Life by the Handful

The Ghost of This Christmas Past

2011-12-31T13:20:00.000-08:00

I sit here on my couch this last day of 2011 still listening to Christmas music and in front of a fully decorated tree. The truth is the tree will stay up for several more days, weeks, or even possibly months. I'm not ready to box everything up and call this holiday season over yet. I am ready for the toys I keep stepping on to be up off my floor and I'm ready for all the holiday snacks to disappear some place other than my mouth, but I'm not ready to say good-bye to the comfort twinkle lights and Bing Crosby bring me.

There is something about December that conjures feelings brought on by memories of Christmases past. One of my sweet aunts sent me a card today telling me about her holiday and how it was nice as she visited with her grandson she sees once a year. I know she was glad he came, but I could read the sadness in the lines she penned. These annual "obligatory" Christmas visits weren't what she wanted for the holidays, and they paled in comparison to the memories brought by the visitor who mingles both great joy and heartache together. Her dearly loved husband passed away years ago and she wrote of how much she missed him. Moving away from the east coast at the age of 19 my memories of him are more like snippets from a child's scrapbook. I see me shutting his hand in a car door, I see myself hiding in his closet playing a game of hide n' seek, I see a black-and-white photo of of him and my aunt standing alongside my mom and dad on their wedding day, and most importantly I see them smiling at one another as they took turns telling me about their trip to Ireland. My aunt's memories run much deeper and I imagine as the holidays approached the ghost of Christmases past presented himself with a bittersweet bow.

This year I was visited by a ghost as well. At first I didn't realize what it was, just a heaviness. I think the fact that there really weren't any deep-rooted memories with mine made it harder to identify. Then out of a sleep I awoke and realized this Christmas I should have been holding a sweet tiny newborn like the Mary from my nativity scene. How could this be? I was over this right? I dealt with my miscarriage months ago. I grieved, I had moved on...hadn't I? There was joy this Christmas, there was laughter, there were thankful hearts, but the tears over what was lost came once more and a grief sat on my heart over what could have been gained.

Unlike the classic story, A Christmas Carol, the ghosts that visited my aunt and I this Christmas past were welcome reminders. Reminders of what God highly regards. For my aunt - a love that lasted years, bringing comfort, provision, friendship, acceptance, and being a married woman myself, I know...forgiveness. An outstanding demonstration of covenant love. For me, an enduring love for a tiny baby that didn't love me back, the promise of eventual wholeness, a grand desire to reunite. Again, a demonstration of covenant love. That's what Christmas is, the start of the Covenant being fulfilled. God coming to meet the law we couldn't by sending his son, so one day we could be together, finally a family. In the interim, or at least for a few more weeks, I will sip some hot chocolate to "Winter Wonderland" enjoying my tree and friend a little while longer.

2011 Christmas Letter

2011-12-27T13:57:00.000-08:00

Yuletide Greetings! We hope this Christmas letter finds all of our friends and family well and joyful.

Often, when you are in the throes of parenting, it is difficult not to want to hurry things along or even wish them away altogether. You long to be able to sleep through the night, to discover that if it’s not the kids waking you, it’s your bladder. For diaper days to end and now you are dangling toddlers over toilets in every disgusting restroom in town. For the kids to “get” whatever it is you are trying to teach, but the next subject is even more difficult than the last. Sometimes it’s the little things that you begin wishing away; the three meals a day and not to mention numerous snacks, the independence of little ones that results in half a gallon of spilled milk and cereal all over the floor, or the never-ending mountain of laundry. It can seem a bit much on its own, compound that with jobs and ministry obligations; as a survival mechanism parents often look past today in hopes of a less hectic and frustrating tomorrow.

Talking with a friend before Thanksgiving, she shared with me her decision to purpose herself to slow down and appreciate the holidays individually. No rushing through Thanksgiving to get to Christmas, just enjoying one day at a time. I’ve heard people say similar things before, but when she used the word “purpose” it resonated with me. She was going to “purpose” herself; It was going to be her intention or objective to slow down and enjoy the moment. Wow, a daily choice! It got me to thinking of the other things that Brian and I should “purpose” to savor; the every day, the stages, the interests of the moments, the little individuals gifted to us:

Sadie just turned two and is speaking in sentences, holding her own with her siblings, and totally charming. She loves to draw and the whole world is her canvas, along with our floors and walls.

Vance is three and makes us tired. He is boundless energy with “creative” outlets, terrible tantrums, and sweet kisses. Dinosaurs, snakes, lizards, and crocodiles are what he would love to have for pets.

Keely is five and keeps us guessing. She has tender mother-like qualities, enjoys math and puzzles, and hides everyone’s stuff like a gremlin or pack rat. I think she finds everyone’s bewilderment amusing.

Ryleigh turns seven this Boxing Day. Her love of fashion continues to grow as does her great sense of humor. Her sweet-as-candy little voice is matched only by her kind nature.

Brynna is eleven, has one of the most interesting views of life, and has become a blessing to the family as a mother’s helper with cooking and cleaning. Her interest in animals has her constantly brainstorming pet businesses and fundraising ideas.

