Shell's Hambster Habitat

Further proof my kids are awesome

2011-11-16T21:44:00.000-08:00

Duncan: My bum is on fire!

Kaes: Stop, drop and roll, Duncan!

Hitting Puberty

2011-10-17T07:02:00.000-07:00

Duncan: I think I hit puberty.

I don't know what it is, but they say you're a man when you hit it.

So . . . I hit puberty.

Nerves of steel

2011-09-23T19:41:00.000-07:00

As I was driving home after dropping off Duncan and a friend at Classic Skating, I noticed something crawling across my windshield. Not only was it crawling across my windshield, but it was on the INSIDE of my windshield. And it was a spider. Without freaking out, without screaming--even when I looked away for a second to check traffic and when I looked back I COULDN'T SEE IT--I calmly pulled over to the side of the road, engaging my blinkers and everything, and killed it with a handy piece of trash lying on the floor of the van.

I could be a freakin' brain surgeon, my hands are so steady.

Also, cleanliness is way over-rated.

Irony

2011-06-29T14:29:00.000-07:00

Kaes and Duncan were 'watching' TV in a manner that involved more rough-housing than watching. I suddenly heard the frantic pleas of a panicked older brother as Duncan whispered, "Don't cry, don't cry, Kaes, don't cry."

My ears always prick up at the words "don't cry" so I started paying closer attention to what was happening downstairs. Kaes laughed, but in a not-quite-sure-about-it way, and then my ears relayed a message to my brain that just had to be false. I called the two of them upstairs and asked Duncan very calmly if he had told Kaes, "Pain is temporary." "Yes," he said, then his mouth dropped open and his eyes got big. "Oh!" he said, as he ran from the room.

"Pain is temporary"? This from the boy who, as a toddler, had one temper tantrum where he threw himself on the kitchen floor and banged his head. All tantrums after that involved walking over to the carpet and deliberately lying down very carefully, then screaming. This from the boy who won't even put on roller skates because he knows he will fall down. This from the boy who winces watching OTHER PEOPLE ride their bikes fast because he just knows they're going to crash. He rides his bike, but racing is not in his future.

And he tells his sister pain is temporary. Apparently, only for other people.

Happy Mother's Day to me

2011-05-08T15:11:00.000-07:00

Today is Mother's Day and it is my job on Mother's Day to stay in bed until breakfast is delivered. It is a long-standing tradition that involves the whole family eating cereal on my bed, usually (as was the case today) with me about to explode if I don't get to the bathroom soon (it's not like it's an early morning breakfast, and I'm getting old). The bed isn't the most stable of picnic areas, but luckily we've had no major spills (thank heaven).

Today when the kids came in Kaes brought the picture and potted plant she had already given to me on Friday after school. Jonathon is in junior high and hasn't made a Mother's Day gift for me in years, but he climbed up on the bed, touched foreheads with me (a Jonathon hug when it's too difficult to use arms) and told me sincerely that he loves me. Duncan's teacher this year is a man, and either male teachers don't do Mother's Day gifts, or sixth-graders don't, I'm not sure which, but he had nothing from school to give me. Instead he read this to me:

Dear Mom,

I love you. You make good cookies. I like the Fridays we do together.

Violets are red
Roses are blue
Just think it over
It's all up to you.
You better like this or die.
Ha Ha just kidding
That was a lie.

A haiku poem
Mother you're nice, lots
You make me smile like a duck
You're scary but nice

From,
Your favorite kid (wink wink) =)

The boy totally has a future at Hallmark.

How did that happen?

2011-04-26T08:31:00.000-07:00

Me (brushing Kaes's hair this morning): Your hair is pink.

Kaes: My hair is pink?

Me: Yes. Why is your hair pink?

Kaes: Maybe it happened while I was coloring with markers last night.

Me: What? How did you get markers in your hair?

Kaes: I kinda did it on purpose . . . Do I need a bath today?

this little pig said "Go brush your teeth"

2011-04-15T21:01:00.000-07:00

I am reading Igraine the Brave, by Cornelia Funke, to Kaes during breakfast. Igraine's parents and older brother are all magicians, but Igraine wants to be a knight. Her birthday is coming and her parents and brother are locked up in their tower, magically making her present. Early, early on her birthday, her brother wakes her up and tells her to come to the tower, where she finds that her parents have accidentally turned themselves into (talking) pigs and cannot turn themselves back because they are missing one of the magic ingredients.

That's pretty much where we finished reading the other day. I asked Kaes if she would like it if we (Mom and Dad) were pigs. She looked at me with horror and said "No! It would be so hard. I like pigs for breakfast. I like bacon. But I would convince myself not to eat you."

I feel like the one pardoned turkey on Thanksgiving.

Sad day for Dad

2011-03-27T17:35:00.000-07:00

This morning while we were lazing around in bed, Matthew called Kaes in to "talk and snuggle and visit" with him.

Kaes's response: "Jonathon can do that job."

attitude

2011-03-24T12:28:00.000-07:00

Prologue:

Tuesday morning Duncan was a bit crabby while I was taking him to school. I was trying to tease him out of it, which sometimes works, but not Tuesday. I finally asked him if he was having an attitude with me and he said, "Everybody has an attitude."

Tuesday afternoon:

A kid was pestering Duncan and his friend during recess. The kid was kicking them, and Duncan was trying to push him away with his elbow. Finally the kid left and the playground teacher came over to Duncan.

Playground teacher: I saw you kicking that boy.

Duncan: No you didn't.

PT: Yes, I did. You were kicking him.

D: Fine. Believe what you want to believe, but I wasn't kicking him.

PT: Are you having an attitude?

D: Yes.

PT: Do you want me to write you up?

D: Write me up if you want to, but I wasn't kicking him. He was kicking us.

PT: I'm going to go talk to the boy.

D: Go ahead.

At this point the playground teacher left. She did not write him up AND she did not go talk to the other boy.

When relating this story at home, yes, Duncan was mad that the playground teacher did not believe him. But you know what made him REALLY mad? The playground teacher didn't write him up, neither did she go talk to the other kid. She was useless, across the board. THAT is what he was the most upset about.

Sound familiar? If you have ever met my brother Aaron, then yes, it does, which is just thrilling for me. I love Aaron very much, but I already raised him once and I'm pretty sure I don't want to go through it again. He's all about attitude...

Footnote:

A couple weeks ago Duncan argued with an old lady who told him he couldn't play on her apartment complex's playground because he didn't live there. He told her people come on his yard all the time (which they don't) and it doesn't bother him (which it would if they did). I told him he can't argue with old ladies. He didn't believe me.

Questions you don't wanna ask

2011-03-11T08:08:00.000-08:00

Last night Duncan was supposed to be in his room doing homework and Kaes was supposed to be in her room not bothering him. Kaes came downstairs with Duncan's water bottle. I talked to her for a minute, because I'm her mom and I do things like that sometimes.

Then Duncan yelled out, "Forty-two seconds!"

Kaes gave me a wild, panicked look, said, "I gotta go," and ran upstairs, clutching his filled water bottle in her arms.

What was that? Blackmail? Indentured servitude? Slavery?

These are all questions I'm not asking.

You reap what you sow

2011-03-04T10:20:00.000-08:00

Today is garbage day, so last night the boys were supposed to go through the house and dump all the garbage. Technically, Duncan is supposed to do it all himself, but somehow dumping all the trash and putting in new liners is just too much for him, so I told him he could ask his brother for help and if Jonathon said yes, then he would be in luck. I was trying to get the kids in bed and went into my room for something. My trash can was lying on its side, there were some pieces of trash scattered on the floor around it, and the 'liner' was on the floor on the other side of my bed. Definitely not lining my trash can. I made a growly noise and went into the boys' room, where I saw that their trash hadn't even been dumped at all.

