Where Sasquatch Really Come From

It had been a long day and it was barely six in the evening. I had already been up for over 12 hours and a jam packed 12 hours they had been. It started with setting up and then holding my first yard sale from which we went immediately into the season's last T-ball and Coach pitch games. From there a hurried hour drive took us to a baby shower for my niece Katie, who is expecting her first bundle of boy in September.

After basking in Katie's pregnant glow and gorging ourselves with lemon bars & various brownies, we pulled back onto I-15 to make our way home with a clear docket for the rest of the night. With the radio playing some of our favorite songs we settled in for the ride and I found myself lost in the hypnotic turning of the wheels when from behind me a chant began,

"PU-BER-TY! PU-BER-TY! PU-BER-TY!

At first, I wondered if I was so tired that I might actually be dreaming, but after stretching and shifting in my seat, the chant continued,

"PU-BER-TY! PU-BER-TY! PU-BER-TY!"

I concluded I was very much awake.

My next thought went to the possibility of the 5 Hour Energy shot I downed earlier and the Diet Coke I was currently sipping had created an overload of caffeine and was causing some sort of auditory hallucination. Because really, how would my almost seven year old know the word puberty? And why, in heaven and earth, would he be chanting it?

Certain my ears were deceiving me, I turned to Ashton sitting in the passenger seat wearing an amused look on his face as he shattered my theory.

"You know he's chanting puberty..."

Figuring I had to say something I decided on the blunt facts.

"Ben, you don't even know what puberty is."

The chanting ceased. Silence ensued. Wonderful, non-questioning silence.

Until Dallin in the far back decided to chime in.

"What is puberty, Mom?"

My mind shifted into high gear as I noticed Ashton stiffen a little in the seat next to me.

I decide to go with blunt facts again.

"It's when between the ages of 11-14 when your voice gets deeper and you start growing hair on your face, under arms and swimsuit area."

Agonizing groans erupt from the very back seat.

"Oh, NO! That should be illegal!"

Laughter from Ashton beside me.

Ben innocently asks, "So puberty is all about hair?"

Dallin, having suddenly become an expert, answers with, "Yep! Hair, hair, EVERYWHERE! Puberty pretty much changes you into a Sasquatch."

I turn the radio up a little louder and figure that would suffice....at least, for now.

A Few More...

Just a couple of Kid-isms that recently happened and one that I forgot in the last batch.


Ben- "I wish I had really long, puffy hair."
Me- Why in the world would you want really long, puffy hair?"
Ben- "Cause then I'd have a built in pillow."

Ben trying out what really long, puffy hair would be like with Richard's travel pillow.

A conversation with Dallin after he listened to me tell a neighbor about a time Ashton got lost and I thought he'd been kidnapped.
Dallin- "I remember when that happened. I must have been really little, but I still remember it."
Me- "Sorry, dude, you weren't born yet. You were still in my tummy."
Dallin- "Well, then I must have been watching through your belly button 'cause I remember it!"



A bit of info you need to know about this next one- I am not a fan of the really tight T-shirt trend. They are all well and fine if you have the figure to wear them, which about 90% of the population do not- including myself. I don't really want to look at my own rolls and bulges and figure that more than likely, no one else does either. So the majority of my shirts are loose and probably unfashionable, but I don't care. The other day I pulled out my flag T-shirt to try on; it's one of the clingier shirts I own, but I was feeling pretty bulge free and thought it was loose enough to get away with .

I thought wrong.... according to Emma.

Emma- (While patting my tummy) "You look like you're going to have a baby!"
Me- "Are you saying I'm fat?"
Emma- "Yep, really, REALLY fat!

I guess I need some more core work and a new flag shirt.

Or perhaps just a new daughter.

 Just kidding...kind of. ;)

Facing the Inevitable

Last Monday night Emma came downstairs to the kitchen where I was busily working on dinner. She very proudly showed me her 'My Little Pony' who was now sporting a mohawk and a thinned out tail.

 I admired her work as I gave the lecture about using mommy's hair cutting scissors and gently reminding her that the pony's hair would not grow back. As I turned around to see if she was paying attention, I noticed the pony wasn't the only one who got a haircut.

Now as a mother I know that there are certain things that kids do through their course of childhood that you just have to expect, they are inevitable. Cutting their own hair is one of them.

I knew this was coming. I thought I knew how to handle it. I thought I was prepared to come away having impressed on her to never cut her own hair again without stifling her creativity and making her feel bad about herself. Well.....I thought wrong.

I failed.

Miserably.

Because I freaked.

Before I knew it those innocent (okay, not so innocent) brown eyes were brimming with tears and her bottom lip began to protrude and turn down at the corners. That pitiful face brought me back to my senses and I was able to calm her (and myself) down with some phrases about it being alright and that we can still make it pretty (which I probably should NOT have said). All of these phrases were, of course, more to convince myself- not her. 

It really could have been worse. Most of what she cut will still pull back on top and what doesn't looks like intentional long bangs. So I think she didn't botch it as much as she could have and hopefully, the next time around neither will I.

