A bunch of unrelated stuff

Adelaide, in the bathtub: "It's raining, it's pouring, the dinosaur is snoring." About her mermaid, "Hi, my name is Jewelerina." (I found a note written by Josie that said "Joolarina" and "Adulade") Jed has started sticking his face in the water every time he gets in the bath. He is so goofy. He scootches down as close as he can, sticks his nose in, and then yanks his head up really fast and shakes it around (and cries if water gets up his nose) then does it all over again. When I got home from the Women's Retreat, Josie ran out of the house as fast as she could, barefoot, to run up to me and throw her little arms around me. I love that little girl in her little pink shirt and her jeans and bare feet - with her ever present smile and her rosy cheeks. When Melanie called my house the other night, she was shocked to find that I have children old enough to answer the phone. Sadie likes to say, "Lansing residence, this is Sadie speaking." She DOES sound grown up - and a lot like me, I've been told. I love snuggling with my girls, and tonight I snuggled with Sadie in my red chair while we watched some weird leprechaun movie. She snuggles her little butt down next to me and we cover up under our blanket and I just love it. She's getting so big but I love to sit with her and hold her hand and tickle her back (she loves that :) It's also nice that we like the same books now! Well, some of them, anyway - I'm really enjoying the Penderwicks - and it's fun to be able to have conversations with her about them. When my friend Sandie and her daughter babysat for us, Josie and Sadie were showing Abby their room. Trying to get Adelaide out of the way so I could give Sandie some information, Sandie said, "Why don't you go upstairs with Abby? Sadie and Josie are showing her their room." Adelaide, nonplussed, said, "Nah... I've already seen their room before." Later she asked Sandie at bedtime, "Hey, do you know any songs about fairies? No? Well, I guess Jesus loves the little children will be okay." Last week the girls got out the Science box and played Science. There were medicine droppers, scales, and all kinds of things all over Adelaide's room, but then they found the rubber gloves. Sadie hooked one up to a medicine dropper and then used it like a bicycle pump to blow it up into a huge balloon hand/rooster comb. Next thing I knew, Sadie had become the mama cow and Adelaide and Josie were both lying on the floor, each one sucking on an udder. Ayeayaye. I told Jesse that eventually our son is going to have to stop playing with mermaids and teacups. He said, "I'm not worried about it. He has already developed a definite affinity for balls, trucks, dirt, and his weiner."

First Big Boy Haircut

I put it off as long as I could. But when 17-month-old Jedidiah sported butterfly hairbows and a pony tail last weekend, I finally gave up and decided to let his dad do what he’s been begging to do for months: Cut my baby’s hair. Now, as a mother with three other children who are older than my “baby” is, I’ve been through this before. I know that once you get that wispy baby hair cut, your baby does NOT look like a baby anymore. It’s that simple. So it’s easy to see why I wanted to put it off as long as possible. Though I was in denial about him growing up, I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between my little cutie and a miniscule Billy Ray Cyrus. Minus the tight jeans, of course. Jedidiah is your basic wiggle worm. I knew it would be a challenge to try and cut his hair ourselves – without cutting his ears, too, anyway. So we loaded everyone up in the car and headed to what the girls like to call “The Haircut Store” to leave the job up to a professional. My girls have always LOVED to get their hair cut. They actually even asked if they could get theirs done the night we took Jedidiah. Three-year-old Adelaide informed the stylist, “I want you to cut mine long.” In the end, however, we decided to let this be Jedidiah’s special night. Because there was no way to tie him to the chair, he ended up on his dad’s lap, covered with a teal blue cape printed with penguins and surfboards. The look on his face was pure misery (because he was trapped and forced to be still for more than three seconds), followed by a “what the heck do you think you’re doing?” look at the lady with the spray bottle. He sat remarkably, uncharacteristically still (possibly because his dad had a death grip on him underneath the cape), only turning his head once in a while to get a good look at those scissors as they snipped his golden baby wisps away. His sisters and I kept him entertained with funny faces, little yogurt poofs and finally – the holy grail of toddlers – a watermelon-flavored sucker. He proceeded to savor every sweet taste of it. Since he’d never had one before though, he didn’t realize that at some point he was supposed to swallow, also. Therefore, all of the yummy stickiness (aka juicy baby slobber) ended up dribbling out of his mouth, down his hand, all over his dad’s arm and eventually down his dad’s leg and into his shoe. I was glad that I was stationed as the picture-taker and not as the drool-catcher. His dad didn’t like it very much; but it was, after all, Jedidiah’s very first sucker. He was not disappointed. He didn’t even cry. But I did. --from my April 29th article for www.mentorpatch.com

The Force

I was one of those strange kids who never cared about Star Wars. I never even watched it until a few years after I graduated from college; even then, I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. It’s strange how this has come back to haunt me now that I have kids. Against my (better) judgment, my husband (a self-proclaimed Star Wars aficionado from the time it came out in 1977 when he was a year old) let my girls watch the trilogy with him. It was kind of a big deal for him – he wanted them to like it. Let’s just say he was not disappointed. There has been an on-again, off-again (mostly on-again) Star Wars marathon at our house for months now. The music at the beginning gets them every time. They read (parts) of the intro as it scrolls over the star-filled sky and they say in loud, booming voices, “A looooog time agooooo in a galaxy far, far awaaaaayyyy, STAR WARS APPEARED!” And then they are sucked in. I’m not sure if it’s because their dad likes it or because it is not animated, but Star Wars is deemed a very grown-up pastime among my children. This is no cartoon, people! I’ve been privy to several (hundred) conversations and/or demonstrations regarding the cultural significance and play-time importance of Star Wars. Here are a few examples: From Sadie, age 8: “I want an outfit just like Leia’s when she’s chained up to Jabba the Hut. It’s not very modest but it’s still awesome.” “I’m Amidala. And Josie’s Leia. Adelaide is Luke – yeah, she likes to be Luke. I don’t know why, but hey. Let her.” “I would like to live in Cloud City. Think of it – a city… in the clouds!” And from Josie, age 6: “I really wish I could have a baby Ewok. And also a gold chain on a collar around my neck. And some handcuffs.” Oye. And let’s not forget three-year-old Adelaide, not to be outdone: “Hmm. Naboo, huh? Well, that is a strange place to be.” “That Jabba the Hut is like a giant slug! And then and then and then Leia YANKS on the chain and he goes “’ECCCCKKKKK!’” (tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, eyes rolled back for effect). “And Yogurt is a good guy, but he has pointy ears and he is green. And Qui-Gon Jim is a good guy too. But Dark Vader is from the Dark Side and he is a very bad guy. And also he is dark.” It doesn’t help matters that their baby brother is named Jedidiah, which happens to be extremely conducive to the nickname “Jedi.” Yes, the force is strong in this one. In his debut, The Brother Strikes Back, he can be seen fiercely protecting his Cheerios with a toy light saber. When asked to keep an eye on her brother for a minute, Sadie proclaims, “We’ve gotta keep an eye on the Sand People. Person. That would be Jedidiah. Sand People are tricky like he is tricky. It’s a Sand Person! Run!” Yes, Star Wars terminology seems to find its way into our everyday lives. While riding scooters outside, Sadie christens hers as a speeder bike. Josie tells Adelaide, who still has training wheels, “Well, you are not a Podracer like me or a speeder bike like Sadie. You are a Fodracer because you aren’t too good yet.” We even got a Star Wars craft book. Before I knew it, they showed up with a handmade Imperial Walker and a Star Destroyer. And just when I thought we were finished with the re-enactments, Sadie held out her arms in front of the automatic door at the grocery store and said, “Stand back, everyone! I’m going to use The Force!” Sheesh. I guess Josie said it best when I asked her why she likes Star Wars so much: “I like cool things. And it’s cool. That’s why.” Okay, I give up. Maybe it is. ---from my April 22 post for www.mentorpatch.com

Ouch

Yesterday, Jedidiah and I were having a rare moment of play time where I was NOT chasing him. We were sitting on a blanket in the yard and he was climbing up his little red and yellow plastic slide and having a grand old time sliding back down onto the blanket. Somewhere along the way, he found a golf ball, which he delighted in rolling down the slide and catching in his chubby little hand. Well, I look away for two seconds and in that two seconds, he has gone down the slide, flipped forward, landed ON HIS FACE on the blanket and of all places for his open mouth to land, it landed - you guessed it - right on the golf ball. The impact of his face on the blanket shoved the golf ball into his mouth BEHIND HIS TEETH and there he was, looking for all the world like a little pig with an apple in his mouth. I had to pull his lower jaw down with one hand and work my pinky finger back into his mouth to pop it back out of his mouth!

Humph

Adelaide to her sisters: "Oh YES you WILL or I will CRACK your butt open!" Sheesh... the violence!

Sadie, in regards to my new silver high heels: "Well, I LIKE them, I just don't think they will look good on YOU."

Pink Milk Blues

When I became pregnant with my first child at the ripe old age of 26, I was all about going “all natural.” We signed up for Bradley Childbirth Classes. I read a book about natural births, one about breastfeeding and all of the parenting magazines I could get my hands on.

Since I planned to forego any pain medications, I was a bit concerned when we asked the doctor if he could tell how big she would be from looking at the ultrasound.

He looked at me (tall, big-boned and gigantically pregnant) and then at my husband (6’2” and 230 pounds) and dead-panned, “Well, you are not small people.”

Just what you want to hear when you’re nine months along and swollen to twice your normal size.

