, if you would like a start for the most delicious Amish Friendship Bread, please feel free to email me your address, I would be happy to provide as long as supplies are available.

Great expectations and too much information...

2008-06-24T19:01:00.005-06:00

Not more than an hour ago I was standing in the kitchen overlooking what was a semi-acceptable mess. I loaded the dishwasher (yes, dinner was done by 6 pm!) washed up the counter, the baby, and the highchair tray. I thought to myself, "this mess would be acceptable if my visiting teachers were to stop by unannounced, but I do need to move the vacuum out of the middle of the room..." Not 5 seconds later, I swear, the doorbell rang and there stood my visiting teacher. I didn't even have time to move the vacuum, nor was the house up to the expecations that I had thought. As we moved into the living room to visit (and for her to teach), I noticed that there were several toys sinking into the cushions of the couch. It truly seems that just when you think that your expectations might be within reach, someone or something brings you closer to reality and what is actually happening. It is then that you see the toys peering out from the cushions. At least that is my reality. The crazy part is, that even as frequently as it occurs, it still always surprises me, like one day there will be no toys in the cushions and things will be as they seem from my perch next to the dishwasher... Never going to happen! So, I have to question which is the better option, maintaining the same expectations of greatness, or lowering my standards to fit reality. I remember a day when my house used to be clean and stay clean for more than an hour. It was during this same time frame that I was easily able to take a shower before 5:00 pm. It was pre-motherhood.

I do not remember a day, however, when there was such a thing as "too much information" in my life. I grew up in a family where pretty much anything that you thought about, you could say. We asked questions of all natures, and our parents answered them. There was never an uncomfortableness in talking about even personal issues. The reason I thought of this is because the other day I was talking to my friend about her children, and she was explaining that one of them was having a medical issue, and preceded the talk by saying, "this is probably too much information." So, I was thinking, what is too much information among friends? If you were a stranger and I was discussing personal issues, then it might be somewhat awkward, then again I would probably never see you again so what would be the harm. I have a sister who does not know how to (or chooses not to) "filter" between her brain and her mouth. She thinks it, she says it. At times it is quite hilarious, at times embarrassing. We used to taunt her endlessly about her abrupt way of saying whatever she thought. I remember still the day that she jumped up during a conversation and yelled out, "I filtered a thought! Do you want to know what it was that I filtered?"

The thing is though, that my sister makes friends wherever she goes, even if it is just a temporary friend. She talks to people on the subway in Washington DC (even if they are trying to read a book), she makes conversation with the lady in front of her in the grocery store checkout. When we were younger we had a paper route that we shared. There was an elderly couple that lived on the corner, the first house we came to on our route. At their home my sister and I would divide and conquer to quicken the chore. Upon completion of our individual sections, we would meet in this elderly couple's front yard. It was on the 1st day we delivered papers that my sister became the "granddaughter" that came to visit daily. She would often be in the house eating cookies and drinking her milk. My sister would use their phone to call and beg my mom to pick us up, then we would walk home. My sister learned through her conversations with this couple that the woman was the sister of our grandparent's next door neighbor, the one we affectionately called "Uncle Joe." My sister makes friends no matter where she is or under what circumstances she is there. She talks to everyone and people listen, because she cares and she is honest. So, I ask is there really such a thing as too much information among friends and family? If you can't share the information that seems to be too much with those that care about you most, what are you supposed to do? Do you just let it bottle up inside until you pop like a shaken soda? At that point do you ramble off all of the "too much information" information that you have been saving for possibly years? I am glad that my friends can share their "too much information" with me. Sharing too much proves that you are friends, nonjudgmental, not easily offended, true friends. So, basically the world is my sister's friend...

Whose fault is it anyway....