Jace has become a young man at the age of 14. His passion for skateboarding and bikes has taken a back seat to animation which he spends most of his free time doing. This year his faith in God has truly become his own and is no longer just something belonging to his family.

The truth is, when our tired bleary eyes clear we will discover that just like Christmas, this chaotic, loud household was over all too soon. This holiday season and coming year we are purposing ourselves to be present in the fun, laughter, and love, as well as, the messy, frustrating, wanting-to-throw-our-hands-up-and-quit moments. Why? Not just because they are ours, but because this is the example that has been set for us. Thankfully, God purposed that his only son would come into our broken, ugly, hurting world, to be present for us, so that one day we can be present before Him. He shared in fun, love, and laughter, but most importantly he shared in the messy, frustrating, wanting to quit moments too. He loves us that much. As you reflect this year may you purpose to find your purpose in Him.

Much Love,

35 Candles

2011-07-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

Birthdays. The older I get the closer they seem to come. For the past two years I have used the opportunity of aging to write about what I've become and what I want to change. This year after reading Annette's birthday post I decided to do 35 wishes to commemorate the big 3-5.

The candles are glowing on a less-than-perfect, perfect birthday cake. The heat from 35 candles is more than I had anticipated. And as I take a breath in these are my wishes:

1. I wish that the bath tub no longer acted like an enema on Sadie. Every. Time. (Nothing ruins a morning like a turd in the tub.)
2. I wish I had a camera. Not a huge, I'm-a-photographer- and-should-probably-be-wearing-back-support-to-carry-it camera, but a fun-colored-rechargeable-number-I-can-throw-in-my-purse-and-turn-out-better-than-a-cell-phone-picture camera.
3. I wish that my boobs protruded off my body farther than my stomach.
4. I wish that the kids would listen...and obey!
5. I wish that I had the confidence and repertoire of a porn star.
6. I wish I could be consistent with the hundreds of chore charts and punishment plans I've created over the years and could have at least have one that is operational in my life.
7. I wish I saw myself as 35 instead of 19. I think if I truly embraced my age I would speak and act with more authority. It also wouldn't be as big of a shock when I find new wrinkles or rogue hairs sprouting from places I didn't have a hair the day before.
8. I wish my bladder was bigger and able to hold enough urine to make it through til the morning.
9. I wish I didn't spend so much time on Facebook. (Cursed time sucker!)
10. I wish someone would send Clinton and Stacy from What Not to Wear my way so I could be more fashionable or I would settle for a cute pair of jeans that didn't show my crack every time I sat down.
11. I wish I got more sleep, had more energy, or liked the taste of 5-Hour Energy drinks.
12. I wish I could contribute financially to our family.
13. I wish God would increase my desire for His Word and that my love for the Lord would drive my actions and my words.
14. I wish I wasn't so lazy. That I had an overwhelming desire to organize and clean, instead of sleep, watch T.V., and eat. (Okay...and check people's statuses.)
15. I wish to travel to Borneo and hold baby orangutans.
16. I wish God's plan and direction for our family would be obvious.
17. I wish I would write more. I love to do it, but sometimes (most times) I lack creative thoughts. My fear of criticism is pretty great too, so please be nice.
18. I wish I knew the answer to the million dollar question, "Are you done, yet?" I truly don't know. I think we are until ovulation clouds all good judgment and then my desire for another grows...then Vance tantrums and "pouf" it's gone.
19. I wish I had a house cleaner. Not every day. Once a week would be outstanding. I could even, be ecstatic with every other week...or once a month...or a once a year. Heck, one day of my life to walk into my home and see it completely clean would be amazing.
20. I wish homeschooling was easy and that the decision to do it/continue doing it was even easier to reach.
21. I wish our family could move to the east coast and open up an adventure family lodge or that we could at least visit our extended family on an annual basis.
22. I wish I baked more and ate less.
23. I wish that the last line of Charlotte's Web could one day be said about me, "It is not often someone comes along that's a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."
24. I wish I gave more and expected less.
25. I wish to win the lottery without playing the lottery or a large windfall without visiting Vegas.
26. I wish that my desire to teach and affect youth would start with my own children.
27. I wish I would realize time is not my own, but that I would still be able to get a little time for myself even if that means going to the bathroom without children banging on the wall or kicking the door.
28. I wish that I would parent Jace and Brynna and their "Do-you-feel-my-gravitational-pull-because-the-world-revolves-around-me" attitude in a healthy manner and wouldn't get pulled into the "I-really-want-you-to-like-me" parenting style.
29. I wish I would be grateful for the things I take for granted, a house, a vehicle, a pantry with food, and a husband who can fix almost everything. Speaking of which...
30. I wish Brian and I would continue to fall more in love as the years go on (16 years so far...Yay!).
31. I wish I overlooked the mess of life and a desert backyard in need of a pergola and a patio and invited people over more.
32. I wish for health over my family and friends.
33. I wish for a haircut, pedicure, eyebrow waxing, and a massage. I'm looking and feeling a little rough.
34. I wish for chickens and a coop. I have romanticized farm fresh eggs for so long, I'm sure it will be disappointing and more work than I would like, but I want to find out for myself.
35. I wish for at least 35 more birthdays.