25 Cents of Kindness

When I was pregnant with baby number four and found out that it was going to be girl I was excited that she would be like me- the only girl with three older brothers. What I didn't realize was that I was also cursing her with the curse of torture that having three older brothers brings. Accidental as the incidents may be, they can still be considered torture.

When I was about Emma's age our family was to go swimming for Family Home Evening. In the excitement of doing such a fun activity swimsuits were gathered and everyone piled into the car where the door was slammed shut...on my hand...by my brother. Needless to say, we went for a not so fun activity to the doctor's office for stitches instead of going swimming.

Well, last night after Family Home Evening, which included a rousing game of Dallin's creation where we had to make a certain number of baskets within a specified time frame to become Gods and have the ability to create universes had concluded, the kids excitedly ran upstairs to get their jammies on.

There was a cry; the type of cry that tells a parent that something is seriously wrong. But the cry also had anger in it, so Richard and I listened, thinking that one of the brothers had just done something to incredibly upset his sister. But nothing was said and the horrific cry continued punctuated with long silences where the pain was so bad sound just would not come.

I rushed upstairs demanding to know what happened as I scooped up a sobbing Emma. A sheepish Ben replied that she had gotten her hand shut in his door on the side where the hinges are. Emma showed me her hand. There was her left ring finger with the nail attached only at the tip; the rest had been ripped out from under her skin at the base of her nail.

After some quick bandaging and a second opinion call to Grandma Jeanne, we were off to the Provo InstaCare which unfortunately, had closed at 9:00 only 2 minutes before we arrived, so onto Orem we went.

Emma was inconsolable which rattled my sleep deprived mother nerves to the point of feeling inconsolable myself. It was getting late. I was tired and felt helpless that my soothing words and other antics were having no effect on my child. Threatening tears burned in my eyes and just when I didn't think I could take it any longer there was a voice behind me speaking to Emma. It was a woman who was at the InstaCare with her own son. She was telling Emma that she had an extra quarter and had used it to buy her a ring from a vending machine in the waiting room. The crying stopped and a little uninjured hand reached out to take the ring encased in a small plastic ball which was then held tightly throughout the rest of the following procedures.

She didn't start to cry again until they used a needle to numb her finger in order to push the nail back under the skin so that the nail bed would not adhere to the skin preventing any future growth of a nail on that finger. When the needle had been put away the crying quickly subsided as she gripped that little plastic case holding a gift from a stranger. A stranger that with 25 cents and a charitable heart made the difference for a mother and her baby girl when things seemed in chaos and out of control. A stranger that with 25 cents bought back my sanity.

The x-rays were inconclusive of whether the tip of her finger is broken, but they are treating it as such with a splint and a round of antibiotics. I have a small crescent shaped scar between my thumb and forefinger to remind me of the torture that living with 3 brothers can bring, the doctor says that Emma will probably have a rippled nail to remind her of hers. But she will have something else, a cheap plastic white ring decorated with black spirals to wear on that finger with the rippled nail that will always remind me of the kindness that 25 cents bought.


As a side note: After I had finished writing this post today and we were getting ready to pick-up her antibiotic, Emma asked if she could wear the ring that Heavenly Father and Jesus gave her last night. I was floored. But I firmly believe we are the hands that do our Father's work here on this earth and that woman, whoever she may be, was on an angel's errand last night.

Helping Hands

Indulge me, please? This picture has nothing to do with the post, except, that it is of Emma. I just thought it was sweet. Being her mom, I think that is my right.

I was headed for the bathroom when Dallin flew past me beating me to it and slamming the door in my face.

"Hey! I was going in there."
"I have to go!" he replied.
"Well, I do too!"
"Well, I have to go....BAD!"
I sighed, "I guess it looks like I'll just have to hold it." 

I turned around and bent over to pick up some dirty socks that had been discarded on the floor when my behind was accosted by little hands trying to wedge their way where no little hands should be.

Not used to being fondled this way, I immediately stood up exclaiming, "What on earth are you doing!?" 

As those words left my mouth, one little hand traveled around from the back to wedge its way in from the front! And that is when I was met with the cherubic face and questioning brown eyes of a potty training 3 year old, who innocently told me, "I'm helping you hold it, Mommy. I'll help you hold it, so you don't poo or pee your pants."

Awww...now that's a little helper.

I guess, I will forgive her for groping me.

Speaking Of...

Speaking of being trust-a-ful....let me show you a face that is not.

This is what happens to a face, along with her new white t-shirt and my bed sheets, when a non trust-a-ful 3 year old who is supposed to be going to sleep gets a hold of a red permanent marker.

Did I mention the ink was permanent?
And on my sheets?
And her new shirt?
(Insert scream of insanity here.)

It's a good thing she's cute and my only girl, so I've decided to forgive her.

I've also decided to never let her do my make-up.

What I Learned in Kindergarten...