I should also mention that I have severe scoliosis (spinal curvature) and therefore my pelvic bones are all goofed up and asymmetrical.

That, along with gigantic babies (turns out none of us are small people), earned me 4 c-section scars.

That’s right, after wasting almost six months on natural childbirth classes, I ended up having to have an emergency c-section. So much for no drugs!

This leads me to what happened after the surgery. I felt cheated somehow. I had wanted to give birth. I wanted that rite of passage into motherhood. I was mad but determined to make up for the “non-naturalness” of the actual birth with what happened afterward.

Yes, I’m talking about the all natural, selfless act of breastfeeding.

I was all set to make up for that unplanned c-section with my brand new lacy flip-down bras, my endless supply of nursing pads, my fancy-schmancy breast pump in its stylish leather case and my two nursing cover-ups – one in brown polka dot and one in lavender paisley.

Nothing is more beautiful, more tender, more natural than breastfeeding. Breast is best. Best for the baby. Healthier for the mom. More convenient than bottles. Cheaper than formula. There’s no question about it. Right?

WRONG!

My first baby had a bit of an overbite. Her cute little upper lip stuck out over her lower one from the moment she was born. I swear I think she was ready to start teething as soon as she came out of me. Her little gums felt like razors. Razors, I tell you!

Ack.

Not only that, but I was very insecure. As a first-time mother, I was totally intimidated by this tiny creature who was constantly hungry. I alone was supposed to provide her with all of this nourishment that was supposed to come so easily. My only question, as I cried, screamed and grit my teeth in agony while she nursed, was this:

How has mankind possibly survived for thousands of years with this madness as our primary means of sustenance?

Oh my gosh. THE PAIN. I cannot even begin to describe it.

For weeks, I cried. I howled. I banged my fist against the table. I held my breath. I used up enough Lansinoh to sacrifice a whole herd of sheep.

I wanted to quit, but I felt so guilty! The mommy guilt was tremendous. I wanted to do what was best for my baby.

My bathtub-birthing, non-immunizing, thoroughly holistic sister-in-law encouraged me as she squirted her own magical breast milk into her baby’s eye to ward off an infection: “Keep trying! You just have to get over the hump! You can do it! You NEED to do it!” Here, drink this organic tea! Take some Fenugreek! Suck it up!”

I decided to persevere. Reluctantly.

And then, THEN, I got mastitis.

Any mother who has had mastitis will tell you about it in these three little words: fever, pain, misery. I honestly thought I was going to die. I woke up ice cold, my teeth chattering and my entire body shaking.

I could barely walk to the bathroom mirror to see the bright red-streaked, burning hot skin that was showing through my beautiful (albeit worthless) nursing bra. Then I noticed the huge knot that had popped up there overnight. I immediately freaked out and called the doctor.

While I was on hold, my husband, thoroughly stressed out from two months of a crazed, sleep-deprived, hormonal wife and a starving, razor-gummed baby, made this pronouncement: “I think our daughter would be better off eating formula than growing up with a whacko mom who cries all the time.”

I realized that, in his own insensitive-male way, he was right. Then and there I decided to quit. The mastitis had effectively pushed me over the edge to Similac-land.

Then the doctor came to the phone and informed me that, no, I was not dying but that the only way to get rid of the infection and clear the plugged duct (what am I? some sort of plumbing device?!) was to – you guessed it – keep right on nursing.

I bought some kind of aqua gel soother things to put in the freezer and then stick in my bra. I smashed the “knot” in a vise-like grip between the edge of the bathtub and the palm of my hand (just writing about that pain makes me feel sick to my stomach, even now.)

I bought giant heads of cabbage and peeled the leaves off to make weird Tarzan-esque lingerie that would supposedly leech out the pain (hey, I was desperate.) My husband mentioned that he never knew having a baby would cause him to live in a pseudo-primitive village where his wife would constantly go topless.

In the mean time, I was pumping, pumping, pumping. And getting (this is gross) pink milk. Pumping is a whole other story. Expressed breast milk is like liquid gold, I tell you! And whoever said “don’t cry over spilled milk” obviously never pumped 4 ounces and then accidentally dumped it out on the carpet.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I ended up nursing Sadie for about 12 weeks, Josie for about 5 months, Adelaide for 2 ½ years, and I’m still nursing Jedidiah (and dreading the day he decides that he’s done.) If you’re a nursing mom, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

It’s not all rainbows and roses. I'm not going to encourage you one way or the other. If it's your thing, go for it! If you struggle, give it a chance - you will eventually get over the hump (probably.) If you need a pep talk/guilt trip, let me know and I’ll have my sister-in-law call you.

If it's AWFUL and you HATE it, feed your baby a bottle. It doesn't mean you love her any less.

No, it's not all fabulous and it certainly doesn’t feel all "natural" sometimes (unless being a miserable, cabbage-covered milk cow comes naturally to you.) But once you get the hang of it, it can be wonderful.

If you can just get the hang of it.

from my 4/15/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Easter Eggcitement

My kids love spring.

One of the best things about living in Northeast Ohio is the very prominent change of the seasons. In the south, where I grew up, winter turns to summer almost immediately. First you have on your winter coat, then suddenly you’re sweating and you have to turn on the A/C. Living here -- where the seasons change gradually -- is nice.

When the first crocuses burst awake from their winter sleep, my girls get so excited. They run inside, grab my hand and haul me out to the flower bed to see what they call “an amazing, wonderful surprise!” I love the way they are thrilled by such small things. I could take a lesson.

Putting away the gloves, scarves, hats and mittens is a welcome chore. We clean out and clean up.

We get out new clothes. We sort. We buy new flip flops. We get out all of the summer stuff that’s been hiding in the garage.

We hang little plastic eggs on the cherry tree in our front yard.

We anxiously await the first tulips to poke their heads through the mulch, then we spray them with “Rabbit Scoot” to protect them from those furry little nibblers that invade us every year.

We go to sleep listening to the deafening chorus of spring peepers in the pond behind our house.

We get dressed in our Sunday finest and take pictures in our Easter dresses and hats next to the bright yellow daffodils (the kids and I do, anyway… my husband loathes both wearing suits and taking pictures. Men.)

We break out the white vinegar and food coloring and proceed to decorate (in other words, waste) two dozen eggs purely for aesthetic and recreational purposes.

In the process, we end up talking about Jesus, his death and his resurrection.

My 6 and 8 year olds are somehow able to relate the Easter story to spring itself. They talk about new life. About how seeds die – how things sleep through the “death” of winter, then get raised up again in the spring. How things come back to life. They say what a wonderful hope it is for all of us - even for the animals and the trees and the flowers.

I am once again reminded how much smarter they are than I am!

Spring truly is a new beginning. How refreshing it is to know that everything can be made new again.

Happy spring to you and your family.


from my 4/8/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

The cuteness

Jedidiah has learned to blow kisses. It's pretty much the cutest thing ever. Once he gets started, it's hard to get him to stop, though. He KNOWS he's cute. The other thing he's doing now is whispering. Adelaide taught him how, apparently. I caught the two of them hiding behind the bathroom door, and they were WHISPERING back and forth to each other. The cuteness! I die.

The Great Leprechaun Hunt

Last weekend we almost caught a leprechaun.

Almost.

When Sadie went to take care of her morning chores -- it’s her responsibility to keep the downstairs bathroom clean -- on Friday morning, she found suspicious little green footprints all over the bathroom counter. Next to the footprints was a tiny pair of shoes!

Once her super-imaginative 7-year-old brain had a moment to digest this information, she went wild. She was so excited she could barely contain herself. “JO-SIE!” she yelled to her sister, running down the hallway. “ADELAIDE! Get ine here! There are feetprints – I mean footprints! Green… feet… AAAAAHHHH!”

Her sisters ran in to get a closer look. Together, they found even more “clues.” A ribbon tied to a drawer handle and draped all the way to the floor. Drawers that had been pulled open. A squished clover on the bathroom floor. Green scissors. Things out of place. Hmmm.

Their three little minds deduced that this could mean only one thing:

We had a leprechaun in the house!

From that moment on, Friday consisted of research into Ireland, the history of Saint Patrick and an intensive study of leprechauns.

We made a chart labeled who, what, when, where, why and how (they are studying interrogative words) and filled them in. They drew pictures. They used a map to find Ireland. They looked in books to find out more about the country, the landscapes, the castles, the foliage, the history and the folklore. They looked at hundreds of pictures of leprechauns and studied their dress, habits and personality traits.

Did you know that traditionally, leprachauns had 7 rows of 7 buttons sewn on to their coats? Yep, a leprechaun does love his buttons.

The kids searched for clues all over place – both inside and outside. Adelaide thought she was hot on his trail when, out by the basketball hoop, she said “I found a frog! He is green! Just like a lep-wa-conned! He musta rode on him here, Mommy! Jumping!”

Later on in the day when Sadie was working on a picture of a shamrock, she stopped writing and looked at me with her eyes narrowed. She said, “Mommy, are you doing all of this just so we’ll have fun?”

“Fun?” I asked innocently. “Do you call this fun? All this work is fun for you?!”

“Um, yeah!” Josie answered for her. “Actually, I think this is the most fun I have EVER HAD! Now, let’s build a trap!”

Along with their dad, they spent the evening constructing a trap, complete with a rainbow, a pretend campfire, a fake ladder so the leprechaun would think he could get out, lots of sparkly things and of course, a goldfish cracker for bait.

Then they walked around outside and in loud voices, proclaimed to each other, “Hey, didya hear about that great leprechaun house they have in there? I heard it was amazing! Hey, I think they have a lot of GOLD in this house! I’m just saying!”