...and blow...

It's a Thin Line Between Love and Hate

2011-06-24T09:35:00.000-07:00

Another school year is over. I could list at least ten reasons in five seconds of why I hate homeschooling my children. After two years, I still have not necessarily gotten "the hang of it" or embraced it like so many homeschooling moms. I'm constantly revamping my approach, because I have yet to find one that works well with my laziness. I hate Math. I hate threatening the older two with all that they hold dear just to get a journal entry. I hate that my only escape during the day is urinating, while tiny bodies throw themselves against my bedroom door. I hate that I may very well be screwing them out of colleges and jobs.

As much as I hate homeschooling, I do love quite a few things about it and I'm sincerely glad I invested in it these past two years. We have a lot of fun times and I truly love the time spent with my kids. I love the laughter we share. I love the freedom of flexibility. I love not having to drive them to school every morning or loading toddlers in the car to pick them up in the afternoon. I love not packing a school lunch. I love that they like one another and that they genuinely miss one another when they are apart...well at least some of them do.

My love-hate relationship with homeschooling is leaving me with some big decisions to make about next year, larger than what phonics curriculum to use. I am definitely homeschooling Ryleigh and Keely, mainly because they are pleasant to teach. The two older children have been a struggle since day one. The early foundation of attending public school has left them with a desire for it once again and alas, they have requested to go back to "real" school. Jace in particular is leading the homeschooling revolt. He says he is ready. Nothing against me, or homeschooling, he just wants to be in a classroom setting and have that "experience". Immediately I love the idea, my mind says, "This is great, now I won't have to teach Algebra." The more I ponder it, I hate the thought, "You're thirteen. How do you know what you're ready for? I'll miss you." I've entertained the request. I've called around to the private schools. Wow! Tuition. Ain't gonna happen. I've recorded the mileage and figured out the gas to the school at the Air Force Base and I might as well pay tuition with gas prices close to $4 a gallon. Not to mention the three hours of the day commuting and waiting would take. If I even let the thought of the local public school in my mind, fear grips me. It's not South Central, but it's not Mayberry either. It has it's share of issues like any other public school, but as much as I love the idea of freeing up my day a bit, I hate the thought that they would have to deal with those issues. I know that great kids have come from our district and some of the best people I know work for the local school.

It's just that as a mom, I can't help the pit that rises up into my throat when I think of the decisions they will have to make. Sometimes I hate free will. Couldn't God control us like puppets when it's in our best interest? And if he's opposed to that couldn't he give parents special permission by overlooking manipulation as a sin and providing a holy magic mind control button? How is life going to work for them when I, their loving mother, am no longer the main source for information? I hate the thought that there will be others that could interfere with their moral compass. That they might follow a crowd down the wide and inviting path. Youth rarely recognize the power of their passion, and very few have developed the ability to temper it. I can imagine what insane and crude things they will see and hear as their peers try to establish themselves and be heard. How will they handle the kid who thinks they've been wronged and with hatred welling up wants to fight? Worse yet, I hate the thought of the pretty girl or smooth talking guy who will win their hearts and cloud their judgment with talk of love.

I'm not sure which side of the line I should be on in this matter of stopping homeschooling, but right now I'm feeling more pulled to the "HECK NO!" side

Sent from my iPhone

2011-06-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

I distinctly remember my mom 's inept ability at operating our VCR. As a know-it-all teenager I felt completely superior technologically and if I kept any of that into my adulthood when trying to help my mother on her computer last year...well, God has completely humbled me. My hi-tech nemesis? The cell phone. I first recognized my technological insufficiency, when I was surrounded by teenagers and I pulled out my cranberry colored Samsung flip phone to send a text. The mere sight of my phone raised some eyebrows and then when I began pushing the number "4" button three times to get to the letter "I," everyone smirked. My children outright laughed. At that moment, I knew once again I was becoming my mother in yet another aspect of my life.

In an attempt to modernize, I updated my communicative devices with an Apple iPhone. How exciting it was to just hit a letter on my phone and it actually be the letter. I think I've gotten quite savvy, at least by my standards, with my phone; reading with the kindle app, facebooking, taking notes, using the calculator, and of course texting. And although I will not be classified as a techie anytime soon, I feel I've grown in the area of texting immensely. My biggest problem is my lack of being able to multi-task while using it. For some reason my brain does not allow me to do anything else while typing on my phone. If I input a contact, I have to stop walking and devote all of my attention to the recent name and number. If I need to reply to a text, I pause like a deer in headlights holding the phone about 12 inches from my face and "point" out letters with one finger. Alas, multi-tasking may not be my strong suit. My friend Cora, explained it best when she said, and I paraphrase, "Mothers can only multi-task mindless acts. If it requires thought, it's the only thing she can do."

I have proven that this is not only fact in my life, but is also wise counsel. First, I was texting while toasting waffles the other morning and completely shoved my fingers between the roof of the toaster oven and the burner--ouch! And then the most convincing evidence came two days later...

