Joy is also a two year old eating a chocolate sprinkle donut:
October 2011
October 2011
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Bear n tubbies
Millie is going through Favorites. Especially with clothes, where she won't wear anything but skirts and pink tie-dye shirts and flip flops. Or, before that, pink tie-dye shirts and purple pajama pants. Or, what started it all, tubbies pjs:
In late October, I finally had to put the tele-tubbies pjs away, because it was too cold at night and she kept waking up and because she was refusing to wear anything else while tubbies was in the wash.
About the bear...
We found out just how attached Millie was to her pink bear blanket, called Bear, when it was left in Nursery one Sunday. Tyler went back to the church twice that evening, the second time asking our Bishop to open up the library so he could check the lost and found. No bear.
Tyler was flying out early the next morning and I was worried. I got on line and found out that Target no longer carries that exact bear. If so, I still think the ox was in the mire. Instead, I found some on Amazon and paid for the quickest shipping--which wouldn't have the bear here until Tuesday or Wednesday. And then I braced myself for interrupted nights and long drives to get Millie to sleep.
Tuesday finally arrived, and so did the bears ('cause I ordered a back-up, too!) and Millie was glad to have any bear, even one that was too pink and not nasty.
Wednesday, I had Relief Society. When I picked up the kids from the nursery, they were so excited that Millie had found her bear! It was with the dollies and blankies. Tyler didn't have a key to that cupboard!
For a few days, Millie would take either bear, but then she forgot about not having one at all. So, now she will only cuddle the used-to-be-pink bear. The pink one is such an imposter. And she screams like you must have kidnapped Hers if you accidently give her the other.
It is now in her emergency bag.
In late October, I finally had to put the tele-tubbies pjs away, because it was too cold at night and she kept waking up and because she was refusing to wear anything else while tubbies was in the wash.
About the bear...
We found out just how attached Millie was to her pink bear blanket, called Bear, when it was left in Nursery one Sunday. Tyler went back to the church twice that evening, the second time asking our Bishop to open up the library so he could check the lost and found. No bear.
Tyler was flying out early the next morning and I was worried. I got on line and found out that Target no longer carries that exact bear. If so, I still think the ox was in the mire. Instead, I found some on Amazon and paid for the quickest shipping--which wouldn't have the bear here until Tuesday or Wednesday. And then I braced myself for interrupted nights and long drives to get Millie to sleep.
Tuesday finally arrived, and so did the bears ('cause I ordered a back-up, too!) and Millie was glad to have any bear, even one that was too pink and not nasty.
Wednesday, I had Relief Society. When I picked up the kids from the nursery, they were so excited that Millie had found her bear! It was with the dollies and blankies. Tyler didn't have a key to that cupboard!
For a few days, Millie would take either bear, but then she forgot about not having one at all. So, now she will only cuddle the used-to-be-pink bear. The pink one is such an imposter. And she screams like you must have kidnapped Hers if you accidently give her the other.
It is now in her emergency bag.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Pizza Chef
And now for some catching-up...
In October, Conrad decided that he really, really likes to make pizza. Really, really. Any time I'd ask what he wanted for dinner, he'd say "Pizza. The kind you make, Mom." Aw. Is there anything sweeter?
So, we'd make pizza.
I got fancy with the toppings (notice all the dirty dishes on the counter behind Con)/
And Conrad got very fancy with his helping.
And just in case you were wondering if Aliens had taken over my brain, I am still me and I still don't love eating or serving what the kids have helped with. Con's dough (and Grace's and Millie's) always seemed to make it into the garbage instead of the oven. Would you want to eat what had been dropped on the floor a few times, licked, and touched with hands that had just wiped at snot noses? Food served in my kitchen might not always be the yummiest, but it will always be clean! And the kids have a great time helping!
In October, Conrad decided that he really, really likes to make pizza. Really, really. Any time I'd ask what he wanted for dinner, he'd say "Pizza. The kind you make, Mom." Aw. Is there anything sweeter?
So, we'd make pizza.
I got fancy with the toppings (notice all the dirty dishes on the counter behind Con)/
And Conrad got very fancy with his helping.