On Tuesday, Ben started Kindergarten and I guess technically, I did too.You see, Ben was really excited to finally be able to call Amelia Earhart his school, just like his brothers do. He has been waiting for and was completely ready to finally start Kindergarten. I didn't even get emotional dropping him off on his first day because I was so happy that he was finally getting what he wanted. Well, that and the fact that I stayed the entire time.

Walking to school with the brothers.

Why did I stay the entire time when I had a boy who didn't make a fuss or cry at the prospect of me leaving? Why didn't I leave when I could have enjoyed 3 hours tackling my list of "Things to do once the kids are in school"? The reason is because as a friend and I were getting ready to leave, we noticed 28 little bodies filled to the brim with anxious excited energy that the first day of school, let alone the first day of kindergarten brings. We also noticed the teacher doing her best to field parent's questions while trying calm the separation anxiety of a few of them too, while attempting to contain all of that anxious excited energy into a civilized classroom of learning- by herself.

Needless, to say this is a daunting task for even the Superhero-est of seasoned educators like Mrs. Thibault.

Superhero Mrs. Thibault

Luckily, Richard was home and willing to watch Emma, so I was able help along with my friend, Rachel. I would describe the rest of the day as organized chaos. It took all 3 of us and a Foster Grandparent who came to help to wrangle those 28 little bodies through all the activities of the morning. It was thoroughly exhausting. But I can't wait to help out again.

And you might think that Kindergarten is too elementary for an adult, but experiencing it for a second time around, there was still plenty of education to be had. These are a few of the things I learned;

- A party where the majority of the presents are Kleenex, glue sticks, and Ziploc bags is oddly still  really exciting.
- Actually getting the cupcake with pink frosting dams a flood of tears and makes a lot of things right with the world again to a 5 yr old girl.
- Even though a story was told about pigs, snails, fish, and cats going to school, acting like a chipmunk while you are in school is not acceptable. (This one's for you, Rachel :)
- When you're a Kindergartner you can wear 2 completely different shoes to school and it's apparently okay.
- Those shoes can even be 2 different sizes.
- Kindergarten teachers should go straight to heaven for all of the shoelaces they have to tie in the space of 3 hours.
- Bible names were really popular for baby boys in 2004 & 2005.
- Even though you may have a named your son a conservative Bible name, it does not guarantee that he will have Christ-like behavior.
- Riding the bus is kind of a really big deal when you are 5.
- The phrase "pockets, pretzels, basket" has nothing to do with food. Bummer.
- You have snack time a half an hour before you go home and your mom attempts to feed you something nutritious.
- I was not meant to be a Kindergarten teacher.
- I am really glad there are people who are- like Mrs. Thibault.
- No matter how old I or Ben will ever get, it is still the best when Daddy and Emma come to pick us up.

I think Ben's face and skip say it all- Kindergarten is awesome.

Almost Like Christmas

Standing on my front porch the sound of the big truck's engine reached my ears before my eyes caught site of it rounding the bend at the end of the road.  The excitement in me rose.

Could it be?

A search of the recesses of my memory told me the date was indeed within the correct time frame. The truck was the correct colors- brown and golden yellow- not the competitors white with purple and orange logo branded on its side. (A side note of apology to my brother Nate, a driver for the competition). The truck hadn't stopped yet, but the driver was slowing, glancing to the right and then to the left looking at house numbers.

It just had to be.

I ran into the kitchen to avoid looking like I was anxiously awaiting a delivery and to stop the rising hope that the big brown truck would indeed stop at our house instead of my neighbor's like he normally does. Within seconds there was a knock on the glass of our screen door. With the front door being propped open I had a full view of a Doug Heffernan look-a-like clad in the brown shorts with boots and all.

It was here!

I nonchalantly made my way out to the porch where Mr. UPS left a rather large cardboard box for me. Only nothing in it is actually for me, my name just graces the shipping label and the card that paid for it all.

Away from little eyes, my box and I stealthily head to my room where the door is promptly shut and locked. Interruptions won't do for what happens next. The packing tape is slit with a trusty bobby pin and the flaps are slowly folded back to reveal a pile of plastic packages in an assortment of colors; like gifts within a gift. I sift and sort and then I rip. Plastic bags take flight going this way and that, creating a substantial snowstorm of plastic flakes. When the last bag lands noiselessly amongst the others, there they sat- brand new school clothes.

There were five new shirts for each boy to get them through the first week of school (with 1 or 2 put away for Christmas or birthdays) and a small collection of outfits for Emma. Although Emma doesn't attend school yet, she is my only girl and without older siblings for hand-me-downs she had nothing for cold weather when fall came. Plus, I suppose I'm a bit partial to flowers, unicorns, and butterflies as opposed to skater and sport graphics. Thus, I am justified.

I held them up, each one individually, admiring their unfaded, unstained, and unwrinkled appearance (except for the fold creases that scream new) noting the size and color and how it would fare for the intended child. They were perfect. Even the kids thought so.