"Duncan!" I yelled. "You son of a-"

And I stopped, because it is wrong for parents to say such things about their children. I STOPPED! I did not complete the sentence.

Then Jonathon, who was the only other person in the room, said, "Well, he's your-"

And he stopped. He did not finish the sentence, but seriously, we all know where he was going.

He had the decency to blush at that point, which is a big deal because blushing could be considered a 'reaction' and Jonathon doesn't do those very often.

So what am I supposed to do? Not talk like that? I DIDN'T! I swallowed that last word like a chameleon taking down a fly. It did not escape. Apparently, however, the fact that flies have ever buzzed around my head is enough for my kids to know what they sound like when they hear them coming.

You have got to be kidding me

2011-02-25T21:16:00.000-08:00

Duncan has decided he wants a lizard. What he really wants is a dragon, but since those are hard to come by, he's willing to settle for a lizard. So today we went to the pet store and looked at four-legged reptiles. It was most exciting and a little disturbing. We got to watch a gecko actually shed its skin. It walked around the inside of its fake stone cave scraping its head against the wall until the skin pealed away. And once its head and front legs were free, it reached back and started eating the dead skin. Can I just say at this point that I like my pets not to eat their own skin? That's like bringing home a masochistic zombie and naming it Spot.

So, in an effort to distract my son from lizards, I pointed out that birds can actually be trained and they pay attention to you and they're pretty and they don't eat their feathers. Duncan readily switched over to wanting a bird instead, and even wanted to bring one home RIGHT NOW. I told him that bringing home a bird without Dad knowing about it would be bad. He pointed out that Dad would know about it when he got home, but I had to explain that you really can't just surprise Dad with things like that. He's already not very enthusiastic about us getting another duck and starting up with chickens come spring. Which brought up the point that Duncan is going to be getting a duck in a couple months, so we really shouldn't get another bird now.

At this point I diverted his attention to a fish. We have had fish many times before and it hasn't traditionally gone well. Any fish brought into our house will wind up dead, and generally not in an "everything dies eventually" kind of way. Duncan even said that when the fish does die he would be sad. With all the tenderness of a loving mother I told him that it's just a fish and you can't really get that upset over it. I knew he would get upset anyway, but it wasn't anything I would have to deal with for a couple months at least. I had every intention of trying REALLY HARD to keep the fish alive this time.

So we got a really pretty silvery beta. Duncan named him Firefly before we even walked out of the store. I thought it was a pretty cool name for a pretty cool fish. We came home and I washed out the bowl that had held our last beta and currently was holding nothing but dust. I filled it with water and put the stress drops in it, then added the fish. A very pretty fish right on top of the piano.

Jump ahead six hours. We're trying to sit down and have a late, Friday night dinner. Duncan is taking forever because he says he can't find the fish in the bowl. That's ridiculous, we say, of course it's in the bowl. Come and eat. An hour later and dinner is over and it's time for bed, but again Duncan's hanging out at the piano and now he has Jonathon with him. We can't find the fish, they say. Go to bed, we say. So they go to bed. Jonathon comes down to get something and says, very quietly, "Will you look for the fish? I really can't see it in there." So I look, and guess what? I can't see it either. I get a flashlight and look behind the piano and there's little Firefly. Already snuffed. There's a fish-sized spot in the dust on the piano right outside the bowl. It didn't even make it six hours in my care. But I don't care about the damn fish. I've got Duncan upstairs convinced that it's just a trick of the light and the curve of the glass that's keeping him from enjoying his new fish.

I got in the car and raced to the pet store to get another silvery beta. Unfortunately, the pet store was already closed and there was no way Duncan wasn't going to figure things out in the morning, so I had to come home and tell him what happened. There were tears on Duncan's part. Everyone else was laughing at me. Less than six hours. I broke my own record.

fresh air

2011-02-15T13:13:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a beautiful day for not being inside. It was in the mid fifties and felt positively spring-like. Kaes came home from school, and, after emptying her Valentines on the table, went to play in the backyard in the pink dress she had worn especially for Valentine's Day. She shoveled frozen, crusty snow from one bit of grass to another, and rode a stick around the yard like a hobby horse, with her dress hitched up to her waist. There was something involving buckets that I never quite figured out, but she was hauling something from somewhere and dumping it elsewhere. She was all alone while she did this, no friends or brothers to help her have fun. She is by far the most social person in the family, making friends while standing in line in the store and bringing toys to the park in case she meets a friend (old or new). And yet, when I send her brothers out to play, even if I send them out together, they stand around and look at each other, then at me through the window, and tell me 'there's nothing to do' and 'no one to play with.' But Kaes has an innate ability to play, which often manifests itself as 'constantly doing something' or 'getting into things.'

After an hour of re-discovering the backyard ("Mom, did you know there is grass growing on the side of the house?") she came in, took off her muddy shoes and announced, "I'm gonna get some non-fresh air."

That's my girl.

just so you know

2010-12-10T22:56:00.000-08:00

Thread that is sucked into the vacuum and wraps around the beater bar jobby can melt. Into a plastic-like substance. Inside where the bearings of the beater bar jobby are located. Thereby freezing up the beater bar jobby and causing your house to smell like burned rubber.

Word of advice: Don't suck up thread with the vacuum. By the spoolful. Because when the beater bar jobby has to be replaced, it's possible that you will be paying for it out of the money you were supposed to get for vacuuming. Jonathon.

I'm just saying...

Saying goodbye to Jerry

2010-10-24T20:23:00.001-07:00

My life has not exactly been traditional, even by non-traditional standards. My parents got married when I was five, just a few months before I turned six. My dad adopted me. I was even sealed to him in the temple. Four brothers and a sister soon followed, and that was my family. But it wasn't all hunky-dory, and by the time I was fourteen (and my youngest brother was still an infant) my dad was no longer living at home. When I was fifteen, my parents got divorced, and I admit I didn't really like spending time with him anymore (Their divorce was actually a relief). In short, he scared the liver out of me. The details aren't the issue at the moment, but unfortunately they do put me in a rather unpleasant, but not nearly uncommon enough, boat with too many other people. When I was nineteen and away at college, I got a card from my dad. He signed it, "Your Stepdad." It was the first time I ever remember him being referred to as my stepdad, and I was devastated. I cried and cried. It was the Monday after Thanksgiving, and it was the first time I had missed a class all year. When I was twenty-one, I told him I didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

When I was twenty-two, my grandma told my my biological father's first name was Frank. It wasn't too long before this that I had found out he had curly hair. I have curly hair, I'm the only one in my family who does. However, my mom's dad had curly hair too, so I had always told everyone I got it from him. My aunt and cousin have curly hair like mine, and another aunt has really wavy hair, though it's not exactly curly. My mom's hair is straight, along with all my siblings. I had always told myself that the curls had skipped them the way they had skipped my mom, but down deep inside I had wondered if my curly hair really came from my dad. Finding out that it did, then finding out his first name, was more than I had ever known about him, and actually more than I really wanted to know. I am certain my mom would have told me about him if I asked, but I never did, and I never wanted to. Before she got married, my family was me and her. After she got married, I had a dad. Why would I be thinking about another one? Even after everything went to hell, it never occurred to me what 'my' other dad might be like. I was in the same boat with my brothers and sister. We had a dad, and he was a jerk. End of story.