As St. Patrick’s Day dawned, they were disappointed to only find a teasing note from Darby the leprechaun instead of the little guy himself (and his three wishes).

But they’re already planning a new and improved trap for next year.

And as far as learning something new goes, I think it was the most fun I ever had too.

From my article for www.mentorpatch.com on 3/25/12

Baby Boy Bathtime

Tonight I gave my baby boy a bath.

There’s nothing unusual about that. I’ve given hundreds, maybe even thousands, of baths during my tenure as a mom. Tonight I didn’t really do anything different with Jedidiah, but somehow it felt different. We felt more connected somehow.

As all moms are, I’m an expert multi-tasker. My brain always seems to be going a mile a minute, and these days I find it hard to concentrate on any one thing for long.

When bathing the kids, most of the time I catch myself thinking of all the other things that I need to get finished before I go to bed: brush four sets of teeth (no wait – make that five if I remember to do my own), put baby lotion on the baby, put on a clean diaper (not on me, on the baby), put on a clean Pull-up (again, not me), fill up three water bottles, find Blankie, Snoopy, Adelaide’s Dorothy doll, nurse Jed, check the laundry, feed the fish, call my mom, finish my (cold) dinner, put the dishes in the dishwasher, return some e-mails, exercise (well, I might put that one off till tomorrow), put a stamp on the letter that’s been sitting on the counter all week, etc.

I usually sit on the floor and spend Jedidiah’s bath-time making a mental list (which will eventually make it onto paper if I can find a pen in this house that writes.) Tonight, though, I actually just sat on the side of the tub and watched him play.

I noticed some things that normally I would miss:
•the sheer joy on his little face, the glee in his eyes as he smacks the bubbles with the palm of his hand.
•the drool on his chin, the happy splutters and raspberries he blows, the “googie-googie-googies” he yells out, just to hear his own voice echo off the walls.
•the pudgy little hands grasping for his little yellow rubber ducky, almost, almost… oh, not quite. Try again, buddy.
•the teeny pink feet, churning the water like tiny pink pistons on chubby legs.

He is not a bit concerned about his round little belly, his roly-poly thighs, or his gorgeous baby fat rolls.

His hair sticks up all over in a mini-Mohawk. It somehow always gravitates to the middle of his head.

He is absolutely perfect.

I think about how it must feel to him – the warm water, the bubbles, the splashing sounds all around him, the way the water drips down his little back. What an interesting experience bathtime must be for a one year old.

And what a wonderful experience to see the everyday things in our lives through the eyes of a sweet baby.

I guess I should give him my full attention more often.

from my article for www.mentorpatch.com on 3/18/12

Christian Passover

Last night we went to Brian and Laura's house to celebrate Christian Passover, Ross-style. Laura had transformed her entire house into Egypt and Israel. It was a great hands-on way for the kids to learn about the Passover and the sacrifice of Jesus before the Easter season. Plus it was fun to hang around with lots of friends and eat a great meal (rack of lamb, thanks to Brian for some great cooking), dates, figs, olives, artichokes, carrots, green and purple grapes, unleavened bread... lots
of things to help us remember the original passover meal. The kids got to go inside cardboard "houses" in the land of Egypt after they painted blood (red crayons) over the doorposts. Then the angel of the Lord came by (parent volunteers) to shake the buildings... the children, even the firstborn, came through unscathed. :) Then they became fishers of men AND caught fish in the Sea of Galilee (the downstairs bath tub). Next they got to pet some newborn baby goats and learn about sacrifice, they saw the paralyzed man lowered through the roof, they learned about yeast and how sin is like yeast and they searched for the yeast in the house and swept it all out (and threw it as far as they could get it!). Then they went up to the Garden of Gethsemane and nailed their sins (written on a scrap of paper) to a cross and they prayed just like Jesus did. Then they saw a reenactment of the resurrection! It was great and a wonderful way to spend an evening.

This n That

Adelaide had to go see the dermatologist because she had these weird little red bumps on her lower back and her little butt. So once we were in the office, I laid her across my lap, face down, so he could put the medicine on the bumps to get them to go away. Of course, while he was concentrating to get the liquid-dipped q-tip in just the right spot, Adelaide TOOTS A GIANT TOOT RIGHT IN HIS FACE. He laughed. I could've just died. Job hazard, I told him.


I have the bible verse "Do not be afraid for I am with you" written and taped to the utility room door. On the way out to the dark garage to get something out of the car at night, Josie took Adelaide's hand and said, "Don't be afraid, Adelaide, for I am with you!"

Sadie has been wearing little pink foam hair curlers to curl her hair (she's the only one who will sleep with them in her hair). It brings back so many memories of me and Angela in the orange vinyl rocking chair in our den when we were little! She looks so cute in them!

Sadie: "God is like a genie, but better."

Adelaide: "Mommy, sometimes you are allergic to fun."

15 month old boys do not like books. They do like digging through the trash, drinking leftover drinks (and dumping them on their heads), climbing on top of the kitchen table to steal cookies and stand up and eat them, brushing their teeth with their sisters' toothbrushes, and sticking their hands in mustard, only to sling them back and forth through the air.

They don't know how good they've got it

I have long been puzzled by the way most children hate the things that we adults love most.

Sitting down to eat dinner, for instance. If someone bought food for me, cooked it for me and served it to me, I would be more than willing to sit there and eat it. As a matter of fact, I would be just as happy as a clam. Even if it was clams!

Kids, though, act like it’s pure torture to have to sit their little butts in a chair for twenty minutes. They chew the same bite interminably. They spill things. They crumble. They whine. They scootch around. The bang their forks on their water glasses. They fall out of their chairs.

They say, “How many more bites?” and “Do I HAVE to eat my salad?” and “What exactly did you say is in here?” Seriously, if it were me, I would eat it AND I’d like it.

(One of my favorite quotes says that you spend the first two years of your children’s lives trying to get them to walk and talk, but then you spend the next 16 years trying to get them to sit down and be quiet.)

Taking a long shower is another thing. You know how good it feels to get in the shower, turn it on just as hot as you can stand it, breathe in the steam and let all your troubles swirl away down the drain? Ahhh. Ecstasy.

Kids, though, if you try to get them into the shower, they yell. They “go limp” and end up on the bathroom floor. They say, “I hate the shower! It gets water in my eyes! It gets water up my nose! I need my goggles! I don’t wanna take a shower! I don’t wanna!”

Well, first of all, I don’t really understand how you can physically get water up your nose in the shower. That seems like a feat of unnatural contortions. Secondly, it’s funny to see your child coming out of the shower wearing steamed-up goggles.

While we’re on the subject of relaxing, let’s talk about naps. Have you ever met a kid who consciously wanted to take a nap? Neither have I. Most afternoons, though, if you offered me the choice between a bag of gold or a 45 minute nap, I would take the nap hands down!

Why doesn’t anyone force you to take a nap when you’re a grown-up? Just about every day, I have the same conversation with my three-year-old. She doesn’t know that one of my biggest fantasies involves hearing the same words coming from her dad’s mouth, but aimed at me: “Devone! Get back in your room and close your eyes right now! I don’t want to hear another peep out of you until naptime is over. Do you understand me?”

On a related note, kids never want to go to be, either. I spend most of the day waiting to go to bed! I love my bed! By the end of a long day, all I want to do is put on my cozy pjs and my fuzzy socks and snuggle under the covers with my Side-Sleeper Pro pillow.

Kids want to stay up until they either crash (face first into a bowl of late-night cereal) or flip out, screaming and crying themselves to sleep in a tiredness-induced delirium. Not me. I WANT to go to bed. Right now, as a matter of fact.

Kids spend their time wanting to grow up, get bigger and be older.

We spend our time wishing we could be kids again, get smaller and be younger.

They aren’t really just tiny adults like I once thought – they are really our total opposites!

from my 3/11/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Funniest assignment ever, by Sadie

What Scares Me

What am I afraid of?

I guess the more pertinent question, in my case, is what am I NOT afraid of?

I am afraid of everything.

You name it, I worry about it. Especially when it comes to my children.

I worry about sickness, drugs, child molesters, hit-and-runs, tornadoes, fires, car accidents, drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, broken legs, broken necks, swallowed teeth, concussions, dog bites, snake bites, bug bites, killer bees, wild animals, bird poop (it has disease-carrying spores in it!), drownings, electrocutions, home invasions, fingers getting cut off in car doors, peer pressure, abductions, lightning strikes, running with sticks, bullies, hurt feelings, falling down stairs and a myriad of other things that are beyond my control.

Because of the recent terrifying school shooting in our area, I now feel like I have something else to worry about: random violence.

I’ve spent the last few days wondering what on earth possesses people to do these horrible things? What evil lurks in the hearts of men? And how can we, as parents, combat it?

The feeling of being out of control is a terrible one – for me, anyway. I’m guessing it is for you too.

I like to have a plan. I’m a list-maker. I want both my hands on the wheel. My plans help me deal with my fears. I like for life to go according to plan – MY plan.

But plans are notorious for one thing, right? Getting messed up!

As parents, we all struggle with fear. My family homeschools, but don’t think for a second that I’m under the delusion that my kids are safe from all harm just because they aren’t inside a school building every day. And fellow homeschoolers – don’t think that if you were sending your kids to school that you wouldn’t have the insecurities and fears that you have, either.

Nope, no matter what our circumstances may be, we are all just living with our own fears.

Different fears, maybe, but in essence they are exactly the same.