They were also a great deal considering the amount I received because of already discounted items being marked down even more with an extra 15% off coupon and free shipping. And even better than that was that is the fact that they were purchased while my body lay sick in bed last week refusing to move. No expending energy taking ornery anti-shopping boys and one "buy everything for me" girl to the mall, Marts or Ko's in search of the right fashion to kick off the 2010-11 school year. Just point, click, check out, and wait for delivery.

I love the whole online shopping experience. It's like a little gift I give myself.

Blessing in Disguise

Prior to our vacation fun, we had wedding fun with our niece Katie, and her sweetheart Kendall.

Theirs is a fairytale for sure, but that is her story to blog about.

This is mine....

Their sealing ceremony was slated for 7:50 a.m. in the Salt Lake Temple, which meant we would have to leave by 7:00 to get there on time. This also meant we would need a babysitter. I don't know about you, but I don't know many people who are very happy to get up at the crack of dawn during the summer to watch my kids... unless you are my mother and their grandma.  Since the reception was north of Salt Lake and closer to my parent's house than ours, it just made sense to take the kids to their house the night before, stay overnight, and take the kids to the reception on our way back to Provo. It was the perfect plan.

We left to go to my parents home later than planned which raised my anxiety level for reasons not important to the story, so I'm not including them. Just know I was a little stressed. Anyways, as we were coming upon American Fork, I was assaulted by a smell. This smell was pungent and nasty. It came out of nowhere and it puzzled me. I noticed that there were fields off to the west... It is spring and with crops being planted surely farmers fertilize their fields... that must be what the smell is. This was a great theory, an excellent theory in fact, until I caught a glimpse of Emma out of the corner of my eye.

It's funny how many things can go through your mind in a split second- Where did she get chocolate from? The kids ate all the fudge covered shortbread yesterday. She must have found a stray melty M&M in her car seat. Hold on...that smell's still here and the fields are gone.... It was as these thoughts concluded that Emma said, "Mommy, my fingers are poopy." and traffic came to a standstill because of construction.

I won't write the thoughts or words that went through my mind at that juncture. I still want you to like me.

I phoned ahead to Richard in the truck. (Yes, we had 2 vehicles. Mainly because I think we enjoy wasting money on gas and he doesn't have to listen to my music. Just kidding....well, at least about the wasting money part.) Anyway...we pulled off the freeway into a parking lot and I opened the lift gate to retrieve the duffel bag containing the diapers and wipes.

It wasn't there. 

I stood there for a brief second in disbelief at the state of my luck.

It was at home...sitting on my cedar chest...at the end of my bed...where I packed it.

Crap.

Literally.

That duffel bag also contained all of the kid's clothes; their jammies, play clothes, and dress clothes for the reception the next day. We needed that bag...and not only for Emma's 'fudgy' fingers. 

Richard headed home to get the forgotten bag. I found some cleansing wipes in the first aid kit and attempted to get rid of the source of the smell before hitting the road and hightailing it to my mom's bathtub. 

Somewhere between Lagoon and the Layton Hills Mall it occurred to me that God has to have a sense of humor and must enjoy coming up with creative ways in which to "bless" the lives of his children. Because the truth is we really needed that bag because according to MapQuest my parent's home is 74.4 miles and if I actually drove the speed limit, 1 hour and 20 minutes away from mine. Getting there without that bag would have thrown the biggest  monster of a monkey wrench into the best laid plans. So I am grateful that He chose to send a blessing my way that night....even if it came disguised in something less than heavenly.

The Secret to Recovery

At 5:00 yesterday morning I was awakened by the sound of my name. I worked to peel myself off the love seat where I had fallen asleep when my body gave out late Saturday night. After a busy Saturday of finishing my first half marathon, attending a bridal shower for my niece, and a belated Mother's Day dinner with my family, the 13 stairs to my bed were too much; I simply couldn't go any further. But at 5 a.m. with much effort I made it up those stairs and to the source of the call of my name. It was Ashton, hot with fever and a really sore throat.

He was given a drink and I took my sore quads back down the stairs to locate the thermometer. By the time I got back up to his room he was complaining of nausea and asking for a bucket, so my sore quads and I went down the stairs again to retrieve a basin. We made it back just in time.

After a few more trips up and down the stairs of agony, I made my bed on the playroom couch right outside his room, but I didn't sleep; luckily, Ashton did. When he woke up he felt better in the way that you do after you have almost turned yourself inside out beginning with your stomach and the exhaustive sleep that follows. He called to me and I went in to find a wide eyed excited looking boy. He said, "Wow, I feel better." I replied with some remark of how glad I was. He continued as serious as can be, "I guess while I slept my white blood cells must have opened a spicy can of kick-butt on that virus." I nodded and smiled and after trying to hold it in, I laughed. How could I not? A spicy can of kick-butt. Where do they come up with this stuff?

(My sickie)

The thing is that spicy can of kick-butt must have not been spicy enough since his fever and sore throat stuck around and he stayed home from school today. So if you happen to know where I can find a can that is spicy enough- please, let me know. I have 3 other children that love to play follow the leader.