Then I got married. And then I got pregnant. All of a sudden I found myself a little bit stressed. My husband had lost an older and a younger brother to heart defects. We knew to tell the doctor about that. But what was I bringing to the mix? My mom's side of things I knew about (hips), but there was this whole other part of me that was an unknown, a mystery. And though I knew there are people having babies all the time without knowing their full medical history and everything turns out just fine, I couldn't help worrying. So my mom asked my husband to look for my biological father. In a matter of a few short weeks, I went from knowing his name was Frank and he had curly hair, to actually talking to him on the phone. And less than a month after my son was born, two months before I turned twenty-nine, I met my biological father for the first time.

Frank is from Oregon (obviously--how else would he have met my mom?) but had moved to Texas before I was born. He had gotten married and had a son, but had been divorced fifteen/twenty years when I met him. Long enough to have become a bachelor again. As far as I can tell he has been to Oregon at least once a year since he left it, but he has a strong Texan accent. And attitude. (Though he told me once that when he first moved out to Texas people there called him a Yankee because Oregon is north. He shut them up by replying that where he's from, Yankees are from the east, and Texas is east. I'm not certain how he survived that little encounter, but I don't anyone could accuse him of being a Yankee now.)

The first several years of our relationship were difficult for me. Frank is a good man, a kind man, and a generous man. And he is a man from a different place and time than anything I could easily relate to. He is several years older than my mother and grew up on a dairy farm. Many dairy farms, in fact. He is possibly the hardest worker I have ever met (including my stepdad, which is saying something). He was raised in a no-nonsense time by no-nonsense people and has a bit of a no-nonsense attitude about things. He's not LDS, or very religious at all. He's a wood carver and comes from a long line of artists and poets. There were many things about me that he could relate to, which should have been a good thing, I suppose. But every time he found another thing about me that was like him, he would claim it, as though all of my talents and interests had been inherited through that one sperm. I felt like he was taking away pieces of me with each new discovery, as though I hadn't chosen or developed any of these things on my own. Or that my mother had been a major influence in my life, and since she was somebody he had liked enough to have a relationship with, it was possible she shared these things with him and had passed them along to me. In any case, his annual visits were a source of stress for me, even though it was apparent that he loved me and was so very happy to have a relationship with me now (to this day not a visit goes by that he doesn't cry at least once over all the years he lost with me).

Eleven years ago, on my thirty-third birthday, when my second son was four months old, he married Jerry. She is as short as he is tall, a little plump, older than Frank, and an absolute sweetheart. She's a widow with two grown sons, a gazillion grandkids and a goodly amount of great-grandkids. I adore her. Their courtship was extremely short (they had seen each other at dances before, but Frank asked her out for the first time in September and they got married in November). Frank told me that he married her because there was something about her that reminded him of my mom. Knowing both my mom and Jerry, I can say that they are really not similar. Their personalities are nothing alike. But the thing that they have in common, and the thing I think Frank was drawn to, was that they are both LDS. I couldn't believe it when he told me Jerry was Mormon. Of course, she started coming out with him on his annual trips to Oregon, stopping to see us either on the way out or the way back (or sometimes both). We fell in love with her. She loved Frank, there was no question of that, and she knew about me and that whole situation and it didn't seem to phase her. I think she also realized that I was having a hard time keeping up with his exuberance. She didn't condemn me for it, but encouraged me to be close to him without pushing and she acted as a buffer along the way. She came to church with us while my dad stayed home and mowed our lawn and I didn't really know how to introduce her. I wanted to just say, "This is Jerry, and I love her." One time in Relief Society she introduced herself as my stepmother before I could say anything else. I remember sitting there thinking, "Those of you who don't know me think you know what this means. You think my parents got divorced (which they did, but not from each other) and my dad remarried and I have issues because she's the 'other woman' or she's trying to take the place of my mom, or any of a dozen other cliches. But you're all wrong, because really, I only even met my dad a few years ago and this woman right here is bridging gaps I don't even think he knows about because she's LDS and she's a mom and she's not a confirmed old bachelor." And she's loving and kind, but she's got spunk, too, and it wasn't too long after the two of them got married that I started calling Frank Dad and I was able to tell him that I love him (something I don't say unless I mean it). I'm certain that would have happened even without Jerry, but having her around sure made the process easier, faster, and more fun.

They came and visited us last spring. They've been trying to get out to see us more often, but both of them are getting older and they have to plan their trips between doctors' appointments, so lately it's just been once a year. Jerry had been having stomach pains and had to be careful what she ate so it wouldn't hurt too much. They left Utah and went on to Oregon, but her stomach bothered her the whole time. She saw the doctor when she got back to Texas, but it wasn't until July that she was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. She did chemo for a while, but just a couple of weeks ago she decided to quit. My dad called me this morning. Jerry passed away last night.

I am going to miss the twinkle in her eye when we bring up the prospect of a bowl of ice cream after the kids go to bed. I'm going to miss seeing her sit at the table, shelling pecans with Kaes. I'm going to miss the flash of jealousy at the mere mention of my dad carving a heart for any other woman but her (though she conceded that he could carve one for me and Kaes if he wanted to). I'm going to miss her trying to teach me how to crochet. I'm going to miss her pulling out her sketch pad and watching her draw (we have a Jerry Turner original framed and hanging on the wall in the family room). I'm going to miss her soft, southern drawl, and the crooked smile with the tears when it's time to say good-bye.

My stepmother died yesterday, and my family isn't going to be complete without her.

Growing up is hard to do

2010-09-02T08:09:00.000-07:00

Kaes has been going to second grade for a total of six days. She likes her teacher well enough, but she was still less than excited to go to school this morning. I asked her what was wrong.

Kaes: It doesn't feel like school.

Me: What does it feel like?

Kaes: Learning.

engaging children

2010-06-11T13:47:00.000-07:00

I tried to play a game of Qwirkle with Kaes (seven), Elisse (six), and Dono (four). The object is to make lines of tiles that either match in color or shape, but not both. Colors and shapes are a pre school/early elementary skill. All three have mastered those concepts (though Dono called one of the shapes 'slash' which seemed appropriate enough). The game said it was for ages six and up and I figured I would have to help Dono a bit, but like I said, it's shapes and colors. How hard can it be?

More than half an hour later, there were still tiles in the bag to be drawn, but the game was over. I basically had four turns each round while the kids made shapes out of their tiles, and stacks, and sat on them, and (thank you Kaes) held them up to their eyes like possessed dominoes (a red circle and a red square). I added up our scores (that I had essentially worked on all by myself). I didn't even win.

Now the kids are watching a movie. Enough of exercising their brains and interacting with them. My brain hurts, and if I hear their angelic little voices sing about monkeys one my time, I'll explode. Or maybe they will. In any case, it's healthier for everyone if they turn into vegetables in front of the TV. I'm going to go clean the garage.

'the talk'

2010-05-10T08:19:00.000-07:00

Today while walking Kaes to school she asked me if you could tell Lwcus was a boy by looking into his eyes (I think this came from preschool when she learned that male and female turtles have different eye colors--one is red and the other is something else). I told her no, that wouldn't work with Lwcus, so she asked me how you can tell. This is not the conversation I want to have first thing in the morning (8:50 is first thing in the morning around here) and I had a very quick internal debate. I could tell her you know he's a boy because he never brushes his hair, or he's always getting into things, or he takes off to go explore every chance he gets, but honestly, the same can be said of Kaes, so that wouldn't really work. So I decided to stick with the truth (at 8:50 in the morning, walking the child to school on a public sidewalk). Really, the answer is anatomical, so that's what I went with.

"You have to look at their belly. If they have a (insert correct term), they're a boy."