We want to be in control, but how can that be? Is it even possible?

Don’t get me wrong – I am very glad that I have the ability, means and freedom to school my children at home, but I recognize that not everyone does. It's scary to be a mom and know that the choices we make today will shape our children's futures for the rest of their lives and beyond. It's scary for ALL of us - whether or not our kids are in public school. Things like school shootings can happen anytime, anywhere.

And one of the biggest challenges moms have is the struggle to not give in to fear.

I know. I struggle with that challenge. Heck, I lose on a daily basis.

So, moms – you love your children just as much as I love mine. What do we do? What can we do?

We are never going to be in control the way we want to be. I thank God that He gives us wisdom for the present, forgiveness for the past, and hope for the future. No, we will never be able to wrap our kids in protective bubble wrap and keep them safe from the outside world forever. I guess fear isn’t something we can ever get rid of completely. But there are some things we can do.

We can pray just a little bit longer tonight.

We can encourage each other just a little bit more tomorrow.

And every day, EVERY day, we can hug our kids just a little bit tighter.

from my 3/4/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Reflection

Reflecting on a lot of things tonight, mainly because of the school shootings this morning. Very glad that I have the ability, means, and choice to school my children at home, but recognize that not everyone does. It's scary to be a mom and know that the choices we make today will shape our children's futures for the rest of their lives and beyond. It's scary for ALL of us - whether our kids are in public schools or not. Things like this can happen any time, anywhere. Thank God that He is here to give us wisdom for the present, forgiveness for the past, and hope for the future. We all need to hug our kids just a little bit tighter, pray a little more, and encourage each other.

Mommy Crimes

A list of crimes we mothers sometimes commit:

Purge-ery: Cleaning out your kids’ rooms and throwing out all of their broken toys while they spend the weekend at Grandma’s.

Assault and Battery: Throwing the stupid See-N-Say against the wall after you break a nail while stripping out the screws in its ridiculously tight battery compartment.

No-contest: When you’re ready to scream because your 3-year-old got out of bed again and then says, “I just wanted to tell you how much I love you, Mom.”

Ar-son: When you and your husband admit to the moms at the mall play area that yes, it was your son who dumped out all of those goldfish crackers, smashed them into the carpet and then left an orange trail down the slide.

Loitering: When you stay in the bathroom with the door locked a full three minutes longer than necessary just so you can have some time to yourself.

Possession of stolen property: When you take the last red Starburst from the Valentine candy and you pretend you don’t know what happened to it when your child says “What’s that in your mouth?”

Forgery: When you sign notes for The Tooth Fairy, even though you know very well she can write her own darn notes.

Bond jumping: When you quickly dodge your child’s jelly-covered goodbye embrace because you’re all dressed up and on your way out to dinner.

Counter-fitting: When you have to sit your child up next to the cash register at the shoe store to see if you picked the correct size because you can’t manage to corral her in the aisle.

Gross negligence: When you forget to close the bathroom door and the baby crawls in and plays “cleaning lady” with the toilet brush.

Play-giary: When you have absolutely no idea what to do with your kids for the next two hours so you look at your friends’ Facebook pages so you can steal all of their good ideas.

Disorderly conduct: When you see the enormous mess in your daughter’s room and instead of helping her clean it up, you join her in throwing confetti into the air and grinding Play-doh into the carpet.

Bribery: If you're a mom, you don't need a definition for this one!

from my 2/26/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

The Game of Love

Money was even tighter than usual for us on Valentine’s Day this year.

Receiving flowers or jewelry can definitely make a person feel special, but those things just weren’t in our budget this year. So our family did something that we don’t normally do – we played a special family game together around the kitchen table. We ended up calling it “The Love Game.”

The object of “The Love Game” is to make each member of your family feel valued and special. Each person says one thing that they love about every other member of the family.

It was interesting to find out what the girls had to say about each other, their dad, me and their baby brother. They also thought it was fun to speak for the baby in a squeaky, high-pitched voice: “I am baby Jeddy, and I love it when Sadie helps me learn to walk! Googie! And when Josie snuggles me! Goo! And when Adelaide climbs into my crib! Ticka-ticka!”

We learned that we actually do appreciate each other for little things – hugs from each other when we are sad, how Dad fixes things around the house, how Josie has a goofy laugh that makes us all smile, how Mommy does the laundry, how Sadie takes care of her little sisters, how Jed makes everyone laugh and how Adelaide is a really good hider during Hide and Seek.

We also touched on something else: how my kids love having “Special Time.” Special Mommy Time, Daddy Time, Grammie Time, Grandpa/Grandma Time, or Aunt/Uncle Time – it doesn’t matter. They thrive on it.

When there’s lots of kids in the family, even five short minutes of one-on-one time with each of them (without being interrupted by the phone or a sibling) shows them that they are special. (I guess this would apply to spouses, too, now that I think about it.)

And when you’re used to hearing “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom” a million times a day like I am, it gets increasingly difficult to care about everything your kids say. I tend to tune them out sometimes (or a lot of the time – especially certain three year olds who talk incessantly.) I know that cannot possibly make them feel like they are high on my scale of importance.

Strangely enough, though, simply noticing them usually seems to do the trick: “I HEAR you saying that your toe hurts.” Most of the time, the injured party will sniff dramatically and wander away after boo-boo acknowledgement has occurred. Noticing them makes them feel special. It makes them feel validated.

When someone is upset or sad (e.g., “She closed the door in my face!” or “They won’t play with me, Mommy!”) they naturally keep going until someone stops them. One trick I’ve learned to use when they start repeating themselves is for me to repeat it instead. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right? They seem to automatically feel better when they know I get it. (This would apply to spouses, also, wouldn’t it?)

Though every kid loves a trip to the toy store, I suddenly realized after playing “The Love Game” that it’s the little things that make these little people feel loved. Not one of them said a word about material things during “The Love Game.”

Snuggling, getting an unexpected hug, being listened to, being acknowledged, reading a story on Mommy’s lap, a goofy dance with Daddy in the middle of the family room – things like these take precedence over new toys or fancy boxes of Valentine candy.

We moms love our children so much. Telling them what they mean to us, spending special time with them, acknowledging them, respecting them – all of these things make them feel special and show them how we feel about them.

Our whole Valentine’s Day experience was really very sweet – maybe even sweeter than an expensive box of chocolates. It made all of us feel important.

And it taught me that showing my children they are special is simpler than I thought – and cheaper, too!

from my 2/19/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Jed's favorites

Jedidiah's favorite things to do lately:

Play in the refrigerator (yesterday he helped himself to a leftover pancake and was standing there holding it in both hands, shoving it in his mouth as fast as he could when I caught him).

Pat himself on the tummy and laugh at the hollow drum sound it makes. He looks like a mini version of some jolly little elf holding his jolly fat belly.

Peek between the bars on his crib. For some reason, it's funny when he's standing there holding on and I bed down and look at him through the slats.

Humming, especially when he's supposed to be taking a nap. I can hear him through the baby monitor, saying things like Hmmmmm, oh-gi-ho, yahha, mammamamamama, ma, goggi,googi,goggi, haha.

Climbing, everywhere. On top of the little kid table I had when I was little (and leaning up flat against the wall), the stairs, on top of the coffee table (he doesn't care that it's glass), on top of the bathroom stool so he can play in the sink, on top of the bathtub... everywhere.

Banging things. Banging is fun, whether it's a spoon, a bat, his wooden hammer, or just his fist.

Leaning WAaaaayyyy over to the side when I'm holding him, so he can catch my eye, get a good look at me, and grin!

Tickling my feet. I don't know why he thinks this is so funny, but he LOVES to go after my toes and try to tickle them. He's so silly :)

Bad Day

This morning I woke up after a terrible night’s sleep with two deadlines looming, a filthy house, five overflowing laundry baskets, ants sneaking in through a crack in the floor, an empty milk carton in the fridge, kids who needed to be fed (and bathed and given a math lesson), dog poop on my front walk, a crying baby and a terribly achy back.

I just wanted to hide in the bathroom and cry.

As soon as I locked the door, though, someone (make that two someones) knocked, jiggled the knob and then proceeded to stick their little fingers through the crack under the door.

I looked in the mirror. Big mistake. That did not make me feel better at all. I need a haircut. I need a facial. I need to go to the gym. Let’s face it; I need a complete makeover. But who has time (or money) for all of that stuff? Certainly not me – sometimes I don’t even have time to take a shower, much less spend a day at the spa.

Every mom can relate to this, right?

I know I’ve felt this way before, and I’m sure I’ll feel it again.

What I really don’t understand is why people – moms especially – feel like they need to put on a show so that the rest of the world will think that their life is perfect and that they have it all together.

We’ve all seen them – the moms straight from the cover of Parenting magazine with their pointy high heels and their fabulous figures. In tow are their perfectly dressed, perfectly behaved children.

Not ONE of those kids has magic marker staining the front of their shirt or mismatched socks or even “static hair.” They look perfect. Those kids don’t lick the glass door at the mall, toot on their dermatologist or pull two dozen books off the shelf at the library as the stroller goes by. (I’m not admitting to any of these things, mind you.)

But I know it’s a charade! My question is, what makes us, as moms, care what other moms think? Why are we so competitive? I would rather know that there are other women out there in the trenches with me. Others feeling isolated and freaked out and just a teensy bit crazy. That would make me feel better.

And honestly, sometimes I feel so overwhelmed that it’s hard to even get a breath.