Dreams and Nightmares

Easter morning Ashton woke up after having a dream about owning a turtle with the desire and determination to have one of his own. Last Friday night, that dream came true since he had worked hard for and saved enough money to finally buy this Russian Tortoise.

Her name is Ricky; the short and feminine version of Richard, Ashton's dad. Can you tell my kids idolize their father?

I was not particularly fond of the thought of this purchase, but look at the smile on that boy's face? He even kissed her shell the other day when he took her school. Gross, I know. But how do you say "no" to a love like that? If you're a sucker like me, you don't....and you end up the co-owner of a turtle that will probably outlive you.

And this is where my nightmare begins. 

You can't have 4 kids and have only one of them get a pet. The others let out cries of unfairness and protest favoritism, so your husband takes them to the store and comes home with ...no not another turtle, but 3 goldfish and 2 very creepy arachnid-esqe crabs. I know it is probably just payback from all the birds, lizards, hermit crabs, and turtles that I as a girl tormented my own parents with. But fish? Why did they have to want fish? Really, is there any pet stinkier than fish?


Anyway, our aquatic family members have been dubbed Cocoa, Jason, and Chad (who as of yesterday, is now swimming in the greater waters above. YES! I mean...How sad). Ben's crab is named Anchor and Emma's is "Nice Crab" as she so lovingly calls it.
 

Within the space of 24 hours we went from being a one psychotic cat family to a seven blended pet family.

A horrific nightmare, indeed.

Now I have six five more strange, stinky, slimy, scaly, somewhat freaky, and helpless individuals to help take care of....

Okay, maybe it is do-able.

It's not too much of a stretch from having kids.

Just kidding...I really do love them.

The kids that is.

Dear Mom, My Mother's Day Apology

(The guilty parties responsible for me - my parents.)

Dear Mom,

I know this is late, so there is the first thing to apologize for. But this weekend was...crazy. I know only you could understand that. I also know you believe in  "better late than never." So here it is late.

(Oh, and it's not an apology for screwing up dinner yesterday. But I am really sorry about that too.)

I apologize...
.... for all the times I made you worry needlessly. I now know how it feels.

.... for anytime I was disrespectful and sassed you. I now know how it feels.

.... if I made a mess and didn't clean it up. I now know how it feels.

.... for the times when I didn't obey when you asked me to do something. I now know how it feels.

.... if I ever demanded anything from you when you were so tired from working all day. I now know how it feels.

.... if I ever begged for something, that you really wanted to give me, but couldn't. I now know how it feels.

.... if I changed my clothes multiple times a day creating bigger piles of laundry for you. I now know how it feels.

.... if I ever got frustrated with you for not knowing how to help me with my homework. I now know how it feels.

.... when I got upset when you were only trying to help me. I now know how it feels.

.... if you ever sacrificed so that I could have or do something that I felt was important. I now know how it feels.

.... if I ever spilled on, tracked mud on, or brushed crumbs onto your freshly mopped floor. I now know how it feels.

I am sorry, truly I am for all of these things, but I will not apologize for growing up, or leaving you to get married, or having four of the most amazing kids of my own to love because..... I now know how it feels to be a mother.

And it is the best feeling in the world.

Happy belated Mother's Day!

I love you.

The Small Stuff

My husband is not a morning person. And since he is the other half that donated genetic material to our offspring, it is no wonder that half of our children are the same way. This equation makes the 9:00am church schedule virtually impossible to be on time to.

We try. We really do. It is even one of our family goals for the year with great rewards promised at the end...but we are failing.

Miserably.

Like today.
8:00- I am ready. I make the rounds softly speaking to all sleepy heads that it is time to get up and get ready for church and for Ashton: he needs to shower and now is the time to do it.
8:15- All church clothes are laid out, but there are no bodies awaiting them to clothe, so I make the rounds again, speaking loudly now, and gently shaking blanketed bodies. Frustration is setting in.
8:30- I have Emma ready and start getting her breakfast. Dallin is almost ready. There is no movement from the other bodies. I start speaking very loudly now, giving time frames, and urging them to get a move on.
8:45- Church bags are in the van. Dallin and Emma are ready to go.
8:46- I am yelling now and my frustration is increasing.
8:50- Ashton passes me in the hall on my way to dump Ben out of bed, he tells me he is heading for the shower. I tell him, "I won't be here when you get out because I got up and got ready on time and I am not going to be late."
8:51- I start to dress a 5 1/2 year old rag doll Benjamin amidst his protests and whines making me increasingly more & more frustrated.
9:01- We are late. And now I'm mad.
9:15- We arrive at church, sit in the foyer, and listen as we miss the last of the passing of the sacrament.