Brian had been out of town all week and on the day of his arrival I was taking all six kids to a swimming party. Getting out of the house is not an easy job, let alone add the need for sunscreen, bathing suits, towels and a picnic lunch. The stress of the day was compounded when Brian texted me to tell me his ride fell through so he and his co-worker needed to be picked up in Los Angeles. I told him I would figure it out and let him know via text who would be there, the time, etc. I arranged for my 20-year-old nephew, also named Brian, to pick him up. As I was restocking the diaper bag and shouting the needs of what still needed to be done, located, and loaded into the truck to the kids, I forgot the sage counsel of my friend and texted Brian. A quick note was all I sent him so he would know what was in store...not only for the ride home, but for later that evening if you get my drift. I'm feeling a little smug at this point, things seem to be falling into place, lunch is packed, kids are dressed, and I've stoked the home fires. Then as I'm walking into my kitchen, my nephew says, "you sent that text to me." I thought I was going to puke. He was completely nonchalant, I could have moved on with the day, but no-that's not how I roll. "Really," I asked. Like he could have made this stuff up. "Yes." My only retort at the time was, "well this is kinda awkward." "Yes," he said. Then to make matters worse, I launched into the "well-you-knew-we had-sex-anyway" speech. Could I make this any worse? Why yes, yes I can. Then I feel the need to send him another text. And by him, I mean my nephew. Have I learned nothing?!?! The next one read, "reason #73 why you shouldn't sext: you never know who might get it." Seriously? Why do I do say these things? Most people probably do know who they are sexting, it's only idiot me who can't talk to others while selecting a recipient for their risque dialogue.

As I hung my head in shame, I immediately thought of our VCR and my sister and I trying to explain to my mom how to set the program to record Days of Our Lives. Duh. Technological dunce, right? Irony is the humor of God.

Potential

2011-04-25T10:22:00.000-07:00

Potential: n., a latent (present but not visible) excellence or ability that may or may not be developed.

From the moment a mother's pregnancy is confirmed, once the shock has worn off and acceptance has settled in, she allows herself to dream of the possibilities and that potential. At least this is how it works for me. A few weeks ago when I found out that we were to expect baby number seven, I first of all freaked out a little, then became nervous of all the large family naysayers, and then I began the dreaming. The list of names, began that Brian quickly rejected; the research began for the van we would soon have to purchase; the kids began to discuss how the sleeping arrangements would change; I began looking for maternity clothes at the thrift store.
Why?
Because, I know that there is potential at conception

I started to ponder the baby's temperament. Would he or she be kind and tenderhearted, would they be energetic and outspoken? I wondered if this next baby would have Jace's thick tresses and share his sense of humor and compassion for the less fortunate. Would it be quirky like Brynna and have her passion for God's plan in it's life? If it's a girl would they be obsessed like Ryleigh with clothes and shoes and want to be a nurse so they could help mom's and babies? Could it have Keely's dimples and want to help those who can't help themselves(or who could help themselves, but she won't allow it)? Would he or she be like my Vance? (Lord, help me!) Fair-haired with an energy for life that frustrates and makes us laugh all at the same time. Would it take after our petite Sadie and be content in pretty much any situation? I pictured the mass chaos of Christmas morning this coming year and for the next 20 years from now, and smiled.
Why?
Because, I know that there is potential in every life.

With six healthy pregnancies, I always focused on the excellence and never really worried about the second part of the definition, "may or may not be developed." Then I began spotting. I prayed, knowing full well that it was in God's hands. I know my petition was heard, but the request was not answered. I was surprised by the great loss I felt. I thought the fact that I had six others would lessen the grief, but it didn't. I assumed the fact that I had never held the baby in my arms would make it easy, but it still hurt. Ryleigh's comment of, "In heaven we will be a family of nine," meant to bring comfort, made my heart even more sad. Sad, that I won't experience life here on earth with that baby, because my children no matter how crazy they drive me or how angry I get with them, they bring me immense joy. I hold tight to the belief that God is at work in this situation and to Him I give it so that He can use it for good.
Why?
Because, I know that there is potential in every situation and only with Him can it truly develop.

2010 Christmas letter

2010-12-19T16:17:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2010

I’m wondering if I would be considered a bad mother if I didn’t decorate the tree this year. It’s up. The lights are on it, but aside from what the kids made this week in church, it’s bare. It’s horrible to say, but I feel like it’s more trouble than it’s worth. All the boxes will have to be brought out, the time it’s going to take to decorate, the ornaments that will shatter as a multitude of excited hands reach into the box before I can stop them. The time could really be put to better use. I could do a few home school lessons with the kids. Better yet, I could put on a movie for them and take a nap. I know that most of you would graciously offer me a reprieve for six reasons…

The fact that Sadie just turned a year last month and has begun to walk along the furniture and crawl every where deters me a bit. Although absolutely adorable with her six-tooth smile, she likes to get into things. I can imagine her un-decorating the bottom quarter of our tree and squealing with delight as she eats a snowman ornament’s head.

