My Glass--1/2 Full

I'm not going to lie to you, I'm nervous. Not so nervous about leaving my big kids and flying with a 1 year old to Las Vegas (via Dallas, TX) as I am that I'm just leaving my J. With my big kids. Alone. As much I'm looking forward to this welcome break from the everyday, to hang out with my mom and sisters, there's a good bit of me that fears for what will happen in my absence. I have to simply look at this situation with optimism. Isn't that what it's all about anyway? The glass 1/2 full or 1/2 empty? So here goes.


Glass 1/2 full-- My kids will eat.

Glass 1/2 empty--There's really no telling exactly what they'll eat. I stocked the fridge chock full of fresh fruits and veggies, in hopes that since they were, simply, there that they'd be eaten. "Don't worry, they'll be gone by the time you get back," J assured me. Then, under his breath "One way or another, they'll be gone." He assures me that he is fully capable of feeding our kids in an acceptable manner. This, from a man who thinks that there's nothing wrong with cold cereal 3X a day. I shudder to hear whispers of 'frozen pizza' and other {gasp} prepared food. In the days preceeding my trip I tried my best to preemptively pump them full of fruit smoothies, salad, and veggie trays.


Glass 1/2 full--My kids will be clothed. Probably.

Glass 1/2 empty--"Dressed" is a loose term. Sammy will probably wear his new shark swimsuit all week. Girlie will probably pick some fashion forward outfit like a jeans-skirt combo topped with a dressy sweater (oh, it's something to behold). They have established their own little nudist colony in the backyard lately, so...all bets are off.


Glass 1/2 full--My kids will get sleep.

Glass also 1/2 full--I know for sure this will happen. In fact, bedtime will get earlier and earlier as J tries to manage the madness. He might even put up black out shades and change the time on the clocks. Who knows?


Well, the basics are covered and I'm headed to sunny Las Vegas. I have to admit, though, that as "Groundhog's Day" as life is sometimes, the pit in my stomach that I feel when I think about leaving my little ones lets me know that I spend my days exactly where I truly want to be.

Another Northwest Adventure

We spent Memorial Day on the beach with a bunch of our friends going CLAMMING!! We didn't even know there was such a thing, and we had a blast doing it.

It's that time of year again--for low tide, that is. When huge expanses of rocky beach are left exposed, you can gather with shovels and pails and dig for clams. The kids loved looking at all the ocean life that was stranded by the low tide--crabs, starfish, sea urchins, sea worms.

The kids loved gathering shells and sand dollars.

Here is J, being the hunter and gathering dinner. Steamer clams can be dug up pretty easily, if you can find them. Horse clams are HUGE. You look for tiny oval holes in the sand and start digging. As soon as you put your shovel in, the clams spit water at you and start burrowing down into the sand. It's a mad race to get them because they are FAST, and a lot of times they get away. Who knew a clam could even move???

We took our clams home and had some delicious clam chowder!

Some Things For Which My Kids Need to Develop Alternative Activities

1. Stamp balls (see above).

2. Gluing things to the table.

3. Marker tattoos.

4. Streaking in the backyard (and by streaking, I don't mean going really fast).

5. Trying to stop the other one from looking out of 'their' window in the car.

6. Deciding that your name is "Max" and telling the Fred Meyer daycare lady, who then eyes me with suspicion when I refer to you by the name that I gave you.

7. Playing "Wear Shoes That Don't Match" when we go to church. It discounts me as a mom, as well as a designer.

8. Making up their own naughty words like "booshie" and "pupid"--do you see the genius? It sounds even worse than a real bad word, but they've got me on a technicality because it's not actually a word at all.

Other than that, we're good.

Happy 6th, Sweet Girlie!!

On with the barrage of May birthdays! Okay, so I don't know if two really counts as a 'barrage' per say, but it feels like it when you're planning parties 6 days apart.