"What's a (insert slightly-mispronounced correct term)?" asked Kaes.

"It's where they go potty. If it's like your brothers, they're a boy. If it's like you, they're a girl." (Yes, my daughter has seen her brothers. One bathroom, no privacy, though I promise you we try.)

"Oh," she said, the light bulb audibly clicking on. "They have a thing they squirt. Sometimes they stand up to wet in the toilet and they don't make a mess. Girls can't do that, though. We would make a big mess."

Yes, we would.

I can't help but wonder what kind of conversations she will be having at school today. I'm kind of hoping she doesn't decide to share her new-found knowledge with her friends. Especially any of her boy friends. They probably already know.

The real irony is that Duncan is having his maturation program today. He's going to learn all about this stuff. Maybe I should take Kaes too. I'm sure she'll have lots of questions.

how to argue with a seven-year-old

2010-04-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

Kaes is lying in her bed, at night, lights off, reading a book.

Me: Kaes, what are you doing? It's dark.

She leans over and pulls back her curtains.

Me: Not outside. In your room.

She looks at me as if I am in fact an idiot.

Kaes: It is too dark outside.

home improvements

2010-04-20T12:16:00.000-07:00

The swatch of color that looks coral in the store is actually pink when painted in the bathroom. And it glows. Into the hallway.

However, washing walls is even better than painting them. It has the benefit of giving your home a new look, without the devastation of realizing that you bought the wrong color. And it doesn't cost nearly as much. And if you don't like the color you find under all the fingerprints, just wait a while and it will disappear again. I fully admit washing walls is farther down my list of household chores I engage in than washing windows. And dusting. But when forced to wash walls so that pink paint will stick to them, and looking into the hallway at the no-way-did-anyone-pay-money-for-that-color-and-the-walls-did-not-look-like-that-when-we-moved-in walls, I can be found to wash walls instead of painting (that didn't get going until after 10:00 later that night). I spent an afternoon magically turning my walls from black to white and the water in my bucket from clear to...not. And when I was done, my disbelieving eyes told my disillusioned brain that our walls looked great. Like they had just been painted. Better, even, than the freshly painted pink bathroom.

(Duncan's reaction the next morning, as he tried to walk past the bathroom, was stop in the hallway, his face awash in the pink glow, and say, "Whoa.")

Awesome in a bucket

2009-12-21T10:45:00.000-08:00

First, I must point out that Kaes and Duncan have an insatiable need to correct/contradict each other. That being said, here is the conversation overheard from the backseat Saturday night.

Duncan (having asked something and getting the answer he wanted): Awesome in a bucket!

Kaes: You can't put awesome in a bucket.

Duncan: *mumble mumble* awesome in a bucket *mumble mumble* You can put me in a bucket, Kaes.

Star Students

2009-11-06T08:56:00.000-08:00

At Duncan's school they give out Noble Knights to kids (ahem, scholars) who are being particularly good. Earlier this week Duncan almost got one. One of his teachers noticed that he was trying very hard not to laugh (apparently something very funny-but-inappropriate had just happened). Just as she was complimenting him on his self control, he let it all out in a huge guffaw. To which his teacher said, "Well, I guess you're not going to get one after all."

On the exact same day, Kaes came home with a note for me, that she had written herself. Unfortunately, I had to sign it and return it to her teacher, so I can't give you an exact transcription, but here's the gist of it (inventive spelling not included):

Dear Mom

I missed rotations today because I came in from recess fifteen minutes late. I was very sad. I am still very sad. I promise I will never do it again.

Love
Your dotr (Okay, I remember that particular spelling very well and I just love it)

I asked her why she was so late coming in and didn't she notice that everyone else had gone inside. Well, the kindergartners were outside playing, so it wasn't like she was all alone. Didn't she notice that nobody from her class was still outside? Yes, she did. That's when she went inside (FIFTEEN minutes late). Then she told me about four boys in her class who were going to have to write notes to the other teachers because they were being obnoxious. I asked her if she was being obnoxious too (I recognized some of these boys as kids she plays with and it made me a bit nervous). No, she hadn't been obnoxious. Was she sure about that? Yes. "I wasn't in rotations today, was I?"

I believe that's what they call an alibi. She was innocent of being obnoxious. Thank heaven.

I know how I rank...

2009-10-02T08:31:00.000-07:00

Me: Duncan, get ready for school.

Duncan: Why?

Me: Because I am your mother and it is the joy of your life to do what I say.

Duncan: No, the joy of my life is marshmallows covered with melted chocolate.

Who knew?

She has a future in the U.N.

2009-09-16T15:06:00.000-07:00

Kaes: (Wishing it was recess so she could chase people.) He used to hate me, but now he's afraid of me.

curses

2009-09-08T19:46:00.000-07:00

I've heard there is a Chinese curse that goes "May you live in interesting times." Well, here's one for you: May you have intelligent children.

Duncan: I got my math homework done at school today.
Me: Really? That's awesome. Did you remember to bring home your lunchbox?
Duncan: . . .
Me: Duncan!
Duncan: Mom, remember to focus on the positive.
(Duncan can sometimes have a negative outlook on things, so we are constantly telling him to focus on the positive. I believe I called him a turd after that little exchange.)

Jonathon (running out to the car as I'm leaving to pick up his brother from school): Mom, I have to tell you something. You starting the car reminded me.
Me (sitting in the middle of the road): What do you have to tell me?
Jonathon: This time next year I'll have my learner's permit.
(I believe I also called him a turd at this point.)

Somebody missed the point...

2009-08-21T08:08:00.000-07:00

Kaes: Why did the chicken cross the road really fast?

Me: I don't know. Why did the chicken cross the road really fast?

Kaes: Mom! I've told you this a million times!

battle of the sexes

2009-08-14T08:25:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was babysitting for a friend whose youngest happens to be exactly four months younger than my youngest. Needless to say, they've grown up together and fluctuate between a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship and a brother/sister relationship. I'm not certain which is more volatile.

We went to the park, but it was too crazy hot to stay for long, so we came home after only a short time. On the way back, they found a a dead worm on the sidewalk. The two of them, not realizing the worm was already dead, discussed its fate until I told them to hurry up and keep walking.

Kaes (to Ben): You killed the worm?! Don't you care about the entire planet?

Ben mutters incoherently until Kaes catches up to me: Mom, are worms helpful?

Me: Yes, they are.

Kaes: Told you, Ben.

A few moments of complete silence while Ben looks like he wants to stick his tongue out at Kaes, but I'm watching, then:

Ben: When I grow up I'm going to be able to baptize, but you won't.

I think Ben may have won that round.

Future boyfriends beware

2009-08-10T11:45:00.000-07:00

Kaes (very cheerful): Duncan, did you just tell me to shut-up? Oh no you don't!

Kaes (now singing) Old Macdonald had a farm...

A good lesson to learn young

2009-06-19T12:06:00.000-07:00

My niece and nephew have been hanging out with us this week (well, Sam left us for greener pastures--her friend's house--but she was with us for a few days).

Tuesday night Jonathon, Sam and Jake (Duncan was gone with Anne to get his late-but-much-loved birthday present) played the Lego board game. There was much swiping of blocks, and laughing, and "Hey, what'd you do that for!" coming from the living room. When the game was over Jonathon came into the kitchen and said to me, in a very quiet voice, "I have learned something while Sam has been here. It is very easy to offend teenage girls. Even when you don't mean to."

There is so much truth revealed in that one statement. For one, not only is my son right, but he is not stupid, and he can learn very obvious things. This is good. It's great to be able to learn the less-obvious things, but not being able to learn the really obvious things can be detrimental to your health. I'm glad he picked up on this one.