And just in case you were wondering if Aliens had taken over my brain, I am still me and I still don't love eating or serving what the kids have helped with. Con's dough (and Grace's and Millie's) always seemed to make it into the garbage instead of the oven. Would you want to eat what had been dropped on the floor a few times, licked, and touched with hands that had just wiped at snot noses? Food served in my kitchen might not always be the yummiest, but it will always be clean! And the kids have a great time helping!
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Potty Training
You know, what they say is true--that potty training is really training the parents! Millie decided awhile ago that she was done with diapers. It has been a challenge to keep her waterproof until last week when she finally figured out how to go on the potty. Yay! One day, after months of trying and sitting and standing up and immediately having an accident, it just clicked. Yay! Yay! Yay!
That doesn't mean that we don't have frequent accidents. And I mean frequent. (My sisters are probably all laughing because this is not my favorite.)
Yesterday, Millie was sporting the Dora underwear she loves so much with a cute little skirt, which is all she'll wear, despite the fact that it is winter. Grace had an accident, and while I was helping her clean it up, Millie took advantage of the open door to the garage (where the washer is) and opened up the car door and climbed into her favorite toy--my car. She climber onto the center console, playing with the spare change as she is apt to do, given the opportunity. I'd just finished cleaning up the bathroom floor when Millie came waddling in.
I asked her where she'd had her accident.
"In da caw."
"Where in the car?"
"In da bashket!" (This was said with an 'Of course' attitude only an indignant two-year-old can properly take on.)
"What basket?"
"Da bashket!!!"
I had Millie stay in the bathroom while I inspected the car. Well, she had perched herself right over my cup holder to play with the monies. My cup holder was her basket!!!
It actually was a quick clean-up. I dis-infected twice for good measure and locked up the car, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world.
And Millie was all too happy to go choose more Dora underwear and a new skirt.
Potty training is overrated.
That doesn't mean that we don't have frequent accidents. And I mean frequent. (My sisters are probably all laughing because this is not my favorite.)
Yesterday, Millie was sporting the Dora underwear she loves so much with a cute little skirt, which is all she'll wear, despite the fact that it is winter. Grace had an accident, and while I was helping her clean it up, Millie took advantage of the open door to the garage (where the washer is) and opened up the car door and climbed into her favorite toy--my car. She climber onto the center console, playing with the spare change as she is apt to do, given the opportunity. I'd just finished cleaning up the bathroom floor when Millie came waddling in.
I asked her where she'd had her accident.
"In da caw."
"Where in the car?"
"In da bashket!" (This was said with an 'Of course' attitude only an indignant two-year-old can properly take on.)
"What basket?"
"Da bashket!!!"
I had Millie stay in the bathroom while I inspected the car. Well, she had perched herself right over my cup holder to play with the monies. My cup holder was her basket!!!
It actually was a quick clean-up. I dis-infected twice for good measure and locked up the car, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world.
And Millie was all too happy to go choose more Dora underwear and a new skirt.
Potty training is overrated.
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Saturday is a Special Day
I have been neglecting the blog for too long. These are my memories. This is my journal. Its how I will remember when I am old and gray. Or just tired. Or mushy brained. Like tomorrow. And today.
It's mostly been because we have been busy. I have pictures to prove it! I will post them at some point.
Then there's the busy of the day-to-day. I am so sorry for asking my old roommate, already a SAHM when I was in the midst of a time-consuming major, switching minors again and working two jobs, what she did all day long. Um. She had 4 kids under 6 and was pregnant at the time. And I asked what did she do all day. I didn't know. I didn't know.
And then there's the little dramas that I've been debating whether I want to remember. Or share. With anyone other than my mother. Because, at the end of the day, lately, I've been having a hard time seeing the cute and funny and sweet. Its been a lot of "I am soooo beat. I am soooo worn out. I am soooo glad the kids are asleep!" I'm okay with reading other people's blogs but fear commenting just in case I sound too cynical. Which I am by 8 or 9 or 10:30 at night (Yes, we've been having Bed Time Wars at our house). Or, my favorite indulgence as of late is to watch Malcom in the Middle. I thought it was ehh when it originally aired, and I loved the roller skating episode, but now it speaks to me! As a mom! Who often wonders who is running this show!?! I admit it. I watch it because I am not as crazy as Lois and yet I think she'd understand those hard mothering moments.
