From Bad to Worse

The other night we wanted to watch a show together as a family.

Which usually means a cooking show.

Which reminds me: we watched a show about America's obsession with cooking shows. The host's opinion was that the reason we love watching other people cook is because we, as a society, have moved away from cooking, but it is still such a fundamental part of our lives that we crave the comfort and familiarity and love we associate with cooking.

Meh.

I think it's just because cooking shows are the only shows we can watch with our little kids without being bombarded with profanity and nudity.

At least that's why WE watch them.

Anyway, I got a show going and then stepped into the kitchen to finish cleaning up dinner (which I cooked, thank you very much TV personality!).

Five minutes later, I went in to join the family, and they had switched over to a science show.

I asked Ty why, and he told me that the cooking show had used the "F word" four times in the first few minutes! Well I never...!

Anyway, we watched a science experiment show instead.

It wasn't the greatest, but Sylas was enthralled.

The guy on the show had all sorts of ways to make things catch fire or explode, which just happen to be Sylas' favorite things in the world right now. Besides shooting guns.

I grew increasingly uneasy.

But it was his,

"Dad, if I put suchandsuch and soandso together, would it explode like that?"

that made Ty and I glance at each other and bust into nervous giggles.

It was then I exclaimed,

"Turn it back to the cooking show!

Let's teach this boy the F word!!"

Halloween 2014

Did you think because I only post twice/year lately, that I would forego my Halloween post?

Don't kid yourself.

Count Fauxhawk Dracula

Owl
(I know the feathers look like leaves. Get over it.)

Black-fanged Dracula with an owl on his shoulder - don't worry, just dressing up as Dracula was enough to send his over-active imagination into a tail-spin of nightmares and wanting to sleep with BOTH sisters (instead of just the one he shares a room with). Sigh. This is why we usually make him dress up like a pirate.

Fawn
(thank goodness for windstorms that bring all the tumbleweeds to my yard - I've got enough for a whole herd of deer!)

Halloween 2014 was so ideal, that at one point I opened my front door, took one look, and exclaimed, "Ty, come see this: WE LIVE IN A MOVIE!" and teared-up. No joke. The sunset was perfection, the weather was a dream, the hay ride wagon was loading up for another turn around the subdivision (complete with festive music), all the neighbors were strolling around, laughing and talking, with their exceptionally cute little costumed children, and it was just too much exquisiteness to take in. If your child happened to be in the group who came up my walk at that precise moment, and came home with tales of the weird lady who was passing out tear-stained candy, now you know it was me.

And now you know that I am really, truly serious about my love for Halloween.

The next day, our last baby was baptized. 

It was a sublime end to an impeccable weekend.

The End

Six

I just found this unpublished draft from a couple years ago:

Overrepresentation, overgraze, recontamination, resocialization, shame-faced, shadow.

What do these six words have in common?

They were all found on the same sheet of paper. On my coffee table.

In Samera's first-grade handwriting.

I asked her what they were.

She replied,

"Oh, they're just some words I'm practicing."

"For school?" I asked.

"No, just for fun. I found them in the dictionary."

"At school?" I asked.

"No. Our dictionary."

Now here are six things you should know:

#1. I didn't know we still had a dictionary.
#2. I'll have to ask Samera where it is. So I can look up these words.
#3. Samera is a bizarre, wonderful creature.
#4. If I could get a picture that truly represented (overrepresented?) the color of her eyes, I would move Heaven and Earth. I swear they are reddish-brown.
#5. This picture makes me inordinately happy, as it is the first time I have looked at her and seen a family resemblance.
#6. She dresses up like this and pretends to be The Helping Fairy, and will cheerfully ask me what I need her to do, and then do it, never breaking character. Everyone should have a Mera.

Relax

This morning as the kids were leaving for school, Sylas remembered some homework he hadn't done, and he started to get upset.

I told him to relax.

Then I thought about that while I went about my morning, and decided I am an idiot. And a hypocrite.

I doubt my children have a working definition for "relax".

Heaven knows they've never seen me do it.

And the only time they hear the word is when I yell it at them.

Even if they understood what a "relax" is, telling someone to do it is about as useless as the package of floppy disks I just found and gave to D.I.

If you could tell someone into relaxation, I'd be the Easy Going Champion of the World by now.

But I'm not.

Sometimes my failure runneth over.

And over.

Hindsight is an Awesome Parent

Sometimes our old stand-by of sitting and holding hands
just isn't working, and we have to get creative. Some of
us think I'm clever. Some of us don't.

I haven't been on the computer much lately.

It's been glorious.

And then tonight I finished my book (thanks to the discovery that I can cook, eat, and give myself a pedicure while reading) (not all at the same time), the kids were in bed, the man was at meetings, and I was looking for a way to kill some time.