Second, it implies that there were times when he didn't actually intend to offend his cousin. This gives me hope, and faith that I am in fact raising a gentleman. I am so proud.

The third thing didn't really become clear until I was talking to Matthew about it later, but having Sam with us for those few days was a very valuable experience for Jonathon, one that he probably doesn't even realize he should be grateful for. Although Kaes has done a great job of training her brothers in the proper way to compliment a girl and notice her new clothes and things like that, she will not be a teenager until after Jonathon has gone on his mission and off to college (assuming he follows the life plan we have laid out for him--which he had better). It is extremely important to understand that there is a huge difference between little girls (even when they are going on thirty) and girls with actual hormones running amock. Even if Jonathon forgets this most valuable lesson, he will recall it with increasing clarity as he goes through the next several years of school, especially as the girls get more settled into being teenagers. Though he did learn a truth, he still does not appreciate how big a truth it really is.

Lynne's blog

2009-06-11T21:45:00.000-07:00

This week I have been attending the writer's conference at BYU. Lynne Snyder has been our wonderful, lovely assistant each morning while we workshop. Not only is she a great writer, but she also is very nice and she feeds us. I am like a lost puppy (or my daughter): if you feed me, I will love you for life. So I told Lynne today I would accost her until she gave me the recipe for her breakfast bars (I'm not completely certain what that means, but it sounded menacing). She referred me to her blog. Here it is, for any of those pitiful few who read my blog, and for me, so I won't lose it.

http://snyderfamilycookbook.blogspot.com

Yes, I know there's a way to make the link right here, and I even know I've done it before. What I don't know is how to do it again, and I am amazingly too tired to try to figure it out now. I just don't want to lose the recipe for the breakfast bars (that not-yet-link only takes you to her cooking blog, you still have to do a search for breakfast bars).

Happy Anniversary to Us!

2009-05-14T14:31:00.000-07:00

I fell in love with Matthew in Camelot. This is true. There used to be a park just off the Springville exit called Camelot. It is no longer there, which is sad, but that is where I fell in love with Matthew for good and certain. If you've already heard the story, well, I happen to think it's a rather nice romance, and if you haven't, then we should talk, because there's LOTS more than just this. Like the conversation in front of Bridal Veil Falls where he told me he didn't feel right about dating me. But this post is about how I fell in love with him, not how I wanted to strangle him.

We went to Camelot one Saturday (NOT on a date) and wandered around enjoying the shade under the trees and just talking. There was an irrigation ditch/canal that went through the park, and on the other side of it was this beautiful meadow. We wanted to go walk in the meadow, but to get there we had to walk across a log over the ditch. Now, it was a good-sized log, and if it had been on the ground I could have walked on it till the cows came home. But it wasn't on the ground, it was over some truly nasty-looking water, and there was just no way I was going to risk falling into that muck. There was also a four-year-old little boy wearing shorts and cowboy boots that was just zipping back and forth across that thing. He made me feel very foolish. But not foolish enough to walk across that log. And I really wanted to go walk in that meadow. So Matthew sat down on the log facing me, his long legs almost dipping in the water below, and told me to sit down facing him. Then he scooted backwards across the log, telling me to look at him and not down at the water, until we reached the other side. The little boy stood on the bank and laughed and teased Matthew about being too scared to stand up and walk across the log. Matthew never even said a word to him, he just kept talking to me, calmly, until we made it across. The meadow, by the way, was a mosquito breeding ground like I've never seen before. You actually couldn't breath because they would fly in your mouth or up your nose. It was nasty, so in only a few moments, we were back on the log again, Matthew scooting backwards until we were back on the other side. He never did say anything to the kid. And I fell in love with him.

A week later I went back to Camelot by myself and walked across the log several times. I didn't fall, and I didn't scoot, and I didn't tell anybody I was going to do it. Matthew had already made it impossible for me to fail. It was already okay if I was too afraid to walk across, but that time, I wasn't.

The rest of the story is that less than a year later we were married (it still took some time after that for us to actually date, but I said I wouldn't go into that here). Today makes it a whopping, wonderful fifteen years, and Matthew is still scooting across logs for me, telling me to look at him, not the scary stuff around me, and making it impossible for me to fail.

How absolutely fitting that I fell in love with him in Camelot.

Moab

2009-05-13T22:05:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we took our third-annual, second-to-Moab camping trip with my sister and her family. It was tons of fun. I am a born-in-Oregon, give-me-trees-and-water kind of girl, but I have to say that Moab is growing on me. It could be that the weather both times we've been there has been PERFECT. Sun, but enough of a breeze to keep you from wanting to crawl under a rock and die. Not too hot and downright gorgeous. Absolutely wonderful weather.

We got to our KOA campsite about 10:30 Friday night because that's what we do. We have yet to pitch a tent by anything other than lantern/flashlight. If there were places closer to Utah valley that were as much fun to visit, we might stand a better chance of getting there while the sun is still up, but I don't see that happening. Also, as a follow-up to the business with Kaia, on the way down Matthew and I were talking and Kaes said, "Mama, if Daddy annoys you, roll your eyes at him." I am now getting communication pointers from my six-year-old. I'm so looking forward to her teenage years.

Saturday we went to Arches. Last visit we got going much earlier and spent the whole day going from arch to arch and hiking around. Kaes was most anxious to do this again. In fact, instead of "Are we there yet?" the undying refrain in the car was, "When are we going to climb rocks." Remember, the last time we were there she was only four years old. What the crap was I thinking? In any case, we really only stopped at three places this time (well, three and a half. There was a potty break where Kaes and I went off on an explore by ourselves and wound up in this gorgeous little canyon. I could hear the silence--behind Kaes' constant chatter and movement. It was amazing.)

The first place was one we had visited before, and we probably wouldn't have stopped this time if Kaes hadn't been making me crazy wanting to get out and climb rocks. So we stopped and climbed rocks for half an hour or so. That gave us just enough leeway to make it to the end of the road (I didn't even know there was an end of the road, but it loops back on itself and heads you back out again). That one was a bit of a hike, but by then it was late-ish afternoon and the sun wasn't right overhead so it was very enjoyable. Then we headed back and stopped at the sandbox to end all sandboxes.

The sandbox arch is a very short walk from the road and it's a very small arch. I was right in front of it before I realized it was there. Most paths take you to some kind of viewpoint, or even right under the arch, but this one, the arch was kind of off to the side. The fact that it's so small and the cliff behind it is so much larger helps to disguise the fact that there is an arch right in front of (well, beside) you. But the sand. That was the fun part. They don't call it sanbox arch for nothing. We dug holes, we buried kids, kids crawled through it, rolled down it, made angels in it (including my 'kid' sister). I swear the sandbox as a whole dropped a foot with all the sand we took home with us in our clothes and hair and shoes... But it was crazy fun. Even though we got there while the sun was still up, it was full dark by the time we made it back to the cars. And I was paid a most wonderful compliment. Duncan and Tessa were digging holes in the sand together. I went off a little bit away from them and started digging my own hole (I didn't want to interfere). Then I heard Duncan say, "My mom is playing in the sand." Tessa said, "I didn't know moms play in the sand." And Duncan said, "My mom does." It warmed the cockles of my heart. Of course, this is also the child who was stunned to find out last year that I can skip, so I'm beginning to wonder exactly what kind of alien these kids think parents (or at least moms) are.