I try not to brag about my kids, but in this case it's a potent combination of her birthday and my blog--I can't help myself. My sweet Girlie is one of the most awesome kids I've ever met, and I'm not just saying that because I'm her mom. This little girl has delighted me from Day 1, and I continue to fall in love with her every day.

She was born with a tender heart full of love and compassion. Even as a toddler, she'd cry when I read the part in Lion King where Mufasa dies, and I'd have to fast forward Cinderella when the stepsisters rip the dress. She is the most compassionate person I know. Always taking care of her little brothers. She is a sweet peacemaker--always sharing and thinking of others. Sammy doesn't know how lucky he is! She is helpful, obedient, and really, really hilarious.

She makes me laugh every day. Just yesterday, for instance. Her new hobby is making books. She writes them, illustrates them, staples them, and then reads them over and over to us. J pointed to the back of her book where there were little lines at the bottom. Do you know what this is? A bar code! So we can buy them! She informed me that they were $2.00 each, which I thought was a steal since Sammy charges $45.00. A bar code!!

She is a sweet friend and kind to all around her. She is very obedient and a huge helper to me. J and I have often commented that we don't have to actually "parent" her. We give her guidelines, and she raises herself. One of my joys is throwing birthday parties for her--a silly way of mine to say 'thank you for being such a terrific kid.'

This year's theme was a luau. It was really a blast.

The kids put their gifts into the volcano. At one point, J and I talked about shooting the water hose out of the top to make it 'explode'. Then we thought of the mess. And 15 wet kids.

Her tropical island birthday cake. I would have liked to find tiny tiki torch-shaped candles...

We did limbo, a cake walk, and digging for shells on our sandy "beach".

All the kids "hanging loose".

We love and adore this lovely little light in our lives! She's one awesome kid!!!

My Little Pet

Everyone knows that babies start out cute. Okay, there may be some mild debate ("little old men"), but they do--they start cute. The fabulous thing, is that they keep getting even cuter!! They go through delightful stages, each more enchanting than the last. Right in between "Baby" and "Miniature Person" (which is my personal favorite) is the one that Little Buddy is in now--"Little Pet".

My Little Buddy Pet just turned one, if you can believe it. Happy Birthday to him!! Let me tell you about him.

Disposition: Happy, playful, cuddly, and a tiny bit of a temper. Laughs spontaneously, smiles to himself when things like thumbs are funny to him, and throws Cheerios (while yelling) when things don't go his way at dinner time.

Modes of Transportation: Crawling, primarily. He also pushes a walker around, cruises around furniture, loves to be carried, strolled, carted. Most recently, firetruck.

Favorite Things to Do: Making messes at blinding speed. Unloading the bookshelves, the pantry,

and drawers with lightning-quick efficiency.

Hobbies also include following Mommy around (sometimes literally biting her ankles), trying to keep up with the big dogs (I mean, kids...), climbing stairs, smiling so big it fills his whole little face, and hassling the vacuum (and panicking when he accidentally starts it).

If I sit down for a nanosecond, Little Buddy crawls into my lap for a snuggle. He eats stray fruit puffs on the floor by his high chair, and loves to be petted and covered in kisses. Possible future occupation: escape artist. If I turn away for a moment during a diaper change, I turn back to see a bare little bottom high-tailing it out of the room.

Vocally Speaking: Volume: Loud

Words: Mama, Dada....and a whole lot of yellin'.

Hours of Operation: 7-9:30 a.m., 11:00 a.m.-1:30 p.m., 3:30-5:00 p.m., 5:30-8:30 p.m.

He will "lay his sweet head down" upon request, loves his white blankie and sleeps with a little stuffed hedgehog.

We celebrated his joining our family ONE YEAR ago with a little family baseball party. He got his first taste of refined sugar (from me, anyway. ....J...sheesh....) and loved it.

We all absolutely adore our sweet boy and feel so very blessed to have his joyful soul in our lives. Here's to you, Little Buddy! We love you a million, billion, zillion.

Life or Blog???