So I’m going out on a limb here to say this:

Moms! I am here to tell you that you are not alone out there! Everyone feels like hopping a plane to Tahiti once in a while and leaving it all behind! It doesn’t mean you are a bad mom!

I, for one, want everyone to know that sometimes my life can really stink. I’m not trying to complain; I just want to be honest with all of you other moms out there - even the "Perfect-o Moms." You know who you are.

Don’t get me wrong – I love my husband. I love my children, my house, my job. I love my life.

But right now, I just want to go sit in a hot tub and listen to some Ray Lamontagne and cry until I feel better.

Some chocolate probably wouldn’t hurt, either.

-from my 2/12/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Beach in February?

Last week, we went to the BEACH in February! Unheard of where we live, right? It was such a beautiful sunny day, and relatively warm, that we wrapped up in coats and scarves and headed to the beach at the end of our road and just hung out for an hour (after Sadie and Josie finished their Math, of course :).

It was too steep for Jedidiah and the stroller and me to get down to the water's edge, so the three girls tiptoed down the hill by themselves (Sadie helping Adelaide) with their rock-collecting buckets. I loved sitting there watching them by the water, wind in their hair, checking stuff out. Sadie gathered a a bunch of rocks - her very favorite thing - and Adelaide, learning at the feet of the master, got a bucketful of her own! At one point, Josie sat down on a log and just watched the waves for a full 15 minutes. That's one of the best things about homeschooling - being able to do science outside, where REAL science is!

On the ride home, the girls were so excited about our little trip. I guess they were very glad to be out of the house. Sadie said, "This was great! it was just absolutely beautiful out there!" and Josie and Adelaide said, "Hey, yeah! It was the BEST DAY EVER!"

Umm...

For the past month, we have been learning about Egypt and reading Cleopatra VII. Throughout the book, the word "vineyard" has come up over and over. Josie has a mental block on this word and every time she hears it, she says, "What's a vineyard?" I finally made her say it over and over and over and I asked her and asked her for DAYs afterward to make sure she knew it. The next day, there it was in yet another passage. I said, "Josie, what's a vineyard?" She looked at me and said, "Um... well,um..." I said, "EVERY DAY I ask you what a vineyard is!" She said, "Well, why don't you just ask somebody else, then?"

Sadie had a hard day the other day. It was difficult to get her to sit down and concentrate, and she had a fight with her sister (she stepped on Josie's EYE, don't ask me how that happened) and so at bedtime, she was all weepy. I was talking to her and trying to help her feel better when Miss Drama said, "There is only ONE thing that would make me feel better, and that is to sleep downstairs with YOU and I know that THAT is simply IMPOSSIBLE!" Huff, flop onto her pillow... crying. I gave up. :)

Today, I let Adelaide watch Sesame Street while S and J did their math. She came running up to me afterward, singing a LOUD song about the Bert and Ernie segment on the show, which she informed me in no uncertain terms, was called NOT Bert and Ernie's Great Adventures, but BERNIE's Great Adventures.

The Toot Dance

Three-year-old Adelaide has started her very first dance class.

Actually, it’s her first class of any kind at all (other than Sunday School.) Naturally, I was somewhat apprehensive about her impending behavior.

Oh, the excitement on her first day! Her little cousin (and best friend) Caroline had signed up too, which made it even more exciting. Adelaide donned her tights and borrowed a sparkly outfit from Josie. She was ready a whole hour early.

Along with her sisters (there was no way they were going to miss out on this spectacle), we made our way to the classroom and met the teacher.

A dozen other six-and-under giggly little girls squirmed around while pretending to listen to instructions. All of the moms tied lengths of yarn to their ballerinas’ right hands and right feet (for their girls to reference during the hokey pokey).

Then Adelaide ceremoniously put her nametag (on a yarn necklace) around her neck. She was READY TO DANCE.

Unbeknownst to the teacher on that first day, Adelaide and Caroline like to talk. And laugh. And goof around. As soon as they stepped onto the hardwood floor, they paired up and proceeded to dance in the opposite direction of the rest of the class.

Besides the fact that they are the youngest (and shortest) girls in the class, they are apparently also the most uninhibited. In fact, it was like they were the only two there – two mini prima ballerinas on their own private stage.

They laughed. They squealed. They galloped. They pranced. They raised their left hands instead of their right ones. They put their right foot in instead of their left. They hokied when they should have pokied.

In short, they did shake it all about but not exactly at the appropriate time. They were dancers of distraction.

The only times Adelaide acknowledged anyone besides Caroline was when she sneakily cut her eyes toward me, grining a huge goofy grin and waving her entire arm at me.

At one point, another little girl wanted to hold Caroline’s hand, but Adelaide was having none of that. She intercepted that little problem and gave her a dirty look. The interloper took the hint and pirouetted away to safety.

Caroline took this opportunity to assault the teacher with questions: “Who are you? What is your name? I know, but what is your first name? And what are we doing? And what is this dance called?”

From our seats in the back of the room, Caroline’s mom and I enjoyed the question and answer session. Well, I enjoyed it. Her mom just shook her head and hissed, “Pssst! Caroline! No more questions! No more questions!”

Little did we know that what was coming up next would make all those questions seem a lot less, um, questionable.

During what started out as a cute routine set to Disney’s Under the Sea, Adelaide decided that instead of following the current, so to speak, she would make some waves and launch into her own version of “The Toot Dance.”

“The Toot Dance” is the dance where you twirl and then you toot. Then you kick your leg up, you toot, you bend over, you toot, you raise your arms gracefully, you toot, you curtsy (like a lady) and then you toot (not so much like a lady.)

I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.

The funniest part was that she never even acknowledged any of those toots during the dance. No matter how loud the toots got (and in the cavernous, hardwood-floored room, they carried quite an echo, believe me), she maintained a straight face.

I could barely contain myself. For the first time in years, I actually laughed so hard I snorted.

On the way home, I asked Adelaide what she thought about her very first dance class.

She sighed, smiled wistfully, and smoothed down her tutu. “I like my class. And I like my dwess. And, well, Mom, I danced very nicely today, didn’t I, Mom? I was just like a real lady. All except for the tooting part.”

-from my 2/5/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Jed's first steps

Today, Jedidiah and I were playing with his Noah's Ark rubber ball on the rug in the kitchen floor. He was rolling the ball and sometimes kicking at it with his foot. Then he stood up and scootched his little toes around so he was facing me. And THEN, he came toward me, arms held out, and he STEPPED toward me! Two whole steps! Then he threw himself at me, his arms around my neck, and I scooped him up and he laughed. It was a beautiful moment. I love that little boy SO MUCH that I can't stand it. I can't believe he's already walking... my baby.

Funny girl

On the way to the doctor with Adelaide, I said, "Please do not toot on the doctor this time." Adelaide: "Or he will not give me a sucker?" Me: "Would you give someone who tooted on you a sucker?" Adelaide: "Yes, if they were behind me."

Overheard during bathtime: Adelaide: "Are you scared of ovarians?" Josie: "Ovarians? You mean barbarians?" Adelaide: "Yes, barbarians. Are you scared of barbarians?" Josie: "No, not really."

Weeble-Kids

Ahh… bedtime. The time of day that every tired mom longs for. The time when she can unwind, drink a cup of tea, put her feet up and catch up on her Dr. Phil episodes. (OK, maybe that last one is just me.)

Honestly, after putting in a 14 hour day “on the job” (or possibly even more if you work outside the home too) every woman deserves an hour or so to herself. Right?

Wrong.

My children will come up with any excuse to put off going to bed. Or maybe I should say staying in bed. They GO willingly enough. They just seem to pop back up after about fifteen minutes. They’re like Weebles. You know, “Weebles wobble but they won’t fall down.” My kids go to bed but they won’t stay down.

Here is a compilation of things that bother them so much that they come and bother me:

I need my Pocahontas doll. No, wait, I need my Dorothy doll. And she needs her dress buttoned. And she needs to take off her shoes.

I need the pink bear. No, not that one. The other pink bear. Or maybe it’s the one that’s upstairs. Will you go get it? (The last thing I want to do is go back upstairs again.)

I need another blanket. Or two more. This one is too fuzzy. That one is not fuzzy enough.

I have to go potty.

It's too hot in here. Could you turn on the fan?

The fan is making too much noise and I am freezing.

I am squished. There are too many pillows on this bed.

I need an extra pillow.

My feet are sticking out! Will you come and cover me up again?

I’m thirsty. Can you fill up my canteen?

This water tastes like clams! (Clams? Really?)

I heard a thump. A thump! Did you hear that thump?

I have to go potty.

I need another kiss. And another hug.

I keep thinking about Gremlins. Why did Daddy let me see those Gremlins? It was a bad idea, Mommy. (I would have to agree on this one.)

We should not have read that story about Medusa.

My hair is tangled. Like snakes. Can you brush it out again?

How many days is it until my birthday?

The wind is howling! Thunder! I hear thunder!

There is a spider on the ceiling. Can you come and squish it?

I needed to tell you that I love you. (How can I get mad about that one?)

I’m hungry. I could really use a banana right about now.

There are crumbs on my sheets. I have no idea how they got there.

I think I have a bug bite. Look at this red dot.

I have to go potty.

I need the itch-stick. I need a band-aid!

I have a hangnail. I need the clippers.

My head hurts. My tummy hurts. I need an ice pack. I need medicine.

Josie won’t stop talking and so I can’t fall asleep!

I had a bad dream. (You haven’t been asleep yet!)

I’m scared. It’s too dark in here. Can I have a flashlight?