Sunday (Mother's Day) was somehow even better than the day before, at least for me. Kaes remembered all on her own that it was Mother's Day and was the first to wish me happiness and give me a hug for the occasion. We had breakfast and packed up and then spent most of the day in town at some parks CarrieAnne had found online. The first park was utterly amazing, with a whole group of xylophones and drums and other such percussiony instruments right there in the park. Non of them were broken and they actually made music (at least when people who know how to make music played with them. I was particularly impressed that my very own Jonathon was playing songs on them). The kids had a wonderful time playing with those and could have stayed and done that for hours, except I heard a father with his young son wading in the stream that ran through the park and the father pointing out crayfish (or crawdads, what we called them) to his son. I ran and called my kids (and Matthew) over to the stream, took off my shoes and socks and went in to catch a crawdad. This was something from my childhood (though I admit that as a child if I was told a stream had crawdads in it, I would forever after stay out of the stream) that I wanted to share with my kids. It wasn't quite as easy as I thought it would be, but I persevered, and in the end was able to show my kids a real live crawdad (and then set it free, of course). It was an absurdly satisfying thing to do on Mother's Day and made me a little misty-eyed, I admit. As their mother, I am responsible for their education, and I taught them a little something they are not going to get on their own, growing up in Utah valley. It was pretty dang cool.

The next park we went to had a duck pond, though it was fenced off, so we had to throw the bread over the fence. Whatever. However, I also spotted a bullfrog about the size of a salad plate and was able to point that out to my kids too (hey, I got the animals, and that's all I've got. Matthew has EVERYTHING ELSE when it comes to "who knows the most about..."(a game my kids love to play) so I've got to do what I can when I can. The animal kingdom itself may be fairly large, but it's only ONE THING. Everything else they go to Matthew.)

Then we went letterboxing. Again, last trip we did several, this time only one, but it was pretty dang cool. It was a four mile hike round trip, but it was mostly level ground (nothing for Kaes to fall off of to her death--what were we thinking last time?!?) and it turned out to be totally worth it, though I must admit I was nervous for a bit there. The letterbox was hidden next to some dinosaur tracks, and when we saw our first 'dinosaur tracks' I was most unhappy. They could have been anything and I realized way too late in the game that maybe I shouldn't have taken at face value the clue: "at the first dinosaur track." Maybe there were supposed to be "quotes" around the "dinosaur track." I was quite miffed. But as we went a little farther, we found dinosaur tracks that were actually dinosaur tracks, and that was incredibly cool. Super cool. Then I was very happy that the only letterbox we did was the one with the dinosaur tracks.

That was pretty much our trip. We got back home at 2:00 Monday morning and I spent all of Monday and Tuesday in bed. No, wait, that's not true. I went on Duncan's fieldtrip with him to This Is the Place state park on Monday, which is why nothing got done all day and I still spent Tuesday in bed. Anyway, I really wanted to post a blog when I got back and this is the first chance I've had to do it. Sorry it's such a long blog, but if I didn't do it now, it wouldn't get done at all. I love Moab, and I love going on vacations with CarrieAnne and her family. And I had a great Mother's Day.

That Anthony

2009-05-08T09:50:00.000-07:00

They had a walk-a-thon at Kaes's school this morning. Though Kaes is in the afternoon kindergarten class, I took her over for the walk-a-thon because first, the girl loves to run (more on that later) and second, anything to siphon off some of her energy is a good thing.

On our way over to the school (yes, we drove one block to the walk-a-thon--we were late, as usual) Kaes was telling me about Anthony. Remember Anthony? A few months back the girl informed him it was his turn to chase her, since she had been chasing him the whole time. Well, Anthony is in the morning class, so Kaes doesn't get to see him often I guess (I'm not really certain how they see each other at all, but I've got bigger things to worry about at the moment). She was very 'distraught' that she was going to be seeing Anthony at the walk-a-thon, because she doesn't like him.

I said, "But Kaes, I thought you chased him."

"Mom," she said (in a tone of voice I wasn't expecting to hear until she was a teenager) "I chase him because I don't like him."

Oh. Well, things are certainly different than they were when I was in school. I thought the whole point of chasing was because you DID like somebody. Whatever.

She also mentioned a boy named Kaia (I have no idea how to spell his name) and that she doesn't like him either.

So, we got to school and started walking (a total of two miles when all was said and done, and the girl was ready to do more). After a couple of laps I finally got to meet Anthony, a boy sporting long brown curls, cowboy boots and an attitude. And the girl? The emotion in her voice when she called out "Hi, Anthony!" was not "I hate you."

I am in so much trouble.

But then, so are her future boyfriends, if she continues to have this confusion about 'like' and 'hate.'

Now for Kaia. Or maybe walking.

After walking a lap or two she asked if we could run. I said no. She said, "But Mom, I heard you like running." Really? Where on earth did you hear that? I still told her no. She said, "But we're here to exercise." I told her walking was exercise. Eventually she wore me down and we would run in thirty-second spurts (I like running--NOT!). Eventually she just got tired of me and went running on her own. My Jonathon has these freaking gazelle legs and when he runs it's just crazy to watch him go. However, his little sister has a passion for it that he doesn't quite possess. The girl can run. Forever. She just goes. Weaves in and out of people and trees (may she grow out of that before she ever gets behind the wheel of a car), her hair flying all over the place. The girl loves to run.

So she spent the last several laps way off in front of me, and at one point I saw her walking with a boy (long blond hair). They did not look like they were fighting or wishing imminent, painful death on each other. When we finally hooked up again (to go home so I could write this blog...uh, pack for our camping trip tonight) I asked her who the blond boy was. Kaia, of course. As we were leaving the playground she said, "Because I don't like him, I rolled my eyes at him."

Have I mentioned I'm in trouble?

Why I shop at Macey's

2009-04-29T23:02:00.001-07:00

Today Duncan went to the store with me. While we were over in the dairy section, he found a box cutter lying in one of those open chest refrigerator things (yes, I am very articulate, thank you). He picked it up and asked me if he could take it to the front of the store and hand it in. An employee just happened to be stocking stuff down the aisle in front of us, so I told Duncan to go give it to him. Duncan went over and gave it to the guy, I put some yogurt in my cart, and we moved on. A few minutes later, when we were at the other end of the meat section, the employee came up to us with a handful of Smarties and asked me if it was okay if he gave them to Duncan (of course I said yes). He praised Duncan for bringing the box cutter to him and said it could have been really dangerous if a younger kid had found it instead.

Now, this wasn't some earth-shattering thing. Duncan didn't stop a bomb from going off, or hand in a wallet with a million dollars in it, and a handful of Smarties isn't going to pay his way through college (though if they lived up to their name, I would totally force-feed them to my kids every day). However, I really, really appreciate that Duncan did get recognition for doing the right thing, especially when it came from a source other than his mom. Parents are the bottom line when it comes to raising kids, but that doesn't mean the village shouldn't pitch in too. Quite frankly, when Duncan found the box cutter and wanted to hand it in, I didn't think much of it. I certainly thought he should, don't get me wrong, but after that employee came over and talked to him, there was definitely a glow about my boy. He was still glowing when he had me tell his dad about it later. I think there's a good chance he'll remember this for a long time. Definitely longer than me saying, "Go give it to that guy."

This isn't the only time something like this has happened at Macey's either. Several years ago there was a woman in the check out line in front of us who didn't speak English. She was having a hard time getting the cashier to understand what she needed, so Matthew stepped up and translated for her. Again, we didn't think much of it, but as we were leaving the store, one of the managers came up to us and gave us a thing of ice cream. It wasn't anything super fancy, but it was nice. Without getting too over the top serious, I think the world could use a little more recognition for the good things people do, not because people do the good things to get the recognition, but...why not? Who knows when a handful of Smarties is going to put somebody on the path of doing good deeds all the time? We could have an epidemic, all fueled by Smarties.