Vance is two and half. Need I say more? He keeps me busy any time his eyes are open. Even with the tree barren, he has tried to climb it and throws his dragons and dinosaurs in it from across the room. He is no longer the pudgy toddler of last Christmas, but is more like a stout linebacker ready to take out whoever or whatever gets in his way, trees included. Already a great portion of my day is spent trying to clean up behind hurricane Vance before Sadie taste tests the wreckage, and vacuuming the artificial needles that fall off our fake California tree. What's a few ornaments to the mix?

Keely at four is very motherly. She probably would do okay with our version of the tannenbaum and would cuddle and sing lullabies to every baby Jesus ornament we own. She would also “watch” over Sadie to ensure she stays out of the tree, but her doting is more stifling than the most smothering mother. I pray every day that the old saying proves true that what doesn’t kill Sadie will make her stronger.

I don’t think Ryleigh, who turns six the day after Christmas, would be a problem either. I think her main concern at this point are the presents under the tree. Her Christmas list this year consists of shoes, skinny jeans, and jewelry. I would be concerned if she had a shallow fashion attitude to accompany her love for all things shiny, but she has a heart as big as her smile. I may have to watch that she doesn’t re-purpose the smaller ornaments into earrings.

Brynna is 10 and can be a huge help. I could task her with decorating the tree with the children, but fights would surely ensue. She has always had leadership qualities, but her leadership skills seem to resemble that of Attila the Hun than that of Ronald Regan when dealing with her sisters. She is very creative when it comes to decorating and has a style all of her own, so the tree would definitely be lovely and unique.

Jace at 13, would help decorate if I asked. He is becoming more of a teenager in regards to not wanting to partake in all our Christmas traditions, but is more than willing to help the little ones when they need him. Recently it seems as if he is growing into a young man, or rather a young Brian. With his improving height he could reach the higher branches and help even out the ornaments so that the bottom and middle are not the only areas decorated. Better yet, he could help me see the lighter side of things as he makes jokes about the younger children’s antics.

Even with the older children’s help, decorating the tree just seems like one more thing to add to the to-do list and for what, to take it down in a few weeks? Who am I kidding, last year the tree came down in February. Regardless, as I sit here looking at the unobstructed white lights and the symbol of the season, I know my list is selfish. Selfishness, the antithesis of Christmas, the holiday all about love and sacrifice. It’s the antithesis of parenting too. I must sacrifice my own agenda and list of lame excuses and whip out the boxes of ornaments. After all, in the grand scheme of things what am I really sacrificing in comparison to the true sacrifice made for me, for us? Jesus. I’m so glad he did it. I’m sure I’ll be glad I decorated the tree too. Their giggles as we tell the stories associated with the ornaments, the tears as I sweep up the shards of glass, and looking at our haphazardly adorned evergreen will be worth it.

Merry Christmas!

Much Love,

Life and Hope

2010-08-30T21:44:00.001-07:00

Tonight I went to join my girlfriends for a Mom's Nite Out. It's always a lot of fun; we stuff ourselves with fried ice cream at the local Cantina and laugh until our faces hurt. It began with the normal formalities then quickly took a turn. Tonight was different. Tonight was somber. Tonight left me with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. And an ache in my heart. We found out that an acquaintance of ours died this weekend at her own hands. Although she was just an occasional friendly face to us, she was the mom of our children's friends.

The irony of suicides are the ripple effects; the person leaving thinks no one cares and yet it shakes the foundation of even those people who barely knew them. And there we sat with our ice creams, feeling numb and cold, trying to sort it all out. We didn't. Even after talking. The drive home. Nursing the baby. I sit. Perplexed.

I'm not quite sure what to think or feel. I just feel like I'm in a dream. A really bad dream. I can't get her kids out of my mind. Where are they? How are they handling this? Did they suspect? Did they find her?.

I'm replaying every interaction I ever had with her. What did she mean when she said that? Should I have responded differently? Did I do enough to share my faith? Did I reach out?

I'm sitting here wondering how I am going to tell my kids. Are they going to ask tough questions? Are they going to cry? Are they going to let it roll of their back at first and then mull it over in private like their mom?

My mind is reeling from the battle that must have ensued in her thoughts moments before it happened. I'm sad. I'm disgusted. I'm questioning. I'm angry. I'm heavyhearted. I'm trying to understand. I'm trying not to judge. I'm aching. I'm pensive.

Tonight, I'm pondering life and hope, and how you can't have one without the other.

Mother Discusser

2010-08-23T08:24:00.000-07:00

My friend Jaimie recently started blogging. She is taking a unique approach to her blog by asking questions to other moms. Her readers are then commenting their answers while gleaning wisdom from one another. Her first discussion was based on the questions:

Has being a mom made me more or less resilient?

-Since becoming a mom, I've had to dig deep within myself in order to...

My responses to her questions are listed below as well as in the comments section of Jaimie's post. I'm super excited to see how this works and to be a part of it. You can join the discussion here.