2008-06-17T17:06:00.007-06:00

I learned a very significant lesson yesterday, Ipod Nanos and Motorola Razor cell phones do NOT work to their full capacity once they have been cleaned in the washing machine. It was never intentional for me to wash either of these items, which both belong(ed) to Olie. We arrived home from Father's Day celebrations at about 11:30 pm on Sunday night. I needed to take the boys to meet their mom on Monday morning, so I had them gather all the clothes that they had brought from her house that were still dirty and put them in the laundry room. There was a pile of clothing on top of the washing machine, so I washed them. Monday morning as I was changing the laundry loads I realized that I had neglected to see the basket with clothes from Lucy's (their mom) house in it. In a panic I poured the clothes into the washer that was already half filled with water and towels. No, I didn't take time to check the pockets. No I didn't take time to separate colors...I was under a strict time frame in which these clothes would be pushing to be cleaned and dried within. As I listened for the washer to finish, I had this nagging feeling that I should have checked the pockets. As I was moving the load from the washer to the dryer, it was obvious why...there was the Nano, mocking me from on top of the towels at the bottom of the load. I honestly felt sick to my stomach and that was before I found the phone. I immediately called D before I told Olie what I had done to the items that he had worked so hard for. The Nano he purchased with his own money. Money that he had been saving from birthdays and Christmas and doing chores around the house. The phone was a reward for working hard and being on time to school when he was struggling on wanting to be there... In one brief moment I destroyed both! D, in what I can only assume was a lapse of judgment, reprimanded me for not checking pockets before starting the load. I defended myself by telling him that at 11, a child should know that he needs to check his own pockets before throwing the clothes in the hamper (and yes I know that at 32 a parent should know that an 11 year doesn't always do what they should do either---obviously neither do I). I decided I needed to just break the news to Olie. So, I marched upstairs to the family room where the boys had spent the night. I announced the need for them to wake up and get ready immediately, and in the same breath told Olie that his Nano and phone were clean and dead. I hated breaking his little heart and was so sure that he, like his silly father, would be angry at me. He surprised me though. He responded with, "Awe...I should have made sure I checked my pockets before I threw them in the hamper." I knew I loved this child! I told him we were both at fault and then we rushed through the house looking for an old cell phone that would accept his SIM. The reason we so desperately needed to find a phone is because without Olie's cell phone then D is at the mercy of his still-bitter-4-years-after-the-divorce-has-been-final-even-though-both-are-remarried ex-wife. Without Olie's phone, she decides when and if she wants to allow the boys to talk to their dad. It can get pretty ridiculous, since the boys aren't allowed to call D from either the home phone or her cell phone, so he has to hope one of the boys are around to answer the home phone when he calls. Finding a back up phone was of the utmost importance. Luckily we found one, an old razor even. Which really came in handy since the boy's mom called us on Olie's phone 10 minutes after we arrived at the meeting spot (which we arrived 20 minutes early) to tell us she would be 30 minutes late. If you have ever spent 50 minutes with 4 kids in a gas station parking lot, then you can feel my pain right now.

Payback for D's reprimanding (which he did apologize for) came this morning though. D couldn't find the key to his car. I loving pulled it out of the washer. He had washed his jeans last night and didn't check his pockets. And, through some sort of miracle, the Nano works today, the phone, however, is still DOA...poor little phone.

Has anyone seen Fuss' turtle....

2008-06-16T19:03:00.005-06:00

I don't remember how it has come to this, but my day has succombed to looking for a plastic turtle wearing little black sunglasses. When your 1 year old's favorite bath time toy is missing, a person will go to great lengths to try to retrieve this "precious" $3 toy. I know we had it when the boys were running through the sprinklers and Fuss was in his pool. When I brought Fuss inside, I grabbed the turtle from the pool and wrapped it in the towel (the white towel--that shouldn't have been brought out for an outdoor towel, but since it was I used it on Fuss, knowing he wouldn't get it too dirty). I changed Fuss' clothes and started rocking him to sleep. Upon nearing the door, I heard Moo crying in the garage. I went out to find Skater with my white, clean, protected towel lying on the ground. Moo was crying because my white towel (the largest towels we have that are for the master bathroom, the ones my mom gave us for Christmas) was bigger than the one that he had. I quickly reprimand Skater and took my towel back...the turtle that was once inside has not been seen since. Whether he was accidentally thrown away, or discarded unnoticed as the towel was tossed about, I will never know, and my little Fuss will continue to look for the "trrrtl" when he gets in the bathtub. So, I spent the day looking through toy boxes, under beds, through the laundry, in the yard...no "trrrtl" to be found anywhere.
I remember the day, about 2 months ago, that my days were consumed with getting reports in, training, and "holding people accountable." In the grand scheme of things, I would rather look for a little green and blue turtle with sunglasses, because what I do now truly effects lives. You can go to an office or a store and "develop" adult employees, but when they say you're mean and they hate you, it's because you are most of the time. When you get to stay home and "develop" your children, when they say your mean and they hate you, it's because you love them so much you want them to have and be the best. It's because you are right where you want to be and doing what you need to be doing. I think the world is a better place because of mothers. My husband's solution to the turtle problem is to just buy another one (which is what we will end up doing), and even though my 1 year old may not understand that I have spent the day looking for his turtle now, someday he will realize that I will have spent my life looking out for what is important to him. That truly is my goal, whether it be my "own" children or my step-children, I want to be the one (or one of the ones) that is always there looking out for them.