One last thing, in case you missed it earlier. I am so proud of my Duncan. Actually, maybe this is another one of those possitive side effects of a handful of Smarties. I said before that I didn't think too much about Duncan handing in the box cutter. I knew it was sharp, I knew it could be dangerous, and I was happy Duncan found it and wanted to hand it in (I can only too easily imagine finding out about it when I emptied out his pockets later). But when that employee came up with the handful of Smarties, Duncan wasn't the only one glowing. That's my boy, and he is wonderful, and sometimes it takes a complete stranger to point it out to me and remind me again that I am a lucky, lucky mom.

A few random thoughts

2009-04-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

Do not sneeze in your sleep. Though you may have a muddled half-second warning about what's to come, you're husband won't, and it's very disconcerting for everyone when he wakes up suddenly thinking you're under attack. "Protect wife and kids" mode can become dangerous for said wife when there's nothing else there to protect against.

Do not take a mildly-trained dog, a hyper puppy and a spastic six-year-old on a walk together (alone). Especially if you only have ten minutes to get to the school only five minutes away.

Harry talks. I am not kidding, exaggerating or making this up. He is possibly the most vocal dog I have ever met, and I'm not talking yappy, barking-all-the-time dogs. He talks. It's not English, so I can't really relay it to you here, but it is decidedly not barking, and he does it when he wants my attention. It is a cross between a wolf's howl and a hound's bay. Again, I am not kidding.

I was teasing Kaes the other day. I said, "I love you." She said, "I love you too." Trying to see if she would catch on and play the game, I said, "I love you three." She did not. This morning in bed I muddled my way through this conversation (yes, I am generally muddled when I'm still in bed)-
Kaes: I love you.
Me: I love you too.
Kaes: (Some six-year-old explanation of love, ending with) Because 'I love you three' doesn't last forever.

Now you know.

Time out

2009-04-07T09:47:00.000-07:00

They have a thing at Duncan's school called Think Time. When one of the kids gets into (enough) trouble, they have to go to another classroom and, apparently, fill out a form about why they are in trouble and what they need to do to fix it. Duncan had two trips to Think Time last week for talking. I knew about these, though I never saw the forms. This morning as I was putting his lunch in his backpack I found a form from yesterday. This makes three Think Times in two weeks, when he's never had a Think Time the entire rest of the year (as far as I know). I think spring is having a detrimental influence on my son. We'll be talking about resisting that influence later today. However, this form is quite interesting. He had to write down what he had done wrong and which school rule it broke (respectful, responsible or ready), then how he plans to solve the problem.

The 'problem' he had was running. The 'rule' he broke was 'ready', as in "I was not READY to sit down."

I find that both hilarious and fascinating, and I can't help but wonder if most, if not all, rules we break fall under 'ready.'

"I was not ready to drive the speed limit." "I was not ready to pay for the car." "I was not ready to tell the truth." "I was not ready not to punch him in the face."

The possibilities are endless.

I have a theory...

2009-04-06T13:13:00.000-07:00

I started reading Junie B. Jones to Jonathon and Duncan while I was pregnant with Kaes. Jonathon was going to be starting kindergarten and the books were about a little girl starting kindergarten and I thought they might be good books to help him know what to expect once he started school. I could not have been more wrong. Those books are not written for children at all. They are written for the parents. Matthew and I laughed our fool heads off, while the boys just listened with blank faces.

Then I had Kaes, and everything changed (in so many ways). Kaes is now in kindergarten and I am reading Junie B. Jones to her. Kaes loves them, though she still doesn't laugh nearly as much as I do. However, she is not as oblivious as her brothers were, either. Yesterday during our reading we came across this paragraph.

(Junie B. has gotten up while it is still dark outside because she is so excited to go to an Easter egg hunt later that day. She goes into her parents' room and her mom tells her to go back to bed.) "Yeah, only I don't think that's actually possible," I said."On account of my brain is already activated."

Kaes laughed heartily, thinking it was hilarious that Junie B. said her brain was activated. I realized that 'activated' is the perfect term for my daughter. Once she is activated (i.e. opens her eyes in the morning) there is no shutting her down.

Later, Junie B. is consulting with her elephant what she should wear that day. She tells her elephant, "Plus, good egg-hunting clothes should not be a dress, either. On account of sometimes-when I am beating people to an egg-I will have to tackle them and get in a scuffle."

Kaes, who was sitting on my lap, looked at me and said, "You can tackle in a dress."

She was not joking.

So here's my theory. I think Kaes was listening and taking notes while I was reading Junie B. Jones to her brothers seven years ago. I think she has channeled the essence of Junie B. Jones. And then I think she took it up a notch, where Barbara Park (the author) with all of her incredible imagination, never expected a six-year-old little girl to go.

Loving my girl

2009-04-03T23:25:00.000-07:00

Today I spent about fifteen minutes in Lowe's with my daughter. I swear I grew at least one gray hair a minute. The girl cannot have both feet on the ground at the same time. She cannot not touch things. Even when things are out of reach, she's reaching for them. She alternately flits off like a hummingbird and disappears, or sweetly holds my hand and jerks me all over the place as she proceeds to chase after everything she would be going after if she wasn't holding my hand. She often doesn't have either foot on the ground, and every automatic door we came to (there are many inside Lowe's) she karate-chopped open. As we were leaving through another karate-chopped door with my arm once again almost yanked out of its socket, I commented on the fact that I wish she could just calm down. She looked at me, and with complete sincerity said, "But Mama, you want me to be who I am."

Yes, my girl, I do.

PS This morning I found her in the garage in nothing but her shirt and panties, holding the puppy. The door to the backyard was open and it was snowing outside.

Between drinking out of the dog's water bowl (she did that last fall before I started blogging) and toying with hypothermia (neither of which seemed to have any affect on her at all), she's going to have a seriously beefed-up immune system.

spring?

2009-03-25T07:45:00.000-07:00

Driving Duncan to school this morning (in the snow).

"That's not snow. That's little fluffy rain balls."

Whatever you gotta believe to get you through the day.

Mama's helper

2009-03-17T22:35:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago the girl decided to help with the housework. When I say help, I mean vacuum. When I say vacuum, I mean if you are standing in her way, you had better hope your toes don't get sucked up.

When she finished with her voluntary helping she said, "Mama, those boys did not help me at all." How to explain that her volunteering did not make volunteers of her brothers? I'm thinking when they get married their wives will worship their sister-in-law. I expect by that time they will understand that when they see a woman doing work, they had better get up off their butts and do work too.

That was a couple of weeks ago. Nobody has vacuumed since. When I say nobody has vacuumed, I mean nobody has been able to vacuum.

Matthew and I just spent an hour replacing the vacuum belt, which broke while she was vacuuming the living room. After that we removed the bag and I had to cut it open and dig through the contents because her brothers were certain she had vacuumed up some of their legos (we all heard the terrible sound as she was vacuuming the family room). The only plastic I found belonged to some kind of toy, though not a lego, and not something that registered immediately. I also found a ballerina slipper. At least we know she isn't just targeting legos. As we were getting ready to replace the bag, the head of an orange and blue dinosaur fell out the bottom of the vacuum. That is what the mysterious piece of plastic belonged to, and probably what broke the belt. We put it all back together and I started to finally vacuum the family room, but the vacuum didn't sound right. We took it apart and checked the hose, but couldn't detect any blockage. Put it back together and tried again. Again it didn't quite work right. This time Matthew removed the hose completely and stuck a hanger down it. At last. The body of the orange dinosaur. But wait, that wasn't all. There was also a 1"x3" piece of wood in there. That must have been the horrible sound in the family room. Not a lego after all.