After having kids my body is definitely less resilient. The whole transverse abdominal muscle seemed to cooperate after one. And two. After number three though, I think it thought, "If you like being pregnant so much I'm just going to let you look four months pregnant for the rest of your life. (Insert evil laugh here.)"

Seriously though, just like all of the comments before me. Motherhood has made me more resilient. It's one of those things where you can either be overcome by life or you can step up and make life happen. And seriously you have kids, is there really any other option but to step up? Every child, and every change/obstacle in my life requires going beyond myself. I try not to over-think the piles of laundry and toys, the meals to be fixed, the lessons that need to be taught, the numerous diapers to change and I take NIKE's advice, "Just Do It." Don't think though that I am a "doer" by nature, because I'm not. I too struggle with laziness, so much so that, I often say I am the sluggard from Proverbs. It helps when I am feeling overwhelmed with my children, with my life, and rebellious towards the demands on my plate to remember Luke 12:48b, "From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked."
So what do I have to dig deep for? Everything. I have to dig deep to wake up some mornings. I have to dig deep not to go with my initial reaction when my children make me angry. I have to dig deep to give my oldest more freedom. I have to dig deep to not be so selfish. I have to dig deep to come up with something for Barbie to say to Ken when playing with the girls. I have to dig deep at times to be outward focused. I am so thankful that regardless of how difficult it seems, how deep this hole is that I am digging; God is faithful and renews my spirit everyday.

The Rookie Mom and Me

2010-08-13T17:07:00.000-07:00

This past week I flew to Maryland to pick up Jace and Brynna. It pretty much went down as expected; the baby Moby-wrapped to my body, the full-sized convertible car seat I carried with one arm, and the over-sized purse that preferred to reside on the crook of my arm instead of my shoulder, pretty much put a damper on my mad dash to embrace my kids like I anticipated. The Wife Swap running reunification will have to wait for another day. My imitation of a pack mule left my arms aching for two days following, but it was all worth it to see my oldest kids. I'm not sure how it was that they grew so much in six weeks, but they did.

As anxious as I was to see them I was a little nervous about traveling by myself with Sadie. I had only done it one other time with an infant by myself and that was four years prior with Keely. It went off without a hitch but I didn't want to be encumbered by anything additional that might not be needed. So I pared down. The purse housed my everyday purse items in addition to baby food, snacks, diapers and wipes. However it lacked two major items that are a necessity with babies - clothing and toys. It was unintentional, my lack of preparation regarding wardrobe and fun things, and I didn't realize until I was on the plane digging in my bag for something to entertain Sadie. My finds? A pen and a spoon. How does this happen? Me, a mom of six. I'm supposed to know something about kids; I should be a seasoned professional and instead I thought I'm like a rookie. As her affection for plastic-ware waned, I handed Sadie my lip balm, and I rethought my rookie idea, realizing it wasn't true. After all a rookie mom would have had a well stocked diaper bag in addition to her purse. The first time mom is prepared for all life has to throw at her and even factors in situations that won't ever arise in the natural world. She has more toys than FAO Schwartz, she has brought changes of clothing that will take her little one into the pre-teen years. She has stockpiled food to the extent that if the plane was stranded on an island they collectively could survive at least nine days. Here I was with one purse and a prayer, hoping that Sadie preferred Bics to rattles and that she wouldn't crap through her clothes. What would I have done if my supplies didn't satisfy the situation? Well, I would make do with what was on hand. It wouldn't be the first time I would have made my child look like a little mummy as I wrapped the bum of their clothing with paper towels. It wouldn't be my inaugural performance of a myriad of children's songs as I looked the part of a fool in hopes of stifling cries and getting a smile or a giggle. My phone is no virgin to baby slobber, as many a child has gnawed it, I will take the chance of it no longer working. I could mass produce creations from cups and miscellaneous trash. I would make happen, what needed to happen, when it needed to happen. I'm no rookie mom...I'm MacGyver Mom!

New Erica Resolutions

2010-07-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

I just revisited my post The Evolution of Erica. It was my birthday post last year; I reflected where I was and what I had become. This year however has made me think about where I am going. It amazes me that with every day that passes, I become more aware of time. Sometimes, acutely aware. Last night I figured out that in five short years, my oldest will be going off to college. That my friends is a frightening revelation, especially when you think that it was a blink of an eye to get to 13! So these crazy realizations, the comparisons to my own childhood and adolescence has me reeling at times, but I figure I need to do something about it and stop acting punch-drunk. I'm going to make New Erica Resolutions in hopes of managing my time better..

This coming year, I am going to stop being just the observant-play parent and become the play-on-the-floor parent too. I am going to interact by pushing a matchbox car around, making dinosaurs fight, building Lego mansions, and dressing Barbies for at least15 minutes every day. ( I cringe as I type such a short amount of time, but to be honest I don't have the imagination to make it last too much longer than that.)

This coming year, I am going to listen to the kids. I am going to stop the laundry and loading of the dishwasher and look into my kids eyes as they speak to me.

This coming year, I am going to create more moments to share as a family and with the kids as individuals.