Pinterest. Oh, sweet Pinterest, how I've missed thee.

...where I happened upon a pin about parenting, which reminded me of a little problem we were having with one of the children a while back.

And I thought,

Huh. I haven't thought about that in a long time.

How weird that something that seems so huge - something I prayed about and fretted over and felt so desperately unable to work through - is so easily forgotten.

Why didn't anyone tell me that all the seemingly endless toddler phases would, in fact, end? That things have a way of working themselves out?

Why didn't anyone tell me to relax; to laugh things off and know that someday soon I wouldn't even remember the problem that right then seemed so all-encompassing and important...and urgent?

I mean, I'm sure someone told me. In fact, I know they did.

But why didn't they also tell me they were serious? And correct?

Man, I was dumb.

Oh, to know then what I know now.

Or to use what I know now right now.

The latter would be best.

But seems just as likely as the former.

And, because I am feeling annoyed with how judgey I can be, I will skip the rant about parenting advice, tips, and articles. For now.

But you gotta know it's coming. Eventually.

Hello July

 If I were to choose two pictures for July, which I did, these would be (are) them:

 Exhibit A: This picture epitomizes summer.

The (little) boys are all out by the road, (don't worry, they were IN the road after approximately 19 seconds), mostly shirtless, lighting fireworks.

The (big) boys are
#1. watching and laughing at the little boys. From a safe distance.
#2. trying to ride a unicycle.
Yep. That about sums up family gatherings around here. It gets a little redneck sometimes. Deal with it. No, really. There's no fighting it. You just have to roll with it.

Exhibit B: My awesome friend made these signs for our yard sale this weekend. And let me tell you what, I give full credit for the smashing success of said yard sale to her. And these signs. Cause seriously. Just TRY not to check out a yard sale that advertises like that! It defies the laws of physics. The only thing cooler would be if she had let me show her face so you could see the person behind THAT vision.

(perhaps after I published a photo of her in her swimming suit in my family photo book she doesn't trust me? well-played.)


Happy July-ing, friends.

Fun With a Capital 'D'

Last night I had HAD it with the rotten weather, my rotten attitude, and my rotten parenting.

I decided to do something fun with my kids to end the day on a happy note.

So I asked Sy (the grumpiest of the bunch thanks to his mean mom who wouldn't allow him to have a 47th dessert) to choose a game.

Life.

That's the one he chose. Of all the long, stupid, long, complicated, long, boring, long, frustrating, LONG games...

But it was fun mom time, so I put on my best fake smile and said, 'alright'.

I was rather impressive:

I juggled two sets of twins, an accounting career, being banker/mover-of-everyone's-cars-who-don't-count-fast-enough/teller-of-people-when-it's-their-turn-to-go, and sitting cross-legged (scrunched between the coffee table and the couch) for far longer than should ever be expected of any human over the age of 30. Or probably 14.

And just when I was congratulating myself on being awesome, and thinking maybe I CAN do this fun mom thing after all, I looked down and noticed that we were only half way around the board.

And Ty finally got home and was snuggled in our spot downstairs on the couch, waiting for me to come put my cold toes under his legs and talk to him while he tries to watch tv.

And it was way past the kids' bedtime.

And it was Sy's turn.

And he needed to switch careers.

And I needed his career card so I could see how much to pay him.

And he had no clue what I was talking about, and kept holding up everything BUT the thing I needed.

And I was so crammed into my spot between the table and couch that I couldn't see his cards to point to the right one.

And my patience was 36 spaces past the finish line.

And I swore.

And then I watched as Sy's innocent little lips mouthed the offending word over and over, as though he were sounding it out, spelling it in his mind, and
taste-testing it to find out if it was to his liking.

And I felt both sorry/failurific/ashamed and unable to contain my laughter.

*I-give-up sigh*

In my experience, regular mean mom, while not very fun, is probably a better role model than fun mom.

At least regular mean mom swears at appropriate times, and not when everyone's supposed to be having fun.

Fun mom is so confusing.

And not any fun.

WARNING: This Post Contains 20 Pictures

 I try really hard not to post gratuitous pictures of children and parties and family celebrations. In fact, for the most part, I like this place to be mine alone. My thoughts, my weirdness, my therapy. Mine, mine, mine. Of course that usually involves the mention of my family, as I have no life outside the perimeter of my yard, but I like to believe that I don't often write blog posts dedicated to cataloguing, showcasing, or chronologizing my everyday life. That's what my (nonexistent) journal is for.

But I need to face the facts: I don't have anything to write about, so I don't write anything, so then I can't remember anything. And I don't write in a journal. Plus, my dad keeps urging me to blog, and my sister told me to post about Samera's baptism because she got sick and couldn't come. Blame it on them if you want to.