When we finally file in to take our seats in the overflow, I am hardly in the mood or have the spirit being in church requires. My foul mood is only increased by Ben's complaints that he is hungry. I probably not so nicely told him if he would get up when he was told to he could have had breakfast. But being the good mother I am, suspecting that this might happen, I pulled out the pretzels and Reese's Puffs in baggies I had packed. Realizing that this was the only food available he had a meltdown and proceeded to scold me for not bringing any bread for him. Perhaps, I'm not as good of a mother that I thought I was; I can't even get church treats right.

In the middle of his berating speech, Emma & Ashton spotted the Reese's Puffs, only Emma didn't want to share with Ashton. Trying to shut out Ben's incessant and scolding whine, I calmly tried to tell her that she needed to share them with Ashton. She didn't like this sharing idea, so in true 2 year old fashion, she swung her arm in a wide sweeping motion sending the cereal flying in a 4 foot semi-circle across the shiny gym floor starting at the base of my chair.

I had had it.

Richard looked at me and I looked back at him. I would pay money to be able to see the expression that was on my face.

Embarrassment, anger, defeat, frustration, or caution: volcano ready to explode. Whatever it was, Richard quickly took Emma away from me and out into the hall for a time out. One down.

But there was still Benjamin and that whine.

I wondered why I even came to church.

I tried to explain that the pretzels were all I had now and that I had come to church to listen to the speakers, not to hear him whine, so to please, for the love of Pete, STOP.

But the whine continued.

It continued through most of Sister Randle's testimony and then became spotty through Sister Giles. It was spotty enough that I heard Sister Giles testify that she knew that "Families are Forever".

Forever felt really long this morning. And frankly, not that tempting.
An eternity of whine about Wonder Bread?
No thanks. I think I will pass.

But then Brother Stephenson got up to the podium and I found my reason for being in church today. He talked about being overwhelmed with all the little things of life and finding perspective in the scriptures. He said that they helped him realize the big things that seem to matter so much now are really small in the scheme of things.

Kind of like this morning.

One really bad morning in the middle of so many other good things that my family provides for me is not worth wishing it all away. I was struck with the saying, "I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it."
So I've decided maybe forever sounding like a long time really is a good thing.

Just as long as there is no whine involved...

... and Reese's Puffs are still welcome.

Needs

After spending too long at our weekly girls night on Thursday, I came home and darkened the lights, locked the doors, put the cat away, and lay across the foot of my bed exhausted past the point of easy sleep. I inserted my ear buds to drown out the sound of Nick Jr.’s “Oobie,” which would occupy Emma’s attention until she drifted off to dreamland, and dialed up my most recent download on my iPod.

I just caught a snippet of this song on the radio that morning while dropping the boys off at school and it stirred something in me. So I went home and downloaded it, but I hadn’t had the time to really listen to it until I lay down to sleep that night.


As the lyrics swirled around in my head, I thought about;

My 11 year old who couldn’t go to bed until I was safely home. Making it a much later bedtime than a school night should be,

My sweet boy who went to bed with his newly lost tooth stuffed under his pillow counting on the Tooth Fairy to compensate him generously,

The boy, that earlier in the day, I was ready to sell while shopping at Wal-Mart, but who as night falls can’t sleep unless it’s in mom’s bed,

And my baby girl, who lately has a case of the "Me do it myself"-itis, still wants mom’s hand to hold as her eyelids grow heavy, finally, giving those beautiful brown eyes a much needed rest.

But as the song ended, I realized that even though I always tend to think it is me that they need, maybe it is really the other way around.

Kitchen Moments

There are times in my life where I am reminded of how lucky I am to be married to the man I call my husband. Times when I am grateful for his patience while I was a fickle and silly 19 year old girl who was still growing up, and that continued patience as I still have much growing up yet to do. It is during these times when I realize just how much I do love him and why. I call these moments, “kitchen moments”.


They are called kitchen moments because 9.5 times out of 10, that is where they happen. Why the kitchen? Because, as I figure it, the kitchen is where I spend at least 50% of my life. It is where my computer is, my desk and calendar, and of course, the dishes and all those appliances necessary for cooking and preparing food which come in quite handy for sustaining my family’s lives. It is where homework and projects happen; meals, bedtime snacks, and even the morning combing of hair before we dash out the door for school. It is where life happens and hence, also my “kitchen moments”.

One particular kitchen moment happened a few weeks ago on an ordinary night as the boys were finishing homework and I was attempting to clean-up the kitchen, but found myself very distracted by the music coming from my new under cabinet docking station. “Moon River” a great song to waltz to, was playing and I was itching to dance with someone. So I grabbed Dallin and proceeded to drag him around like a rag doll. He finally got some sense of the rhythm along with that I would die if my friends saw me doing this, but I kinda like it look and we danced until I felt like I had adequately humiliated him in front of his older brother and I let him go.

That’s when Richard walked in. I feigned great disappointment that Dallin didn’t really want to dance with me and Richard said, “Start it over and I’ll dance with you.”

My husband does not do things he considers unmanly; dancing is considered one of these things.

But I figured if he’s willing I’m not going to pass it up, so we started to dance.