This coming year I am going to try and find the big picture in life. I am going to weigh the pros and cons and if the con is my personal discomfort than I will press on anyway.

This coming year I am going to bake for friends and random people. I am going to learn how to make fancy cupcakes with exotic flavors like on Cupcake Wars and most likely gain 10 pounds.

This coming year, I will no longer tailgate. I may still call people "stupid idiot", but there will be a safe following distance when I do it.

This coming year I am going to get more sleep and stop using the "I'm tired" excuse to explain my behavior, lack of productivity, and why I don't brush and floss every night.

This coming year, I am going to be an encourager to my husband. I am going to tell him thanks when he helps with the kids without me asking, when he gets home from working all day, and even when he leaves a mess on the stove and the kids are still up at 10 at night because I went out with friends. I will not take him for granted.

This coming year, I am going to make a difference in the lives of strangers and young mothers by loving and caring for them, therefore making a difference in my own family.

This coming year, I will write once a month whether that be on here or on a calendar. I will do it!

This coming year, I will evolve even more. I will sober up to the fact that I can't stop time, but I can make the most of what time God has given me.

Life By The Handful

2010-07-25T07:02:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't be a good web designer, that's for sure. My friend commented the other day to say I should update my header to include Sadie. So I attempted to update and now the whole thing is askew. My words aren't centered like on my last heading (although I'm not missing a coma like I was on the last one). I'm not sure where the box came from or how to make it border my picture like it was intended. Unfortunately it will remain there, a 1/4-too-small square that will be a reminder of my lack of cyber artistic skills. And yes, I realize I still really didn't update with Sadie, but I was really trying to keep the whole hand holding theme going and I don't have any with Sadie out of the womb. Sorry! Maybe after next years Christmas card photo session.

Missing Two

2010-07-17T22:06:00.000-07:00

It's been almost four weeks since Jace and Brynna left to drive across country with my parents. They were on the road for 10 days and now they are residing in my old abode with my folks. I miss them terribly. Yes, I miss the huge help they are to me, but most of all I miss them and the way we laugh together. We talk almost daily, but conversations are different over the phone than they are in real life. Situations aren't nearly as funny when they happened five hours previously and you are trying to relive them via Bell's greatest invention. What would have had us crying because we were laughing so hard, now conjure only a chuckle as we try to picture it in our mind's eye.

Often I try to imagine them back there in my childhood home, as I share with them what I used to like to do and the places I would go. I wish I were back there with them to physically show them so I could see their expressions and re-live it all again. It had been over four years since they had seen Lightening Bugs and I wonder if Brynna's eyes lit up just as bright when she saw them again. I also wonder if they see me back there. When they hang out with my mom and sisters, do they see me in their eyes, in their actions? Do they notice that my dad breaks into song at the mention of phrases, just like their mom? Do they notice the similarities in my brother and my humor? Are they hearing stories of when their dad and I were children and does it give them any insight to who we are now? I'm sure it doesn't. It's only now when I listen to the stories of my own parents youth that I can make the connection that these two people in their golden years were once children. Even in my own life, it seems almost unfathomable that it is possible that I am the little girl in the pictures in my albums.

In two more weeks Sadie and I will hop a plane to go and pick them up. I'm counting down the days. In my head I'm running at them like a lonely husband from Wife Swap who finally realizes what he has been missing, but I'm sure Jace and Brynna will greet me with sauntering sideways hugs and a "hi, mom". I will take what I can get, as long as I get them.

Devil Vs. Angel

2010-06-30T16:35:00.000-07:00

I really need to be more consistent with my posts. Every time I write it's always the same ole thing; the same old "back again" story. Well my hope is that this post will be the start of a new more regimented me. I have decided today that I need to do this. I need to write. The plane is going down and I am trying to put the oxygen masks on everyone else first. This is my attempt to get some of number eight on the Periodic Table for myself, this is me breathing some oxygen...

Sometime right before Vance's second birthday, he became incorrigible and has figuratively left me curled in a ball on the floor weeping. What do I do with this little man? Discipline is not working. What happened to my sweet little baby boy? The one who loved to snuggle on the couch that smiled and cooed at my mere presence and laughed at every funny face made by his siblings. Someone has replaced my sweet angelic offspring with Lucifer's.