I have to go potty.

from my 1/29/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Stairs and Consequences

"Hey, my little children..." said Mom.
"Hey, our big mama!" said Sadie.

Since I have decided to become a hardcore, somewhat mean mother, I have completely revamped my parenting philosophy. No more counting to three. No more asking the same question four times. Ask it, expect it, get a response (either "yes Mom," "yes Ma'am," or "Okay, Mom" and GIVE A CONSEQUENCE if it doesn't happen.

I think it's working for us. Yesterday I overheard Sadie telling her friend Bella that "We cannot do that. No way, we already had three consequences this week and we do NOT want another one!"

In other news, Jedidiah fell down the stairs (four or five of them) last night and bumped his little head. One of the girls forgot to put the gate back up. I hate that stupid tension gate. We need another swing/hinged gate (ours got thrown out after the flood) but they cost $60. Of course, what's $60 compared to Jed falling down the stairs....? I need to find some money.

Also, he makes the funniest, cutest little sounds! "GoogieGoogieGoogie" and "GogiGogiGogiGogi," "tick-a-tick-ULLL-tickaticka!" and some other little squeakly sounds that I can't even explain. His vocalizations are amazing... maybe he'll go to work for the UN someday. Or the circus.

Job Description

TITLE: Mommy (also Mom, Mama and “But, MO-OOM!”)

JOB DESCRIPTION:

Team player needed for a challenging position in a chaotic working environment.

Duration of the position: forever. Successful candidate will maximize learning potential of all subordinates and supply general coziness to the workspace. Candidate will possess excellent communication skills and must be able to “count to 3.”

Must be willing to work ridiculous hours and be on call 24/7. Overnight travel is also required and will include trips to small guest rooms of varying relatives, gross port-a-potties and desolate muddy campsites.

The successful candidate will provide transportation and entertainment along with medical, technical and emotional support to all subordinates and is responsible for repeated follow-up.

There will be a strong focus on equipment and supplies needed to run a Food Service operation. This job requires management skills and a tremendous need for patience. Responsibilities also include laundry, maintenance and janitorial work (including disposal of poop and throw-up.)

Candidate must possess catlike reflexes in case someone falls off the bathroom counter. Candidate must also have the strength of a pack mule and be able to carry a baby, two bags of groceries, a purse and a diaper bag all in one hand.

TYPICAL DUTIES and RESPONSIBILITIES:

This description is not intended to be an exhaustive (and exhausting) list of all that may be required.

SOCIAL:

1. Outgoing calls to doctors, dentists, tutors, playmates, cousins and grandparents

2. Initiating, following up and/or attending (when required) appointments, recitals, birthday parties, “shows,” fishing trips, teacher conferences, family reunions, field trips, playdates, vacations, summer camps, sleepovers, swimming lessons, dance lessons, music lessons and Sunday School

3. Candidate must be willing to be hated occasionally

ADMINISTRATIVE:

4. Efficient data entry including school and medical records, baby book and scrapbook entries, letters to pen-pals, Santa and the Tooth Fairy

5. Preparing estimates (for groceries, Christmas lists, orthodontist bills and birthday presents)

6. Internet research: educational toys, safety recalls, G-rated movies, craft ideas, free family events and the closest garage sales. Also needs ability to navigate PBSkids.org

OTHER DESIRED ASSETS:

7. Awareness of organic foods, phosphate-free dishwasher liquid, all-natural shampoos and Xylitol tooth gel

8. Familiarity with Fair Trade principles (e.g., “I will give my little sister a cracker if she’ll give me all of her Halloween candy” = NOT a Fair Trade)

9. The candidate must be willing to alternate between being loved desperately one minute and deemed an embarrassment the next

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE:

No previous experience is required, but on-the-job training is offered on a continual basis, whether the candidate wants it or not.

KNOWLEDGE and SKILLS REQUIRED:

1. Excellent interpersonal communication skills, especially at eye level and while in public at the grocery store or while singing lullabies

2. Strong problem solving skills and sound judgment (may be compromised because of job-related sleep-deprivation)

3. Strong attention to detail (e.g., “Does everyone have on underwear?”)

4. Excellent multi-tasking and organizational skills with the ability to set priorities and meet deadlines (e.g., feed the baby, make breakfast, make beds, wipe juice off the floor, get everyone dressed, put lunch in the crockpot, find 4 coats and 8 mittens, tie 6 shoes, let the dog out and change a load of laundry all before leaving for an 8am doctor appointment)

5. Ability to work with a team (e.g., handing out brooms and dust-rags before cranking up Annie’s “It’s the Hard-Knock Life”) for cleaning day

BENEFITS:

No salary. No insurance. No pension. No paid overtime. No paid holidays. No time off.

No opportunities for advancement. Candidate will be expected to fill the same position forever without resigning. Candidate assumes complete accountability for the quality of the end product and is responsible for maintaining a thorough file of “Mommy-guilt” throughout all eternity.

Unlimited smiles, hugs, snuggles and kisses for life. Successful candidate has immediate tenure and can never be replaced.

-from my 1/22/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Anysling

I've been thinking recently about all of the cute stuff that Josie used to say when she was Adelaide's age. She's almost to the point where she doesn't say those hilarious things anymore, and it makes me sad! Some of my favorites were her "crunchy" blanket. No one knows why she called it her crunchy one, but it was pink and fuzzy and had a little red princess in one corner. She STILL cries about losing it, and she still calls "him" her "Crunch" or her "Crunchy."

Anysling. Like, "I don't want to do ANYSLING!" or "I did NOT do ANYSLING to her!"

And my very favorite, Jesus' earthly parents, Mary and Jophus.

Gotta love that kid.

My little sunshines

Mom: "Good morning, my little sunshines."
Josie: "I am not sunshine. I am moonshine."

While playing "2 Truths and a Lie" at dinner, after everyone had a turn, Adelaide said, "And now, now I will do Grammie's. Today, today, Grammie stuck her fingers in her nose. And today, Grammie said, 'horsh horsh horsh all the way home.' And today, Grammie went poop on the TOILET."

Mom: "On top of spa-GHETTI, all covered with CHEESE, I lost my poor MEATball..."
Josie: "Don't sing that song. It makes me sad."

Adelaide, handing me her fortune cookie: "Here, Mom. Can you get the directions out?"

Mom: "Well, if you must."
Josie: "I must."

Boys will be... troublemakers

Before Jedidiah was born 13 months ago, I used to see little boys running around at the speed of light, climbing furniture like chimpanzees and banging on things for no reason.

I used to see them fighting, yelling and jumping and I would roll my eyes when their moms would inform me, “Oh, he’s just being a boy. Boys will be boys, you know.”

“Yeah, right!” I would think to myself. “If I ever have a boy, he will never act like that! I never even had to baby-proof the house with any of my girls!”

Alas, the irony of my own predictions has struck yet again.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my baby boy. He means the world to me! But here is a sampling of what he’s doing to drive me nuts (so far):

He wakes up before anyone else and proceeds to smack the bluebird music box on the side of his crib with the palm of his hand - BANG! Bang BANG! Bang! - over and over until I come in to get him. He grins up at me with his little moon-shaped face and big blue eyes, all cute and unassuming.

He is thrilled to have a new day! He is thrilled to be alive! He pulls on the crib rails and stands up on wobbly legs to reach for me. Only then do I see that he has somehow yanked off his pants, his socks and lost his diaper. He is thrilled to be naked!

I love mornings with him before everyone else is awake. Even though he's wiggly, I can usually buy some butt-wiping time by handing him the little cat figurine from the shelf above the changing table (if his hands are free, he feels compelled to stick them in poop.)

When we snuggle together in the rocking chair, I love the way he nuzzles his little fuzzy head down between my neck and my shoulder...we cuddle under his cozy blue and yellow ducky blanket and nurse and rock and usually I sing him a song or two. He smiles and coos at me then reaches up to poke one finger in my eye and the other up my nose.

And this is the calm before the storm.

He's VERY impatient for his breakfast, so as soon as he is done, he slides down my legs into the floor and he is gone. If I happen to look away for two seconds, then I’ll be all over the house looking for him, calling out “Jed! Jeddy!” as if he's going to say, “Hey Mom! In here!”

Over the next several hours (until the arrival of glorious naptime), I may find him enjoying one of his favorite pastimes:

Making Cheerio soup by mixing his cereal with the water in his sippy cup

Sneaking dog food out of the bowl and cramming it into his mouth

Crawling up the stairs, full-steam ahead, laughing and looking back over his shoulder

Sticking his hand in the toilet and swirling it all around

Throwing food all over the floor and rubbing the leftovers into his hair

Opening cabinets to pull everything out and dump it on the floor

Hammering any object he can find with his little wooden hammer (including glass doors)

Opening the kitchen trash can so he can rummage around in it then get his fingers stuck when the lid closes

Pulling books, CDs, movies and anything else on a shelf off the shelf

Turning on the bathtub faucet so he can splash water everywhere

Tearing up his sisters’ artwork, craft projects, dollhouse, Polly Pockets, ponies, dress-up clothes – you name it

Climbing up on the bathtub, the bed, the chairs, the play kitchen counter – anywhere he can gain a foothold

Getting stuck under the table, the kitchen chairs, the desk, the coffee table – anywhere he will fit

I know that these are not terrible things; sometimes they may even be deemed cute things. They are not, however, things that I’ve ever had to deal with before. It’s exhausting!

I guess it’s a good thing he’s my youngest, though; if I’d had him first, I would’ve probably been way too tired to have any other kids.