Apparently I've been choosing "Life" lately, because I've certainly been neglecting "Blog". We've been busy, and while I feel the need to record our mischief, I think it'll have to be in bite-sized installments.

So, we went to Utah for my sister's wedding. I thought that a 13 hour road trip would be plenty of fodder for a good post, so I started out by writing quotes down in a little notebook. I didn't get far.

My record in its entirety:

Utah Trip May 1, 2009
"Turn right and continue for 176 miles"--Rosalita, our GPS.

"Son, where's your sandwich? Oh, you're sitting on it. Sure, go
ahead--take a bite."--J to Sam

"Honey, where's your DVD player? Oh, you're sitting on it too?"--Me,
to Sam.

"Well in my world, I envision it to be a very simple task to have us ready
to go the night before a trip. And in my world, I envision it
being somehow impossible for you to do." J--on very dangerous
ground.

"Well. Then the next time we take a trip, why don't you show me just
how simple it can be."--Me, in response.

{After J's observation of my scribbling}

"What are you doing?? Are you writing that down? [Pause]

Sweetheart, I love you. You are the best wife in the world and I
appreciate you so much.

...Memorialize that, chick."

Charming.

We also took a bunch of really fun pictures at Thanksgiving Point and went to the Petting Zoo, which was actually a non-petting zoo, but was fun anyway. The kids rode the horses. Girlie felt the need to rename her horse something "prettier". Wild Man picked a small pony, despite some daring driveway motorcycle riding with his all-too-accommodating Uncle Jared. Little Buddy just sat in his stroller. We did not buy the baby goat that we saw, nor the pirate hat that they were selling in the farm gift shop (because, obviously, where else would one think to look for a pirate hat?), despite some heart-felt pleas.

.

PS: To my friends in Utah ...I love you and I wish I could have seen you. Truly I do. With time split between two families and wedding festivities, it just wasn't possible. I thought of you, and I would LOVE to see you on another trip.

Something I didn't know...

is that I look really, really, really bad when I run. Here is the picture from our race--standing around feeling great about what we just accomplished. I would have put one in that has me actually running, but I looked at the pictures last night and thought "um, yeah, THAT isn't going to happen." For some reason, I looked TERRIBLE in all the pictures during the race. I mean, bad. So bad, in fact, that it had my darling J SHAKING in laughter. Giggling like a school girl. Unable to make coherent sounds because of the laughter. Actual tears filling the corners of his eyes. That bad. I kind of felt like I was 14 again, where you go through that really u-g-l-y (that's a word we spell out and don't say in our house) stage--awkward and just not... good... I kind of want to burn all the pictures of me during that unfortunate-looking stage of life. In my wedding video, very few pictures are of me during this period. It kind of skips over the stage and goes right to senior pictures where, even though now I cringe at the fashion, at least I was hip for the time.

Anyway, I digress. THAT, friends, is why this is the only picture of my race you'll ever see. And why I'm pretty sure I won't be doing another one any time soon.

Happy Mother's Day to Me

I thought I'd share this little book that Girlie made for Mother's Day. There was a page for each sentence and she had filled them out so carefully.

My mom is 303 years old. (I think she meant 30, bless her heart)

My mom's favorite color is pink.

My mom likes to have fun.

My mom makes the best chickinidl. (chicken noodle)

My mom is the queen of cook.

My mom's favorite restaurant is Demes. (Denny's...where I haven't been in years...)

My mom likes it when it is qwiit. (quiet)

My mom can clen fast. (clean fast--at least someone notices)

My mom's favorite TV show is Nit at the Myoseum. (Night at the Museum)

My mom is special because she is prite. (pretty)

The handwriting made it absolutely adorable. It was my very favorite mother's day gift. And, of course, it made me cry. What is it about your kids loving you that just gets you?

I Did It. And I Have the Shirt to Prove It.

[PICTURE TO COME]

So, in case you didn't notice, I took a little time off. A whirlwind trip to Utah for my little sister's wedding. It was fabulous.