Which brings me to why I sat down today. I am not remembering the details of the day to day dramas, but I am also not remembering those precious moments I don't want to forget. Not only that, I am not looking for those lovely moments within the loud moments, nor the humor in the crazy moments. So, let me share what I am not sure I want to remember. Here's what happened Saturday (Grace, I apologize for any embarrassment, but baby, its true, so its not slander.):
Tyler had been home with the kids while I went to the dry pack cannery. About the time I got home and unloaded, Tyler announced that he'd take the kids to the park. This was perfect timing! I could have dinner on the table by the time they got back, a new recipe and I tend to make mistakes while distracted by hollers and hurts and potty-stuff.
Independent of one another, Con and Grace each had a little melt-down (I can't remember why Conrad did, but Grace didn't want to use the bathroom before walking to the park, but we've had to leave too many places lately to chance it) and I've been trying to be more consistent with our new family rule: If you cry, you get NOTHING!
So, they didn't get to go to the park. With Tyler. Instead they were "excused" to their rooms so that we didn't have to listen to their crying.
And it was really a punishment for me.
Because they were not happy.
Both kids were screaming and crying. At the top of their lungs. And they are loud. Crying, "Daddy! Daddy! Don't leave me! Daddy!"
I tried to tune them out and make dinner. I just needed to get it into the oven so it could bake the requisite hour. Carrots, quartered red potatoes, chicken with an Indian spice inspired sauce over the top. Simple, right?
But then the doorbell rang. And I thought, "Great. Someone stopping by and inadvertently witnessing the fits of all fits."
I did not know the man at the door, and I didn't know if I should be relieved or not (fits in front of a stranger I'll never see again is somehow much more manageable than people I see regularly). When he started to talk I knew it was the Not catagory.
He asked me (through the half opened door, because we'd had the bounce house going earlier, so the couch is moved over and blocks the door from opening all the way) if everything was all right. If "she" was okay. I smiled my best I-can-handle-anything smile, tipped my head just so and explained that the kids were not happy because they'd started throwing fits and thus had missed a trip to the park with their dad and little sister.
He smiled sympathetically and said he understood because he had little ones, too. He just wanted me to know that the windows were open and that passers-by were slowing down and stopping and walkers were stopping and people were starting to wonder if they should call the police. And that my little one has punched out her screen.
I tried to cover up what I was feeling by saying, "Ha. If the police do come by, I'd be embarrassed, but maybe it'd scare my 3 year old out of her screaming." He smiled again as I shut the door and ran up the stairs.
Sure enough, in Con and Grace's rooms, the window locks were undone (stripped I found out a few minutes later), the windows were open, with children screeching and wailing like they were being beaten out them. In Grace's case, the screen was half out, and she was leaning out (its a short window). The nice man and his dad (who lives up the street) smiled and waved and escorted their perfectly behaved 8-ish year old child up the road as I pulled the screen back into place, shut the window, tried to get the lock to hold, and finally just shut the shade, threatening Grace that she'd lose the privilege of having a room if she dared. open. that. window. again!
What the neighbors didn't know was that Grace was naked from the waist down. This whole thing had begun for her as she grudgingly went to the bathroom, then lost it at the unjustness of the request. As a protest to the whole matter, she'd stripped down while I was trying my best to ignore her and thaw chicken. If only they'd known!
And then I thought, "What if the police do come?" and I looked around my house. My half-way through the weekend after a busier than usual week, where I'd been gone all afternoon and Conrad had been banned from any TV for two weeks house was a mess. There were mounds of unfolded (clean) clothes all over my room and the family room. There were toys everywhere. There was who-knows-what crumbs and stickies on every counter except the island I had wiped down to prepare dinner, which was now a mess of oil and spices and cutting boards. There was the floor. Oh, the floor! And then that horrible smell in two of the bathrooms--this having a boy thing has its perks but keeping up with the bathroom is not one of them! And Conrad's room! In his anger he had pulled his bed completely apart! Mattress on the floor and nothing on anything that it should be. And there he and Grace were, still screaming as loudly as they could, kicking their doors and walls (resulting, as expected, in a hole in Con's wall behind the doorknob).
I did the only thing I could do at that moment. I walked downstairs, turned on the classical music really, really loud, and finished dinner. Then, I began picking up, wiping down counter tops and carting the laundry all to one location.
Con stopped screaming first. And he didn't protest when I told him he couldn't leave his room until he put his bed back together. He was even chipper when I finally had dinner in the oven and a few things picked up and came in to help him get the mattress back on his bed and taught him how to make it.