Much to my dismay (and former disbelief), apparently boys WILL be boys.

--from my 1/15/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

I Resolve...

Ahh. A new year. A fresh start. A re-do.

Yep, it’s the one time of the year we can all take a “Life Mulligan.”

Honestly, I am not always the mom, wife, daughter, friend or teacher that I want to be. I’m thankful for do-overs.

I know that I’ll never be perfect, but I do love a fresh start.

Here at our house, the tree has been taken down, the gifts de-boxed, the lights wound up and stored away. The halls have been un-decked. We vacuumed up a million pine needles (along with three pieces of Frankenberry cereal from Halloween that were under Adelaide’s bed.)

Out with the old and in with the new, right?

I’ve always heard that goal setting works, so this year I’m going to try it for myself. I’m making it public so I can be held accountable. Here are some of my goals for 2012:

Read lots of good books. I’ve been spending way too much time playing Words with Friends and Bejeweled Blitz. I’m squandering my reading time. However, I have learned all three of the three-letter words that begin with “q.”

Be better at time management. It seems like I waste a lot of time on things that don’t really matter. Things like walking back and forth through the house, forgetting what I came into a room for and wandering back out again. Things like watching “Say Yes to the Dress,” worrying over things that are out of my control, folding pajamas, checking email and playing Words with Friends. I need to use my time wisely.

Be more optimistic. I am a born pessimist. I catch myself sounding like Eeyore the donkey from Winnie-the-Pooh a lot. "It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily. "And freezing. However, we haven't had an earthquake lately." This sounds exactly like me! Being a pessimist is not something I enjoy. I want to be one of those bright, happy, sunny people! How do you change your disposition? I’m not sure, but I want to try.

Be healthier. I want to eat better, cook smarter, exercise more and generally take better care of myself than I have in the past. Hindsight is 20/20, and I don’t want to still be trying to lose these same old extra thirty pounds next year!

Get up earlier. This is a problem for me. I need to get up at 7am every day. I know I would get so much more done if I got started early (before the kids “get started!”) Unfortunately, as my favorite cartoon character, Brak the Spacecat, says, “Oh, man, I love sleepin’! Wish I could wake up so I could go back to sleep again!” This would also entail going to bed earlier – also a problem, thanks to my night-owl husband (and Words with Friends.)

Trust my instincts more. I tend to second-guess myself (pessimistically) and worry over what other moms (especially homeschoolers) are doing, if my kids are learning enough, if I’m teaching them well enough...you know, if I’m screwing them up or not. Instead, I want to believe in my God-given ability to parent and teach my children what they need to know.

Micromanage less. I have some real issues with micromanaging my kids (especially my oldest.) This year, I want to let go and let them make their own mistakes…and probably find that they won’t make as many mistakes as I thought they would.

Relax more with my kids and my husband. I need to focus more on instigating date nights, planning “Special Mommy Time” with each of my children and having Family Fun Nights when we’re all together… times that really matter.

Work on a family project. I don’t really know what this should be yet, but I do know that I want us to do something worthwhile together. Something that helps someone. Something that makes a difference.

What are your goals for 2012? I’d love to know your tips and tricks for reaching them (especially if you’re planning on turning yourself into an optimist this year…I need all the help I can get!)

from my 1/8/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Dads do the Driving

Dads need to drive, not just because they are control freaks on the road, but because they just can’t do everything else properly (like moms do.)

Take, for example, our recent trip home from Christmas in North Carolina: nine hours in a minivan with a one-year-old, a three- year-old, a six-year-old, a seven-year-old and a LOT of presents.

We attempted something we usually try to avoid: driving during the day when the kids are awake.

I would’ve saved myself a lot of frustration and yelling if I had just squeezed my butt in the back between the booster seats from the very beginning. Unfortunately, though, I gained ten pounds over Christmas and my butt wasn’t squeezing in anywhere.

So we started off with Dad in the driver’s seat (where he belongs) and me in the passenger seat, surrounded by toys, drinks with ill-fitting lids, candy wrappers, books, coats, pillows and who knows what else. Dad paid no attention to the kids. His eyes were on the road. He was focused. He was a driving machine.

Of course, we hadn’t made it out of the driveway yet.

Less than 20 minutes into the trip, the children ended up “needing things,” as children often do. Things like having their dolls’ hair untangled, their pencils sharpened, their hands “unstickied,” their Etch-a-Sketches repaired, extra straws for their juice boxes, the radio turned up, the radio turned down, the radio turned off, the heat turned on, the heat turned off, the crackers picked up off the floor, a blanket, a fan, a mint, some gum…. I, of course, ended up in a weird sideways half-sitting, half-reaching behind me position.

After an hour or so, my leg cramped up and I had to stick my feet up on the dash. Dad, oblivious to his needy children, changed lanes and pretended that he was a NASCAR driver.

Once I managed to contort myself into a torture position with my head twisted around at an unnatural angle, I proceeded to fill the enviable role of Entertainer Extraordinaire!

I can only read so many stories and play so many games of I Spy. Let’s face it: when you're in the car, the answer for something green is always grass. My Activity Bag contains a finite amount of activities. A movie on a laptop would come in handy, but unfortunately I’m against them (if I suffered through a childhood of boring car rides, my kids can too.)

“Okay! Who wants to play Stare Out the Window with Your Mouth Closed? Anyone?”

Snacks help too, but I’ve found that the best thing to do is suggest that they snuggle in with their “car pillow” and rest their eyes for a few minutes. Since they’ve been bored out of their gourds for the past 100 miles, they usually fall for it. It seems to work better than the version Dad uses when he’s not driving, which is “SHUT IT AND GO TO SLEEP!”

Dads hate stopping to rest, stretch legs, change diapers, eat, or pee. Moms know that the two keys to ensuring a pleasant trip are dry butts and pacing yourself. No one wants to sit in a wet diaper or be stuffed into a car seat for hours on end. But you can forget about stopping by museums, historical sites or tourist traps with Dads. Dads are on a schedule. Dads need to “beat their best time.”

No matter what, it’s going to be a pain in the butt. You’re going to hear “Mommy” a thousand times. People are going to get smacked and kicked (and possibly poked in the eye with crayons) by their siblings. Dads are going to turn on their selective hearing and ignore everyone, but it's just as well. They could never contort, entertain or mollycoddle the way that moms can anyway.

Nothing is going to go the way you planned it and you are going to have to stop at a dirty bathroom somewhere, so you might as well just deal with it. Keep a fake smile on your face and lower your voice. Even though the Ohio River may look inviting as Dad roars over it at 78 miles an hour, remember that the trip WILL end.

Eventually.

from my 1/1/12 post for www.mentorpatch.com

Flippin the bird

While we were in NC over Christmas, we got to go to my old church (the same one where Jesse and I got married) for their Christmas play. We sat up front so we could see the stage and hear everything that was going on. It also happened to be "Treat Bag Day" which is a BIG deal. I had really talked it up to Josie and Sadie and Adelaide - I mean, it never seemed like Christmas to me when I was little until i'd had my White Oak Treat Bag!

Anyway, the whole time the play was going on, Josie kept asking things like, "Are the treat bags here yet? Where are the treat bags? Did we miss it? Have they given out the treat bags yet?" and MY personal favorite: "Okay, okay, so is it a TREAT, or is it a BAG?" While I was busy answering all of her questions and taking Adelaide back and forth to the bathroom three times, I didn't notice exactly what Sadie was doing. When I finally looked her way, there she was, all dressed up in her beautiful ladylike purple Christmas dress, feather in her hair, looking all around at everyone while holding up the middle fingers of BOTH of her hands. Yes, my sweet little Sadie was "flipping the bird" at the church Christmas play. I immeidately smacked both of her hands down onto the table and hissed, "Hey! Don't do that!" And she, of course, said, "Why not?" I said, "Because, just don't." "But why?" "BECAUSE." "WHy?" "It means something bad." "What does it mean?" "I'll tell you later." "Why? Can I do this finger? Or this one? How about this one? And my thumb? The thumb is good, right?" "Yes, yes, just not the middle one." "But WHY?"

I left it up to her daddy to explain it to her later... and I guess he did a pretty good job. She told me later that it means that you're saying every bad name and that I hate you and you're stupid and ugly and all kinds of bad things if you do that with your finger.

Sheesh. I'm glad he explained it and not me.

Famous words

After reading "Growing up Where Jesus Lived" we had a discussion about Passover and the Pharoah and all of that stuff. Josie was concerned about all of the firstborn dying. Sadie said, "Well, I guess that was bad news for me." Josie said, "Did the other kids die, too? No? Whew. Good." Adelaide then pretended to be the Pharoah and I was supposed to be Moses. I kept asking her to let my people go, and she kept refusing. I finally asked, "OH, PLEASE, PLEASE let my people go!" and she rolled her eyes, sat back, and said, "Okay, fine. Get outta here."

Adelaide: "That thing is hunormous."

Josie, pretending to be a sheep at Christmas: "Baa-aaaah. Hum-bug."

Mommy to Adelaide, while hugging: "You're my girl."
Adelaide to Mommy, while hugging: "You're my mom."

Jedidiah, after fake coughing to make fun of Mommy and straining and reaching to make fun of Daddy, while making Cheerio soup to splash his hands in on his high-chair tray: "Goggle gog gog, Gee go go, AAAH! GigglegigglegiggOOOH!"

Adelaide walked into the room, looked at me, and said, "Well, Mom, I don't have any plans." Then she walked out.