I think I'm going to ask the girl to give us a good thirty minute warning when she wants to help the next time. The boys might actually be motivated to pick up their stuff, since I am NOT sifting through a vacuum cleaner bag again. And I will be investing in lots of vacuum belts.

Samurai princess

2009-03-16T20:54:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend a bunch of families got together to play games. (The adults played games, the kids just played.) At one point I found out that my pink-wearing princess (age six) kicked our hosts' eight-year-old son in the...well, she kicked him. This was witnessed by our hostess, who then saw her son push my daughter to the floor. The boy got in trouble for pushing a girl, and the girl was mildly advised not to kick boys. Especially there. I was going to go reprimand my daughter less mildly, and I probably should have, but I must admit there was a part of me that was rather proud of her. And then there's the fact that in this day and age it kind of sticks in my throat to tell my daughter to 'be nice to boys.' I am perfectly fine with her feeling capable of kicking a boy...anywhere, if he deserves it. The problem with this weekend is that they were fighting over which of the many rooms available to them they were going to play in. He didn't deserve it, and she needs to know that, but I don't want to quash at the age of six her reflex to fight back when she feels threatened. I also don't wish to go into detail on the various ways she could wind up feeling threatened some day. So I left her with the mild reproach she got from my friend and hoped that the instinct would remain intact, tempered by an understanding of when it's okay to kick and when it's better to just go play in another room.

I am happy to report that the fighting instinct hasn't gone anywhere in the last forty-eight hours. This evening we met with the same family at the track of the junior high by their house. The idea was to walk around the track and get exercise. That idea was lost on the children. They were too busy playing in sand for the long jump, sitting in the grass, and, towards the end, jumping on the pads for the high jump. There were two other boys at the pads, apparently brothers, who were giving the kids a hard time. The older of the two told them he was going to call 911 because they were not supposed to play on the pads and they were trespassing (despite the fact that his brother was actually lying under the top pad and making it impossible for our kids to jump without landing on him). We told the two boys to leave the kids alone, that no one was going to call the police and basically told everyone to leave everyone else alone. By the time we were down at the other end of the track, though, it was obvious they were back at it. Our kids were jumping on the pads, the two brothers were on their bikes, apparently telling them to get off. And then, from down the field, I see my six-year-old hop down off the pads and march up to the twelve/thirteen-year-old. She stopped right in front of him, and even from that distance, it was clear she was having an in-your-face moment. She wasn't yelling or anything, but her stance said nothing of compliance or backing down.

Later, I found out from my son that her comment at that moment was, "I'll take care of him."

He's lucky he was sitting on a bike.

sarcasm

2009-03-01T20:15:00.000-08:00

Matthew and I are perpetually late. Anyone who knows us knows this. I apologize to everyone I have been late to in the past, and all those I will still be late to in the future, because trust me, it will happen again. Having said that, I have a thirteen-year-old who hates to be late. He really is a mellow young man, but there are a few things that set him off, and being late (especially to things that are important to him) is one of those things. I think it is further proof that God has a sense of humor. He sent a punctual child (not that he had ANY inclination to be punctual on his way down thirteen years ago) to chronically tardy parents. We have the car keys and the power to MAKE him late all the time. It really is amusing.

Tonight at dinner we were doing highlights and lowlights. First off, let me say that we live less than a block away from our church and my son goes early on his own (he doesn't need us with the car keys to get there). When it was my turn for hightlights I said that one of my highlights was getting to church before the opening prayer. The so-n-so of a teenager said, "You did?" then clapped and gave me a thumbs up. I blame this on his father, who is often sarcastic on top of being late, and who was also laughing his fool head off.

Pay It Forward

2009-02-27T15:36:00.000-08:00

The first 3 people to leave a comment on this post will receive a handmade (or possibly store-bought) gift from me during this year. When and what will be a surprise. It won't be free though . . . in order to qualify you need to post this same thing on your own blog and then come back and leave a comment telling me you've done it. Remember, only the first 3 comments receive the gift!

What's good for the goose...

2009-02-25T11:45:00.000-08:00

Me: Kaes, are you going to wear your tennis shoes to school today?
Kaes: Yes, the boys are going to be chasing me so I need to run.
Me: How do you know the boys are going to be chasing you?
Kaes: I asked them to.
Me: You did? What did they say?
Kaes: Yes.
Me: Why did you ask them to chase you?
Kaes: Anthony is in the other class and I've been chasing him. I decided it was his turn to chase me now.

the reason for this blog

2009-02-23T22:11:00.000-08:00

My kids.

The other day the princess was sitting under her bed in her pink nightgown, propped up on her pink pillows, wrapped in a pink blanket, watching Cinderella. Oh, and wearing blue sunglasses. The blue sunglasses were the kicker, especially since it was all done so naturally, without expectation of an audience. I tried covertly to get a picture of her, but she saw me, hunched up one shoulder, and grinned a cheesy grin. Also a natural state for her, but not quite as sincere as watching Cinderella through blue sunglasses.

Later that day she changed out of the pink nightgown into a beautiful blue and white blouse with ruffles down the front and around the hem and cuffs. She had a play date with her best friend that afternoon and was dressed to kill. This was the first time she had worn this shirt and she was so excited. Couldn't keep her eyes off any reflective surface she passed in front of. When her daddy got home that evening, she prepared for her grand entrance. From the other room she called out, "Get ready to be amazed!" Then she came in, ruffles flounced, dimple dimpling, and simply the cutest thing this side of heaven. After her daddy had given the appropriate response and adored her as was her due, he left to change out of his work clothes and she said, "I knew that would pop your eyes." I have said it before, and I don't see any chance of not being able to say it in the future, the girl is a princess.

A few days later I was on my way to the car with my curly-topped, intensely dimpled boy. It was warmish, there was no snow or ice on the sidewalk, and I could see actual patches of grass through the snow on the front yard. Practically balmy. Definite false-promises of spring to come. I couldn't help it. I skipped. The boy stopped in the act of opening the car door, looked at me, and said, "You were skipping." "Yes," I said, "I do that sometimes. I know how, you know." "But," my lovely, angelic boy said, "you're old." Need I add that he was not teasing me?

And then there's my oldest, who has plans to do experiments on me. Yesterday I woke up with a migraine. The medicine I take for migraines knocks me out for several hours (it thankfully also knocks out the migraine). Matthew had to go pick up some business associates from the airport and took Duncan with him, which left Jonathon to take care of Kaes while I spent the rest of the day in a post-migraine, drug-induced coma. I also have a cold that is just not going away, so occasionally I would have these coughing fits that wouldn't quite wake me up enough to do anything about them. Jonathon came in during one of these coughing fits and asked if he could make me some tea to help me feel better. I told him yes. That is all I remember. Apparently, shortly after that, he came back in with the tea and asked me if I wanted it. I mumbled incoherently at him, then rolled over into more coma time. He took the tea and left. When I woke up a few hours later, he told me about our little interchange and I told him about the totally wacky dreams I had (I have VERY strange dreams when I am sleeping because of medicine). Then a little bit after that my boy comes in and says, "Mom, the next time you have a migraine and sleep all day like that, I'm going to come in and if you mumble at me and don't really wake up like you did this time, I'm going to say something really weird to you and see if appears in your dreams." Thank you, son. I'm glad I haven't become old and boring yet.