I am about to inundate you with boring-to-everyone-but-a-select-few-who-pretend-not-to-be-bored-by-such-things photos and details of the last several weeks.

I now present, Samera Turns Eight:

 First, we had her family party. She wanted a cake with oreos on one half and M&M's on the other, and filled with the same, but with the candy switched. Got it? Yeah, it was confusing for me, too.

 Then she had her first friend party. She wanted to decorate cupcakes, so we had a baking theme, complete with aprons and colorful cupcake liner flowers on chef hats.

Of course a pinata was involved. And there was only one casualty: the birthday girl. I was just glad it was my kid that got trampled in the candy stampede and ended up with a bloody lip. No one wants to send a child home from a birthday party with a wet rag hanging out of her mouth.

Then, a couple weeks later, on February 2nd, Samera was baptized. I made her pose, facing the sun, with her cake.

 And with her dad.

 And with my orange thing.

And by herself at the church.

And being fitted for a white jumpsuit.

And with me and Ty

(during which photo I was only praying that the kind ward member who offered to take it was not noticing Ty grabbing my bum)

And with the whole family

(please ignore the strange way in which my limbs are languishing in awkwardness)

We had a small crowd over for an after party. I made a Samera doll for the top of her cake.

My dad is the cutest.

And, since only the top tier of cake was devoured, I recycled the bottom tier for a Super Bowl party the next day. Cause it just made sense.

 Whew! You still with me? You deserve a prize. I am making cookies right now, so I'll eat an extra one just for you.

Ten Minutes Ago

Ten minutes ago, amid a discussion with Sy about how our eyesight sometimes grows worse as we age, Samera chimes in with, "That happens with ears, too. Right, mom? (Not a question, mind you. The girl doesn't ask questions. It was just a statement she wanted me to back her up on) That's what they think happened to Beethoven..." and proceeded to give me an in-depth synopsis of Beethoven's life and work, ending with an exclamatory, "He wrote NINE symphonies! Can you believe it?! That is a LOT of work!" (hand gestures and heavy emphasizing were used)


These are just a few of the things I learned from our interchange:

1. Samera knows who Beethoven is.

2. Samera knows more about Beethoven than I do.

3. Therefore, I have no idea whether or not she is correct.

4. Beethoven yelled at people, because he could hear the music in his head, and he thought he was right and they were wrong.

5. Apparently Beethoven had a fight with a friend, and ended up ripping up one symphony (I don't know if Beethoven or the friend ripped it - she was talking so fast and hard, my memory was in overdrive trying to mentally record it all).

6. So, it was thought that there were only 8 symphonies, but there are 9. Someone found it, put it together, and re-wrote it. According to Samera. If you could see the gesticulating with it, it would make infinitely more sense. And be WAY more interesting. Believe me.

7. His first symphonies were calm and quiet because they were written when we was a "happier man."

8. Beethoven's Fifth is Samera's favorite symphony.

9. I need to have a video camera surgically attached to my head so I don't miss anything. Cause I already forgot most of what she said. Ten minutes ago.

Afterglow

 If you don't know by now that I love Halloween, then you must have just started reading my blog, in which case I insist you quickly read all my previous posts. I'll wait for you. GO!

Now, where to begin? I will have to break October down into several posts, because I have not been keeping up with things around this blog, and because it was busy and jam-packed with parties and happenings, and because my parents told me to write, even if it's boring, so I'm trying to oblige.

I told you last year that Sylas would be a pirate indefinitely, and I kept my promise. Behold, Sy the Pirate, 2012:

Fifi, the pink poodle

Saylor, the butterfly

Different facial hair, same pirate - for the ward party

The full Fifi effect

All three, Sy in full pirate pose

Captain Sy with gun

And now I plan to sit back and bask in the afterglow of Halloween. Which is code for 'feel like I'm going to throw up all week from copious amounts of candy'.

Dawn

Today I got old.


All three of my children were gone for 7 hours. To school.

I had been dreading this day. Not for freedom's sake (c'mon, who doesn't look forward to this day with some amount of excitement?), but for the fact that it was the end of a life chapter. And also because I feel a tremendous, anxiety-inducing weight shift called, "now someone might expect me to contribute to society and be productive." As I drove off, I looked over and watched my new Kindergartener sandwiched between his sisters, holding onto their hands for dear life, and I had to choke back tears.

I contemplated this dawning of a new era, and I felt powerless and sad. For several 20 mph miles.

Then, like magic, a good song came on the radio right as the speed limit changed to 50 mph, and I felt something unexpectedly euphoric course through my veins.

I actually cheered. Outloud. Like this:

"Woooohooooo!"

*(and a little sky punch)*

Then I remembered that I left the house in my pajamas, sans bra, hat over greasy bedhead, slippers on my feet. And I put my hands on ten and two, fast as lightening.