The Same old Song

Josie's version of "Here Comes Santa Claus"

-I pretend that I am sleeping
But he knows that I'm awake
He knows that I'm not being good
Dooby, dooby, dooby, doop

Sadie's favorite new song, thanks to her dad:

-Jingle bells, Daddy smells
from fifteen miles away
picks his nose with Cheerios
and eats them everyday! HEY!

Sadie and Josie's new (and unfortunately, catchy, tune... coined on our trip to look at Christmas lights in Willoughby):

-"Howdaya catch a candy cane on your anniversary? Heyheyhey! Howdaya catch a candy cane on your anniverSAREE!? HeyheyHEY!"

AND...

Adelaide's favorite song of the year:

-It's the most WONderFUL time of da YEAR! WONDERFUL! OF da YEAR! THE YEAR!
Josie: You're weird.
Adelaide, matter-of-factly: No, I'm not. It IS the most wonderful time. Of the year.

Spirit of Christmas

I made it almost twelve whole hours before I flipped out.

We are staying at my grandma’s house for Christmas and, though we love it, we are crammed in here like sardines. Sardines with too much luggage, a week’s worth of diapers and a pack-n-play.

Sardines with a “pallet” built out of foam rubber, two sheets and a comforter on the floor of the extra bedroom. Sardines who can’t find their jackets, their math workbooks, their boots or their blankies. Hot sardines – because Grandma keeps her house a tropical 80 degrees.

Now, I am a person who likes to live by the creed “a place for everything and everything in its place.” Unfortunately, that motto will just not work when we’re here.

Laundry, toys, luggage, presents, shoes… stuff is everywhere. We have no dresser drawers, no closets. Though it’s all part of being on “vacation,” it makes me crazy. Especially during the holidays when everything’s kind of crazy anyway.

The day we got here, the girls decided they wanted to go and surprise their Papaw at work. To make the surprise work, we had to hurry and get dressed and arrive at exactly the right time or we would miss him.

After digging through our bags to find jeans, sweaters, and jackets, we spent the next ten minutes trying to find three sets of matching shoes. To save space, I only packed two pairs of shoes for everyone: regular shoes and church shoes. Both kinds proved to be somewhat elusive.

Once they were finally ready to go, I sent the kids outside to get in the car while I finished getting myself (and the baby) dressed. I assumed, since their dad was outside, that the girls would be supervised. Big mistake.

I searched through a pile of baby stuff, looking for the wet wipes. When I reached for a diaper, I dumped all the makeup out of my makeup bag. My only tube of lip gloss landed in my suitcase and disappeared amidst books, yoga pants, a flatiron and pajamas. I think maybe I lost the Spirit of Christmas in there somewhere, too.

Annoyed and with decidedly un-glossy lips, I finished with the baby and headed outside.

There, I found my husband leaning back on the porch, apparently lost in thought. All three of the girls were nowhere to be seen. This was because they were looking for Rudolph in the backyard – in the sopping wet grass and mud.

In their only pair of regular shoes.

I snapped.

After I yelled, “This is all your fault! What are you even DOING?” at Jesse and “Get in the car NOW!” at the kids, I stripped them of their shoes and socks. I hollered something along the lines of: “We are trying to leave! Don’t you even think? If you’re trying to be on time, why would you mess up your only pair of shoes (besides church shoes) when you are supposed to already be in the CAR?” And so forth.

Jesse decided he should probably just stay home. I said “Fine!”

I stomped into the house, slung the soppy shoes in front of the heater, dug around until I found everyone’s church shoes, then stomped back to the car.

I threw sparkly silver (Adelaide), black patent leather (Sadie) and red kid leather (Josie) shoes in through the window and slammed the car into reverse.

Just then, Josie said, “Mommy… Mom. Hey, Mom. It’s Christmas!”

I stopped. I breathed. I sighed. “You’re right,” I admitted. I apologized.

Jesse came back to the car. We talked with the kids about how it’s hard to be away from home when you don’t know where all your stuff is, when everything is a mess, when you are so cramped and crowded (and hot.)

The girls thought about this for a minute. Then Josie said, “Well, here’s the good thing. The good thing is it’s Christmas and we are all cozy and warm. And we are all together.”

Who knew that I’d find the missing Spirit of Christmas right there in the backseat of my mini-van?

Merry Christmas, everyone!

-from my 12/25/11 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Tooth Fairy

Josie lost her front tooth while we were in North Carolina over Christmas. She has lost three teeth now, and EVERY ONE of them came out while we were in North Carolina! We were sitting on the couch at Great Grandma's house, and suddenly Josie said, "Aaaah!! My toof! My toof came out!" and sure enough, there it was in her hand. It always makes me a little bit sad when one of my kids loses a tooth. There, in her little palm, was the symbol of her babyhood! Her very first little top tooth that used to chew on her crib rails, her teething ring, and (sometimes) her sister. Sigh.

Josie's take: "Well, now I can thing "All I want for Chrithmath ith my two front teef."

She decided that the Tooth Fairy would definitely come while we were in NC, so she wrote a little note and put it with her tooth under her pillow. Then she said, "The Tooth Fairy has written Sadie TWO different notes, but I haven't gotten one yet!"

Well, as luck would have it, the Tooth Fairy DID leave her a note that night. Then she said, while greedily counting her $2.50, "Hmm. Sadie's Tooth Fairy note was sparkly and gold. Mine is written in PENCIL!"

Sheesh. The Tooth Fairy does not have as many craft and art supplies at Great Grandma's house!

The First Three Days

On a whim, we decided to take off on Thursday night. You should've seen their faces! I thought Josie would literally explode with happiness and that Sadie's face would crack in half...and Josie grabbed me and hugged and hugged me so tight. Then we drove ALL night, arriving around 4:00am on Friday morning. Adelaide asked MANY MANY times how many minutes it would be until we got to North Carolina. The kids all finally went to sleep around 11:30 after we made ONE stop to get gas and cheese fries at Wendy's. Except for Jed. He sat in his little seat and sucked on his two fingers and looked around (he just got turned face-forward) for TWO hours! They were really good... we listened to Christmas songs, and talked, and it was a good trip. Jesse got us here (miraculously, and without speeding, and WITH a cartop carrier) in about seven hours.

The kids love getting here in the middle of the night, and Great Grandma was happy to see us! They wanted to just pile in and surprise her, but I didn't think that it was a very good idea to scare her to death in the middle of the night. :)

No one knew we were home, so we decided that we'd go and surprise Papaw when he got back from work. I called Mamaw to find out what time he'd be back (Josie said, "You don't think Mamaw will TELL him, do you!?") and we met him just in time! Even though it was raining, we pulled in and parked about 2 minutes before he came wheeling in. The girls jumped out and ran across the parking lot just as he got out of the Jeep and they yelled, "SURPRISE! We wanted to surprise you at work!" And he said, "Well, you did!" and then they went inside with him for a couple of minutes and met his boss and a couple of people he worked with. It was fun.

Next I went to see my friend Becky at her new job and then we met Papaw and Mamaw for lunch at the Mexican place. Sadie and Josie went back to their house with them while we went to Walmart and then back to their house. We had a good evening, talking and playing and snuggling Jedidiah.

Saturday we ate Bojangle's for breakfast, and Jesse took the girls to see Cameron's basketball game. Grandma and I went to Betty and Dean's thrift store and the pawn shop (I looked at shotguns :) and later we went up to play at Angela's. The girls saw their first "deer kill" when Scotty and Cameron got back from hunting in the woods. Blech.

Next we ate spaghetti and salad at Mamaw's and Papaw's house and had storytelling hour! We heard about ghosts, angels, and Papaw's dog-shooting days. Jed (and everyone else) could not keep themselves off the treadmill. Why is that thing so much fun?

This morning, we got up early and went to see Cameron get baptized! It was exciting and it also brought tears to my eyes. It was so cute to see his giant grin on his little face :) and we got to see Adam and Laurie too, which was nice, since we haven't seen them in two years!

Next, we stopped and picked up Grandma and Nettie and headed up the mountain to White Oak for the Christmas play and more importantly, TREAT BAGS! Apparently, I have really talked up the treat bag tradition more than I realized. The kids were so excited about getting their little white bags filled with an apple, orange, candy bars, a marshmallow santa, nuts, candy canes, gum, etc. Josie couldn't stop talking about it all through church.... "Psst. Mom. Where are the treat bags? Did they give out the treat bags yet? Is it time for the treat bags? Are the treat bags after church? Or after the play? Or what?" and my personal favorite: "So is it a TREAT, or is it a BAG?" :)

My other favorite part (besides the treat bags and seeing lots of old friends and loved ones) was seeing Bobby dressed as Santa driving the church van. Priceless! Wish I had gotten a picture!

We met Becky, Stephen, and Hailey for lunch at (where else?) Village Inn! Yahoo! Unfortunately, everyone else in the county had the same idea. It was crowded and HOT. But good. And Hailey came home with us to play too... they played over at Nettie's, and found "fairy snails" outside on her garage door.

Then we went over to Madge and Steve's house to listen to some "picking and grinning," which was awesome! They played us some Bill Monroe and some Ricky Skaggs and it was very cool and bluegrassy. Then they played beauty shop till Hailey had to go and then Sharon, Thomas and Elizabeth, and Britt and Natasha and their kids came over. We ate pintos, cornbread, and potatoes for supper while the kids played. Jed and Colton both share the same interests: playing ball and playing in the toilet. Bayleigh informed her mom that "Adelaide doesn't bite anymore except for when she's mad."