Grace took longer. And we had a sad, quiet chat about what had happened. And she helped Conrad clean up his room.
And then Tyler came home and said some innocent thing about dinner (I had said to make sure he was home in 1 1/2 hours) and I started to cry. He tried to comfort me, then asked what I needed and I said, I need a cleaner house, in case the police come by later. So, while dinner finished baking, he manned the vacuum and was the chief over the kids for cleaning up the rest of the toys and I scrubbed bathrooms. We were at a No-Need-to-Call-CPS state by the time dinner was ready.
Now, after 3 days to think it over and implement some sticker charts and tell the story to anyone who will listen sympathetically and laugh at the ordeal with me, I'm almost over it. Almost. Or at least almost to almost.
I am grateful for the Atonement as a mother. I have great hope that my mistakes and the pains I have and cause my children as we learn and grow together will be softened by He who knows all pain and knows how to teach and love and live perfectly.
And I hope that my kids won't remember that part of that day, instead that they'll have funny memories of Conrad thrilling over sheet pockets (isn't that what the fitted corners are called) and helping to clean our house and Con's basketball game and Millie's first pigtails and the girls wearing little skirts and tennis shoes "just like cheerleaders."
And I hope that if we ever are hauled into family court that I'd have a sympathetic judge who could see I was just trying to patiently ignore the storm until it had passed, and that my kids save their best bad behavior just for me and that has got to mean that they trust that I will love them no matter what, right?!?
It's mostly been because we have been busy. I have pictures to prove it! I will post them at some point.
Then there's the busy of the day-to-day. I am so sorry for asking my old roommate, already a SAHM when I was in the midst of a time-consuming major, switching minors again and working two jobs, what she did all day long. Um. She had 4 kids under 6 and was pregnant at the time. And I asked what did she do all day. I didn't know. I didn't know.
And then there's the little dramas that I've been debating whether I want to remember. Or share. With anyone other than my mother. Because, at the end of the day, lately, I've been having a hard time seeing the cute and funny and sweet. Its been a lot of "I am soooo beat. I am soooo worn out. I am soooo glad the kids are asleep!" I'm okay with reading other people's blogs but fear commenting just in case I sound too cynical. Which I am by 8 or 9 or 10:30 at night (Yes, we've been having Bed Time Wars at our house). Or, my favorite indulgence as of late is to watch Malcom in the Middle. I thought it was ehh when it originally aired, and I loved the roller skating episode, but now it speaks to me! As a mom! Who often wonders who is running this show!?! I admit it. I watch it because I am not as crazy as Lois and yet I think she'd understand those hard mothering moments.
Which brings me to why I sat down today. I am not remembering the details of the day to day dramas, but I am also not remembering those precious moments I don't want to forget. Not only that, I am not looking for those lovely moments within the loud moments, nor the humor in the crazy moments. So, let me share what I am not sure I want to remember. Here's what happened Saturday (Grace, I apologize for any embarrassment, but baby, its true, so its not slander.):
Tyler had been home with the kids while I went to the dry pack cannery. About the time I got home and unloaded, Tyler announced that he'd take the kids to the park. This was perfect timing! I could have dinner on the table by the time they got back, a new recipe and I tend to make mistakes while distracted by hollers and hurts and potty-stuff.
Independent of one another, Con and Grace each had a little melt-down (I can't remember why Conrad did, but Grace didn't want to use the bathroom before walking to the park, but we've had to leave too many places lately to chance it) and I've been trying to be more consistent with our new family rule: If you cry, you get NOTHING!
So, they didn't get to go to the park. With Tyler. Instead they were "excused" to their rooms so that we didn't have to listen to their crying.
And it was really a punishment for me.
Because they were not happy.
Both kids were screaming and crying. At the top of their lungs. And they are loud. Crying, "Daddy! Daddy! Don't leave me! Daddy!"
I tried to tune them out and make dinner. I just needed to get it into the oven so it could bake the requisite hour. Carrots, quartered red potatoes, chicken with an Indian spice inspired sauce over the top. Simple, right?
But then the doorbell rang. And I thought, "Great. Someone stopping by and inadvertently witnessing the fits of all fits."
I did not know the man at the door, and I didn't know if I should be relieved or not (fits in front of a stranger I'll never see again is somehow much more manageable than people I see regularly). When he started to talk I knew it was the Not catagory.