Cause, man, new eras are not a good time to get in a wreck.

Or worse, pulled over on a road teeming with people taking their kids to school.

Anyway, I think I'm going to like old.

I'm pretty sure it's the new young.

The Mark of Beauty

Samera has a mole on her right cheekbone. It is the cutest beauty mark in the whole world (and you'll have to click on the picture to blow it up, so you can see it).

Today I commented on it at random, saying how much I like it.

She got choked-up, but tried really hard to keep the tears from her eyes as she told me that some people didn't like it - that they even made fun of her because of it.

After I fought back the urge to kill everyone within a 25 mile radius who ever even thought of picking on my baby, I asked her what she thought of it.

She looked thoughtful, and responded,

"Well, Heavenly Father put it there, and so he must want me to have it, and so I should just really learn to like it."

Truer words? Seriously?

And that, my friends, is how Samera's sporadic wisdom struck today.

And how I came to google 'Marilyn Monroe', and, for the first (and hopefully last) time ever, saw her as a role model.

Yikes.

Trash to Treasure: Wolverine

Tonight, Samera asked me what time she was born.

I felt like a horrible person for having NO idea.

I remember when Saylor was born (maybe because she was my first, her delivery is the one I remember the best: 8:30. Exactly 1 hour after walking through the hospital doors). Sylas, too (his is easy because it is just his birth weight, flipped: 12:06).

But Samera? That day is like a strange, blurry mess in my head.

So when we got home, I dug out my old journal to find that missing bit of history.

12:58 p.m.

That, my dears, is when Samera made her Earthly debut.

Like a person with a purpose, not to be changed by any outside force, she entered.

And she has been delighting, entertaining, and exasperating us ever since.

And I just spent the last two hours pouring over my journals, so I should know.

She was our ferral child.

And now, seven years later, she is a lot more tame, but every once in a while we see that wolverine glint in her eye, and we laugh.

Cause what choice do we have?

Needy

I just went through my photo library, and it was shockingly empty for 2012. I must have lost my will to take pictures.

I think it's because my kids are growing up. They are no longer at that stage where I feel inclined to keep my camera on the kitchen counter at all times, to capture their funny foibles and messes at a moment's notice.

They are getting photo-boring. Now days, when I happen to dust off the ol' camera, they pose. And I don't like posed pictures.

Also, they aren't chubby any more. Not a-one of them! Who wants to take pictures of non-chubby un-babies? Not me.

Or maybe it's because school isn't out yet. I hate it when school isn't out yet. My weeks seem so schedule-y and monotonous this time of year. And busy. The veneer of novelty has worn so thin on school and homework, that it has left my soul exposed to the elements. There is now a hole where my will to capture the moment used to be.

Luckily, there is an easy procedure to fix this deformation:

Summer.

I don't want to negate Spring's loveliness, for it is my one true love (after Summer and Fall, of course), but Spring is so inconstant! I need something I can depend on.

I need swim suit-wearing, and long days at the pool. I need thick book-reading and swearing I'll never take my children to the local "lake"again (only to return the following week). I need sunburns and grilled burgers. Bike rides and sweaty, almost-passing-out after sitting in the sun for too long. I need homemade ice cream.

I need no schedule.

Am I the only one who gets really impatient this time of year? I mean, there's only a month and a half left of school. Can't we just call it good enough?

Of Puzzles, Kids, and Donkeys

Yesterday I overheard a short exchange between these three that, in very few words, put each of their personalities in such precise focus, I couldn't have orchestrated it better myself.

They started a 1,000 piece puzzle (yeah, they are on a serious puzzle kick lately), and were all huddled around it. 

Saylor: This puzzle is hard.

(she will usually worry, be extremely cautious and a little pessimistic, and will use as few words as possible to convey her thoughts)

Samera: Yeah, but think how proud we'll feel when we finish it!

(her optimism and excitement are exclusive of almost all other emotion, but she doesn't let them rule her intellect, which is calculating and insightful - a lot like Saylor's, only it surprises you because she is always bouncing around, acting like she isn't paying attention to anything, when really - you eventually realize - she notices everything)                                                                                                                                                   

Sylas: Yeah. Proud like a donkey!
(Wha...?)


Where did these creatures come from?














(And no, this photo was not staged. They actually close their eyes for pictures in unison naturally. It's a talent they must have inherited from Ty and I. So I guess we know where they came from, after all. Yikes.)

p.s. In case you're curious, and wondering how a donkey can be proud, Sylas backed-up his statement with, "You know, they just smile and go, EEEEEEeeeAaaaw!"

Obviously.

Pink and Red Felt

Have I ever told you how much I love Valentine's Day?

Oh, I have?

Well then, I guess we are done here.