Where did the time go...

2008-06-14T14:05:00.005-06:00

A week has come and gone, and I have barely had time to sit down for even a few minutes. We have had the joy of having all 4 boys with us this week. Since our marriage, 3 years ago, this is the first time that I have spent all day every day for an entire week with our boys. As a sister, I know that sisters tease, and borrow each others stuff, and taunt, and annoy each other, but none of what we ever did compares to what brothers do to each other. With boys teasing involves "sword" fighting (with whatever crazy type of "sword" they can find); "borrowing" involves taking bean bag chairs out from under someone who is already sitting in it, or waiting until your brother leaves the room and then secretly using his stuff with the hope that he won't find out; taunting involves anything that will make your brother feel inferior; annoying includes every other waking moment. I swear, it is nonstop. The only days that we truly had peace and quiet were the 2 days that the boys were grounded from TV and video games for fighting. These should be the days of my life. I relished every minute that the boys were outside running through the sprinklers. I cherished the quiet of them reading the "new" books that Nana purchased for them 6 months earlier. I embraced the sound of laughter as the 3 of them sat around the kitchen table playing the game of Life. I even felt sentimental as Olie offered to share the popcorn he had made. These were the moments that I hoped would last, and didn't. It was within the first 5 minutes of having play station privileges back that the fighting began. Someone called someone a "cry baby" and what do you do when it is the truth. You teach your children not to lie, but is it more important to be honest or nice??? Ahhh, the age old question. As a parent, I did my duty and told Olie that he shouldn't call his brothers names, and then told Moo that he shouldn't be a cry baby and then his brothers wouldn't tell him that he was....which to my detriment only made him cry more...but, seriously, he was being a cry baby which is just not right for his age.

All I ask for is 1 day of happiness in our home. Just 1 day...we are getting there at times, I think. Sometimes we can go for a few hours of bliss, but then....wham, someone is mad at someone for something that I am sure I will find to be ridiculous...it is always the same. And still, I wouldn't trade them in (yet). My favorite part of the week was when I got to have a night with the girls. I started a Bunco group. It was our first game, and I was the hostess. So, D took the boys to the movie, by himself, just him and the boys...all 4 of them! I sent him out to the theatre that has restaurants inside so that he could buy them dinner so they could eat dinner during the movie. By the time they returned home (only 3 hours later), D was ready to trade them all in for puppies. Fuss wouldn't sit still during the movie (shocker). D had to stand with him and missed half the movie (funny how he doesn't mind when we go together and I have to miss half the movie). I asked what the boys had had for dinner. The response, "by the time we got popcorn, treats, and drinks, there was no time to go buy dinner." Really??? I have to ask myself where his fathering skills stepped in. In my dear, sweet husband's sense of reality did he really think that he would have an enjoyable time with 4 children ages 11 and younger if he fed them sugar, possibly caffine (he doesn't know how to say no), and popcorn without any nutritional value given to them prior? I wonder why it wasn't so much fun for him. At least it gave him a dose of my reality on a daily basis (at least for the last week).

My greatest joy in life has gone from trying to balance motherhood, working, housekeeping, cooking, etc...to just watching my husband balance fatherhood all on his own.

The brothers are coming....