He asked me (through the half opened door, because we'd had the bounce house going earlier, so the couch is moved over and blocks the door from opening all the way) if everything was all right. If "she" was okay. I smiled my best I-can-handle-anything smile, tipped my head just so and explained that the kids were not happy because they'd started throwing fits and thus had missed a trip to the park with their dad and little sister.
He smiled sympathetically and said he understood because he had little ones, too. He just wanted me to know that the windows were open and that passers-by were slowing down and stopping and walkers were stopping and people were starting to wonder if they should call the police. And that my little one has punched out her screen.
I tried to cover up what I was feeling by saying, "Ha. If the police do come by, I'd be embarrassed, but maybe it'd scare my 3 year old out of her screaming." He smiled again as I shut the door and ran up the stairs.
Sure enough, in Con and Grace's rooms, the window locks were undone (stripped I found out a few minutes later), the windows were open, with children screeching and wailing like they were being beaten out them. In Grace's case, the screen was half out, and she was leaning out (its a short window). The nice man and his dad (who lives up the street) smiled and waved and escorted their perfectly behaved 8-ish year old child up the road as I pulled the screen back into place, shut the window, tried to get the lock to hold, and finally just shut the shade, threatening Grace that she'd lose the privilege of having a room if she dared. open. that. window. again!
What the neighbors didn't know was that Grace was naked from the waist down. This whole thing had begun for her as she grudgingly went to the bathroom, then lost it at the unjustness of the request. As a protest to the whole matter, she'd stripped down while I was trying my best to ignore her and thaw chicken. If only they'd known!
And then I thought, "What if the police do come?" and I looked around my house. My half-way through the weekend after a busier than usual week, where I'd been gone all afternoon and Conrad had been banned from any TV for two weeks house was a mess. There were mounds of unfolded (clean) clothes all over my room and the family room. There were toys everywhere. There was who-knows-what crumbs and stickies on every counter except the island I had wiped down to prepare dinner, which was now a mess of oil and spices and cutting boards. There was the floor. Oh, the floor! And then that horrible smell in two of the bathrooms--this having a boy thing has its perks but keeping up with the bathroom is not one of them! And Conrad's room! In his anger he had pulled his bed completely apart! Mattress on the floor and nothing on anything that it should be. And there he and Grace were, still screaming as loudly as they could, kicking their doors and walls (resulting, as expected, in a hole in Con's wall behind the doorknob).
I did the only thing I could do at that moment. I walked downstairs, turned on the classical music really, really loud, and finished dinner. Then, I began picking up, wiping down counter tops and carting the laundry all to one location.
Con stopped screaming first. And he didn't protest when I told him he couldn't leave his room until he put his bed back together. He was even chipper when I finally had dinner in the oven and a few things picked up and came in to help him get the mattress back on his bed and taught him how to make it.
Grace took longer. And we had a sad, quiet chat about what had happened. And she helped Conrad clean up his room.
And then Tyler came home and said some innocent thing about dinner (I had said to make sure he was home in 1 1/2 hours) and I started to cry. He tried to comfort me, then asked what I needed and I said, I need a cleaner house, in case the police come by later. So, while dinner finished baking, he manned the vacuum and was the chief over the kids for cleaning up the rest of the toys and I scrubbed bathrooms. We were at a No-Need-to-Call-CPS state by the time dinner was ready.
Now, after 3 days to think it over and implement some sticker charts and tell the story to anyone who will listen sympathetically and laugh at the ordeal with me, I'm almost over it. Almost. Or at least almost to almost.
I am grateful for the Atonement as a mother. I have great hope that my mistakes and the pains I have and cause my children as we learn and grow together will be softened by He who knows all pain and knows how to teach and love and live perfectly.
And I hope that my kids won't remember that part of that day, instead that they'll have funny memories of Conrad thrilling over sheet pockets (isn't that what the fitted corners are called) and helping to clean our house and Con's basketball game and Millie's first pigtails and the girls wearing little skirts and tennis shoes "just like cheerleaders."
And I hope that if we ever are hauled into family court that I'd have a sympathetic judge who could see I was just trying to patiently ignore the storm until it had passed, and that my kids save their best bad behavior just for me and that has got to mean that they trust that I will love them no matter what, right?!?
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