While there, another sister talked me into doing Race for the Cure. Me. Had she not been the kindest person on the planet, and had my grandma not survived breast cancer this may not have happened. This ultimate act of betrayal to my friend, Amy. I'm sorry, Amy, and I hope we can still be friends.

You see, I hate running. It's like torture. If you ask me, forget waterboarding, people--make those terrorists RUN. Amy hates running too, and we had a sort of unofficial Moms Against Running club. I feel I sold out.

"It will be fun," said my sister.
"Yeah, and then next year, I'll sign you up for the Craft-a-thon and see how much fun you have," I retorted. But I did it anyway. Also on board were my brother, his wife, and our youngest brother . I only mention that to make you realize the pressure I was under. I've revealed my relationship with sports before--and I've long suffered the sibling teasing from being completely inept.

I know most of my friends are all a little crazy and throw around "carb loading", "10K", and "marathon" like it's nothing. (Amy and I actually refer to those people as "Them"--as in, 'Oh, you're one of Them, are you?) But, baby steps, people. The choice was "One Mile Fun Run" or "5K".

One Mile Fun Run it is.

We started out strong, and besides my crying, I was totally fine. Step aside for just a moment--a reminder of what kind of a race this is. This is for breast cancer. No one is trying to beat each other. People are running with names and pictures attached to their backs of people they love who have battled breast cancer. Like the young solo guy whose sign read "In Memory of My Wife. I love you." and the couple whose signs read "For My Wife. 17 Years!" and "Me. 17 Years!". If any of you know my crying history it will be obvious that I was hiccuping tears the whole time and hoping the huge lump in my throat didn't close off my precious supply of oh-so-very-thin mountain air. And smiling really, really big. (Read the "Crying" post to understand that). There were also packs of people with matching shirts that read "Save the Ta Tas" or "I Love Breasticles" that just made me laugh, and disguised the hiccuping.

I paced myself just fine, until, according to my body, I had gone longer than a mile. My siblings encouraged me, blaming the thin air, etc. That bone in my foot was starting to hurt. Parts of me were jiggling. The ground was getting harder and harder. Energy was actually starting to leak out of me, I could feel it. I insisted that this was no ordinary mile. Then I saw the sign.

"Mile 3"

"HA!!!! I KNEW IT!!! WE TOOK THE WRONG TRACK!!! THIS IS NO 'ONE MILE FUN RUN'!!!" I spent some of my energy jabbing at the sign. The good news was, we were .1 mile from the thick pink finish line. All the cheering people made me cry some more, so I focused hard on the tables of bottled water, bananas and oranges ahead.

As we walked the 4-ish blocks to the car my sister said, "Wasn't that awesome??? Do you want to train for a 1/2 marathon with me?"

It was great. Exhilarating, really. But...um, I think...not. Because, then, I would be one of "them."

PS: I'll post a picture as soon as my brother emails them to me.

It's All in the Presentation

Maybe it's just my kids. Maybe not. They seem to get hurt a lot. Not "big hurt", but a good number of ouchies, boo boos and the such. We figured out a way to soften the impact without coddling them. Spin it. It plays out like this--when one of our little ones has a run in with a wall, floor, dirt, etc, we look completely flabbergasted and ask them why. "Why are you trying to knock that wall down with your head? That is so crazy!" "Why are you trying to put a Sammy-sized hole in my beautiful wood floor?" "Why are you trying to eat your tongue? I gave you some delicious dinner, you know." "Why are you trying to fly off of that chair? Your wings aren't big enough yet, you know." It will stop my child mid-wail and start them laughing. Sometimes they'll even come to me saying through a few tears, "Mommy, I was trying to put a Girlie-boompa sized dent in the sidewalk!" (Bottoms="boompas" in our house) Don't worry, we've discussed safety. Sam-Sam is well aware that "Giwls an mommies an babies aw delicate, an boys an daddies aw tough, but thew heads aw still delicate." But, until those safety lectures are seriously internalized, we'll just keep spinning it.