2008-06-09T21:11:00.004-06:00

Every other Friday we have this ritual in our family, we start telling Fuss early in the morning that "the brothers are coming today!" As I was telling him this last weekend, I realized we make it sound like this massive event, like we need to hang lanterns: 1 if by Dad's car or 2 if by Nana's. The thing is, is that it is an exciting event. When 3/4 of your children only come to visit every 14 days, it is very exciting when that 14 days is up. It is amazing to me that at only 1 year old, Fuss gets so excited every time he sees his brothers. He doesn't remember grandpas from one day to the next (or at least he teases them and pretends not to), but he does remember his brothers, and he loves them! Fuss has become such a daddy's boy that no one can take him away from his daddy, except Olie, Skater, and Moo! So, I have to wonder, what is it that builds this brotherly bond? Is it genetic, or is it learned? I have to admit that it is funny to watch 3 boys tumble into the room, with this little tyke waddling after as fast as his little legs can carry him. He thinks that he is old enough to do whatever the brothers do. In the past 2 days he has learned to play "Rock Band" on the playstation. Of course, he has always liked anything that makes noise...but the drum pedal has become a great new addition to his list of talents.

Happy Birthday to my Sweetie...

2008-06-05T08:53:00.004-06:00

Yesterday I had a brilliant idea. In an attempt to put Fuss on the schedule that I wanted him on, I had him skip his afternoon nap (and if you have ever tried to keep an exhausted 1 year old up...). That way I could put him to bed between 8:00 and 8:30 p.m. rather than 9:30 to 10:00 p.m. It worked! By 8:30 Fuss was sound asleep. The part I didn't think through was the morning schedule. Normally Fuss wakes up around 6:30 a.m. then goes down for his first daily nap around 9:30 a.m. This morning Fuss woke up at 2:44 a.m. and stayed up until his morning nap, 3 hours later, which was truly wonderful because my alarm went off at 4:50 a.m. and I was already up. I tried to sleep through Fuss' awake time, but with him playing in between D and I, laying his head on my chest, bouncing on the bed, and chattering, it was difficult. At 3:30 I lost what was left of my sanity when he head-butted me awake and I am pretty sure it was an attempt to break my nose. I sat up faster than...well, faster than I normally would, picked him up, carried him back to his own room, and threatened to put him in his crib (I wonder why he doesn't like it so much when we treat it as a punishment). He got the "fear of mom" look in his eyes, laid his head on my shoulder, hugged me and whimpered a little. I carried him back to my room. It's also no wonder why he thinks he is in charge around here. So, here I sit with 4 hours of interrupted sleep, listening to the chatter of my little boss.

When did I start losing to a 1 year old? Was it that way from day 1? It could have been, after several hours of waiting for his arrival, Fuss decided to come when the doctor had stepped out of the delivery room and the nurses had to go chase him down. It could have been the first day I brought him home and he tested positive for jaundice and had to sleep in the bili-light box. Every time I walked past he would raise his little hand and whimper, even with his eyes covered he knew when I was there and he made sure I knew that he was in control. My stubborn, determined, hard-headed child is pretty sure that this is his world and we are all just in it. I am a bit frightened for the teenage years. Even my mom, who raised 6 children and now proudly has 17 grandchildren, has mentioned that she has never met a more determined child.

Windy, overcast day...let's swim???

2008-06-03T15:19:00.010-06:00

I had a brilliant idea. Fuss loves the bathtub (we call it his baffins), so I thought he would love a swimming pool...of course, I was right! I bought him a little wading pool, because whenever you are unemployed you should frivolously spend money on things like wading pools. I justified it in my mind by telling myself it was an extension of his birthday present. D didn't agree, he just rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and said whatever. But, because I am such a great mother, I decided that our activity today would be "swimming" in the front yard. So, while Fuss sat in his highchair eating a delicious lunch of cottage cheese and cheetos, I blew and I blew and I blew his pool up. It took a lot of air for a 2 ring pool with a "shade" rainbow. This pool was so small that I could almost give it a hug with my arms completely around it. At first I thought it might be fun to invite the little neighbor boy over, but after seeing it all blown up there was no room for a second child. I opened the door to take the pool outside and the clouds started to roll over the top of our house as if to mock my hard work. I didn't really care...like the great mother I am (no sarcasm implied) I filled the pool with freezing cold water from the hose and put my child right in the middle of it, clouds and all. I know, you are probably thinking "poor abused child" but that is so not the case! Fuss loved the pool! He didn't care that it was too cold for my feet to be in. He didn't care that even without the rainbow shade cover, there would have been no sun in sight. He didn't care that the light breeze was quickly turning to high winds. He loved it! He even discovered the joy of putting your face in the water...nothing says fun more than a blue, snot-covered frozen face.