First, he started off like a snobby aristocrat at some fancy ball so stiff and proper; speaking with a fake English accent while commenting on how waltzing is lovely, or some other flowery word. Next we fell into a more relaxed sloppy sort of waltzing where many toes were crushed; the better part being mine. But this led into a portion where he seemed to be actually trying; being more led than leading we went around in small circles on the vacant piece of laminate floor. And even though, Henry Mancini & His Orchestra were playing a beautiful version of “Moon River” I had the words from another song playing in my head.

You make me shine like the sun

Fall out of bed, sing like a bird

Dizzy in my head, spin like a record

Crazy on a Sunday night

You make me dance like a fool

Forget how to breathe

Shine like gold, buzz like a bee

Just the thought of you can drive me wild

Ohh, you make me smile

Don’t know how I lived without you

Cuz every time I get around you

I see the best of me inside your eyes

You make me smile.

And then like a needle being ripped across the vinyl of an LP, my dreamlike state was rudely interrupted by…

“Do you guys really have to do that in front of us?!”

And

“That’s just wrong!”

And

GROSS!!!

…Spoken by our on looking offspring. And so we stopped. The waltz ended.

But I was reminded once again, how lucky I am that in a world that sometimes seems as though it has been turned upside-down and is filled with doubt and uncertainty I have someone there who, even when he may not want to, is still able to make me smile.

And as for my offspring, my greatest hope for them, besides learning some manners, is that they will be lucky enough in this life to find someone equally worthwhile to have kitchen moments with.

Which I hope will be rudely interrupted.

Magnetism

Ashton's 5th grade class has recently been studying about magnetism.  Apparently, some "magnetism" has rubbed off on Ashton, since he came home with this little note in his pocket yesterday.

Maybe it was just the spiked hair he sported yesterday...Or his incredible brown eyes...Or his killer smile (not shown in this pic.)

Whatever it was, he seems to have little Miss M's heart in a flutter.

This is the second time Miss M has "taken a shot" (his words, not mine) at him. The first was in December in the form of a note thrown into his desk during read aloud that read, "Will you be my boyfriend?" Back then he was honestly in a conundrum, with the What-do-I-do?-Girls-still-have-cooties! panic in his voice.

Yesterday, it was a whole different story.

He told me that, "This time there was just no getting out of it and he thought he was just going to have to say yes." This statement was said with the I'm-trying-to-make-it-sound-like-this-is the-worst-thing-in-the-world-because-you-are-my-mom-so-I-am-suppressing-the-excitement tone emanating from his words.

It is a little crushing to realize you are not the only girl in your little man's world anymore.

I know the hormones are changing; I can smell them when I stand close or not-so close, to him at the end of the day, but I'm not sure I was ready for this. Not girls. Not at 11 years old. I was born boy crazy, but I figured boys, especially my boys, would be impervious to cupid's arrow; and so my naiveté' rears it's ugly head again.

But this morning as I walked him to his appointed door where Miss M and his friends were waiting, he still gave me that arm around my waist sideways hug and I thought...I'm still number one...

At least, for a little while longer.

The Secret to GREAT Play Dough

Lately it seems like the blogging community has been doing "instructional" posts on how to make fabulous foods, so I thought... I like to follow the cool kids...I can be a follower... I don't want to be left out!

The only problem is that I don't make anything that I feel like is spectacular enough to demonstrate.

But yesterday, we made homemade play dough. Why homemade? Because like most things homemade, it is just simply better.

And you can make a ton of it.

And you can make it any color your little heart desires.

And it is a great way of teaching pre-schoolers about mixing primary colors to make secondary colors.

And you get to squish it between your fingers while making the top secret sound that makes great play dough...great!

The "chant".

I figure you can get a recipe for homemade play dough anywhere, but the "chant"... well...it has to be done just right for the colors to mix properly. Luckily for you, Ben happened to be performing the "chant" just right, so I grabbed the camera to document it and share our secret(& because I'm his mom and thought it was cute).

See... he even confirms it...When you do the chant it shows the color more and when you don't chant, it doesn't.

I told you I can't make anything food wise that is spectacular, so please, don't eat any. I think it would give you a terrible tummy ache and I don't want to be responsible for that.

Happy chanting.

The above link is to my friends awesome earth friendly blog and her recipe for Natural Play Dough, it doesn't include alum, which no one seems to have in their cupboards anyway.

But if you are interested, here is mine: Grandma Jeanne's Play dough

2 1/2 cups flour

2 cups boiling water

1/2 cup salt

3 TBSP oil

1 TBSP alum (you find it in the spice isle)

Food Coloring & the "chant".

Mix the dry ingredients together. Add the oil to the water and gradually add it into the dry mixture while mixing. You can add the food coloring while mixing or wait until the dough has cooled and knead it in by hand. Store in airtight baggies in the fridge. Enjoy creating!

Untitled- because everything I thought of was probably inappropriate.

Tonight Ashton and Richard had the opportunity to use some free tickets for a night out thanks to a generous friend, so since it is date night I wasn't about to be stood up,  I took the younger munchkins out for a little fun as well... That is if you count taking 3 children on a trip to Walkers for a soda & treat and to the video store for Sonic & Pokémon flicks fun.


Anyway, the video store is running a promotion that if you pre-order the second movie in the "Twilight" saga, "New Moon," they save you a copy and give you a supposed discount. Now, I know in Provo these books and subsequently the movies are a little controversial, but I enjoyed the books, so I've seen the first 2 movies. I could also write my own movie review on the difference in quality between the first and second movies, but I won't. Sufficed to say, "New Moon" is a good example of what a couple extra million and some muscles can do for a movie. That being said I pre-ordered my copy; I figured I have the first, I might as well have the whole collection by the time they are finished making millions churning out the movies.

So the clerk tells me that I only have to put down a $5 deposit, but if I do a $10 deposit I can get a free "New Moon" calendar. Then the clerk who is older than me, I might add, starts to drool over the calendar and how it is the best buy and if I am going to do $5 I might as well do $10 and get the calendar.

I just stared at her like "Are you kidding me?" I honestly thought and almost said, "What in the world would I do with such a calendar? If you haven't noticed, despite my ponytail and skin that has decided to go through puberty once again, I'm not a teeny-bopper with my 3 kids in tow, whose ultimate wish is to hang a calendar of a half naked 17 year old boy on my kitchen wall, even if I really appreciate his physically fit physique."

Then it occurred to me...but I know a few of those...

So I plunked down my $10 and walked out...calendar in hand.

If one of my neighbors, I mean friends, doesn't want it, I guess there is always eBay.

Unless, you can think of a good title for this post and then you will be declared the proud owner of a new calendar...

The Breakfasts of Champions

"You better eat your Wheaties!"

HA! Not at our house.

This morning as I roused Ben from a peaceful slumber, I asked the daily question...

“What do you want for breakfast?”

He sleepily asked, “What is there?”

Me- “Cereal…”

Ben- “What kind? Lucky Charms? (A boy after my own heart.)

Me- “No. Frosted Flakes, Trix, Cheerios, or Cocoa Puffs.

Ben- “No cereal.” (Grunted like a Neanderthal.)

So like a broken record I went through the other healthy (and not so healthy) options we had time for.

“Pop Tarts, granola bars, Nutrigrain bars, toast, waffles…”

Ben- “Do we have nuggets?”

Me- “You really want to eat nuggets for breakfast?!?” (I threw up a little in my mouth.)

He nodded and smiled his sweet toothless grin, so I went to make nuggets for breakfast.

As I opened the mega bag of Dino Nuggets their smell hit me and my gag reflex tempted the throw up again. I retrieved 4 objects of chicken-who-knows-what that had been ground up and mashed together to form cute little replicas of various dinosaurs… and I was nuking them in the microwave... for my child... for breakfast.

My mother would die, if she knew.

As I waited for them to finish heating I was musing about what weird kids I have, their food choices, and whether or not I should be reported to DCFS for actually letting them eat this stuff, when I briefly flashed back to a time when all I wanted were atypical breakfasts too.

In junior high my favorite thing for breakfast was whatever we had for dinner the night before. Shepherd’s pie, baked potatoes, spaghetti, ham & cheesy potatoes, and my favorite leftover- chicken parmesan, were my breakfasts of choice. Then there was the period when I had onions topped with butter and salt cooked in the microwave every day before I caught the bus.

And I wondered why I didn’t have any friends.

Breakfast foods held no allure for me (unless, it was bacon, which was a sin at our house), so if there were no leftovers, mozzarella sticks dipped in peanut butter had to suffice.

When the beep of the microwave brought me back from my visit with breakfasts past, I decided that maybe food weirdness is genetic and I am actually to blame. So I took a deep breath, swallowed back the throw up, and proudly served Dino Nuggets for breakfast... with a smile.

Benism- Hot Mama

Image by  www.goworkoutmom.com

Last week as I pretended to be a hamster and run on my hamster wheel, also known as a treadmill, Emma and Ben entertained themselves and me by playing restaurant. They took my breathless orders for pies, cakes, and cookies and then proceeded to make them- out of play dough.

Yum.

When I finished my run I headed up to the living room where there is more floor space to cool down and stretch. Ben followed me and with my back to him he asked, “Mommy, when are you going to eat all the yummy treats you ordered?

Bending at the waist and reaching down toward my toes I replied, “When I’m done stretching. I need to do it while my muscles are still warm.”

Still bent at the waist with Ben behind me, I suddenly felt two little hands plant themselves smack dab on my gluteus maximus!

Those little hands then moved to my hamstrings, quadriceps, and finally, rested from their journey on my bicep.

Through my stunned fog, I heard Ben’s little voice confirm to me, “Yep, mom. You’re right. Your muscles are hot.”



Considering that he agrees that I do indeed still have muscles, I guess he is forgiven for groping his mother!