I do need to know though, is manipulation genetic or is it learned? Fuss has both D and I wrapped around his little, tiny fingers so tightly. For example, while lying on our bed and trying to get my attention, he threw his sippy cup on the floor. Before I could even get up to pick it up for him we made eye contact, he pointed to the purposefully distant sippy, and innocently said "danu" (thank you for those of you that don't speak Fuss). He knew that I would get up out of my chair, walk over, pick up his sippy, and give it to him. He didn't even question it in his little head. He controls us with his cute expressions.

His "Fuss face" lets us know that he is frustrated.

His "Whoa is me" face tells us he is upset or saddened. His raised eyebrows show us that he is curious about how we will react to whatever it is he has done. He teases us by offering whatever he is holding and then pulling it away at the last second. He turns to grab something he knows he shouldn't while watching us out of the corner of his eye. He is so very much in the copy-cat stage of life...which makes me very aware of everything that I do, which, by the way, is not an activity that I enjoy so much. I used to think that I was in control, but now I realize that I am so not in control of anything...he even gets to choose if he wants to swim in the arctic that I created in the front yard...

Pretty good day...

2008-06-02T18:48:00.012-06:00

Today is the first day of the rest of....something. Today was the first day that I officially took over the role of Fuss' mom--as in for all day long. Since the time he was 6 weeks old we have had a babysitter watching him. Even though I haven't been working for the past 2 months, we have still had him watched during regular business hours so that I could pursue training to become a medical transcriptionist. I just have to say, I LOVE BEING A MOM! I didn't mind waking up at 5:30 in the morning to study, I don't mind that I will probably be up until late tonight to try to get a little extra studying in...it is all worth it when I look at his little grin. It was truly worth it when I was rocking him at nap time and he looked up and smiled at me. He has recently demonstrated his understanding to questions by shaking or nodding his head to let us know "no" or "yes" when he wants or doesn't want something. So, while I was snuggling him I asked him, "do you like having mommy home with you all day?" He grinned and urgently nodded his head yes! It makes everything in the world worth it! It is worth giving up the corporate world, it is worth not having an outside social life, it is worth giving up everything for this little guy (luckily I don't have to give up everything, but it would still be worth it if I did). Now if I could just get him on a schedule...

I realized this morning that Fuss is used to taking his morning nap in either a moving car or the arms of his Didda. He does not like to be put down or even rocked to sleep. So, my expectation of studying while he slept in the a.m. didn't exactly work out. I finally gave up and decided to run my errands, within 2 minutes he was sound asleep...perfect. By the time I got home he was wide awake...even more perfect. We got to spend a lot of time together...folding (me) and unfolding (him) the laundry, vacuuming (me) and spilling on (him) the floor, mopping (me) and throwing drinks (him) on the tile, making (me) and bouncing on (him) the bed...you get the idea. I love being a mom!

The day did start off pretty darn great though...I lost 2.6 pounds last week--go Weight Watchers! Therefore, I have only 1.4 pounds left to lose to hit my pre-exercising weight and then a significant amount more to hit my pre-baby, pre-marriage, and pre-insanity weights. The best part is that my pants were slipping off yesterday...normally that would only be a great thing if I was alone with my husband ;), but when you are trying to lose not only weight but inches too, it is a very good thing. These weren't 3 day worn, stretched out pants either. These were straight out of the hot dryer, as small as they go pants. Yeah, thank you, I know. My confidence that the week might end good started on Saturday. We were with my family and my sister told me I was looking skinnier (thank you Spanx--but I am still taking some credit). I couldn't help but wonder, what exactly does skinnier mean? For example, if people were like beds, a king size would probably be obese, and while a queen size is skinnier than a king size, it isn't really skinny...but, it is better than being a California king...I think I am queen...working on the full, hoping to get to twin...and if I am lucky, I will end at the toddler, I don't think bassinet would fit on my frame, toddler will be pushing it. Either way, I am not giving up hope.