Vance is a one man wrecking team. He dumps out bins of toys, buckets of dog food, glasses of water, cupboards of dishes just to hear them hit the floor. He pulls Ryleigh and Keely's hair until they scream, has scarred their faces, and literally kicks them while they are down. Just for fun he pushes the dog off the couch when she is sleeping and kicks her when she isn't looking. Like a shotputter he chucks rocks and other weighted objects at mirrors, glass doors, and faces. Like an inked graffiti artist he writes on his body, on the wall, on the furniture, and our hearth for his pleasure . He empties glue bottles onto our carpets, spits his food and water on the floor. Throws food across the room, whether it be hot dogs or yogurt. He takes his diaper off as soon as he pees or poops and runs leaving the rest of us screaming following his trail of turds. During baths, he purposefully stands to pee, spraying whatever and whomever is near. Whenever he pleases, he disrobes in public and strangers hand me the clothing he has discarded. His play constitutes one object eating another, roaring at one another, and stomping on each others heads; even if he's playing with Barbies. He sets nothing down but passes it to the floor like a basketball to a teammate. He screeches a shrill my-ears-are-bleeding scream that induce migraine-like headaches immediately. He seeks out bugs to step on and squish, not at all concerned whether they are lady bugs or darkling beetles. He wads toilet paper in the sink and leaves it running to overflow all over the bathroom floor. Dennis the Menace has nothing on Vance. He growls, he yells "no", he asks "why" to every request and every demand. He shoves things that are too big into holes that are too small and likes to house miscellaneous objects in our VCR and DVD players. He picks his nose, laughs at farts, and wants to "see" all things gross. He runs like a linebacker knocking over whatever is in his path; like a miniature Chris Farley, breaking things just by turning around. Not only does he jump on the furniture, he jumps from one piece to another like he's playing a game of Frogger. He doesn't sleep anymore but wakes up and crawls in our bed kicking us, hitting us and one night he even tried to sleep on my head.

Then just when I think Dobson would throw up his hands and say, "I'm baffled", Sadie enters a room and regardless of what he is doing, he comes over, kisses her on the forehead and says in a sweet kind whisper, "Hi Sadie". And for a moment I see a glimpse of my sweet boy angel.

It's a Penis Not the Plague...

2010-03-11T16:00:00.000-08:00

These are the words that often run through my mind. Vance is in the stage of the free spirit. The age when diapers are cumbersome and air flowing in the nether regions is preferred. I've been here before, it's seems like a million times now and I still don't know how to address the subject. When Ryleigh and Keely were here I tried to take the "It's no big deal" approach (Naked in Rain boots), but now Vance is bearing his yankee doodle and the girls are either too curious for my taste or completely disgusted.

I admit that I probably do not stress modesty enough, but there are few things more adorable than a newborn moon, or a toddler one for that matter, and for this reason I am not quick to react when little ones become unclad. The girls however, are expeditious to point and scream "Ewwww" as they run from the room. Vance is quite impressed by his newly discovered power that his appendage yields. It's at this point that I intercede and grab a giggling boy and rescue two screeching girls. I try to be matter-of-fact regarding the situation, and for the most part I believed my approach was working well for everyone, that I was presenting a healthy view of the body parts God has gifted us. That was until a few weeks ago. As I wrestled a diaper on to the little man, I tried again to tell the girls that it's not funny or gross, but it's they way God made boys, that it is his body, his private area, his penis. Vance stopped squirming and stared at me. I pointed and repeated, "your penis." To which Vance struggled to lift his over-sized head off the couch to look down and replied, "Ewwww." I surely hope Brian and I can afford therapy for all the kids one day.

(Originally written in Jan. 2010)

I Quit!

2010-03-05T16:21:00.000-08:00

I Quit! I hate homeschooling! I hate the time it takes from my day. I hate how hard it is to motivate my kids. I hate how far behind I am with life. I hate how hard this is. I hate how my children don't seem to get it. And I hate how I feel inside when they don't. I hate the tiny Erica inside of me that is screaming curse words and hurtful things at her children. I hate it. I'm done!

That was the post I began yesterday. I never finished it because other, "more important", things came up. At this moment I can't even remember what they were but I'm sure I wasn't pleased. It was a bad day yesterday. A day where I wanted to climb back in bed and go to sleep and wake up a better person. Unfortunately, life doesn't go that way, especially when you have kids. I sulked. I barked. I was mean. And even though I never said those things I was screaming on the inside, I'm sure my face said it all. Poor children from my womb...I can be such a beast - a big hairy, ugly, smelly beast. Yet they seemed oblivious. They still danced around, climbed on my lap, and clambered up to give me a kiss. I guess they didn't realize that they aren't invited to my pity parties. Yet even their party crashing didn't change me, I still seethed.

It wasn't until later when I was speaking to another homeschooling mom that I was encouraged. She told me the same things other moms had been telling me for months - try block learning. (Block learning is where you just do all the required weekly lessons for a particular subject in one day). This method of teaching sounds appealing to me, but I have also been told that certain subjects should be taught every day. So, I chimed in that I couldn't do it because I was told Math and Spelling should be done everyday. Her reply gave me tremendous hope. She said, "You are homeschooling, Erica. You do whatever works for you." Why at that moment the clouds parted, I'm not sure. I haven't even tried it yet, but I didn't dread starting the day as much. I think it might actually work for me - for us. I spoke with the kids about it today and they seemed excited too. So on Monday we start our new schedule, maybe homeschooling attempt #547 will work. Fingers are crossed and instead of quitting...I'm pushing on!

What are you wearing?

2010-02-28T16:39:00.000-08:00

How I do it #4: Everyone but Sadie and Vance pick out their own clothes and dress themselves. This one was a hard one to overcome at first, especially with Brynna who would wear cat costumes, rain boots, and a winter hat to the grocery store, but it was born from necessity and continues to make my life easier. One day a friend of mine reassured me that this was okay, that it was fostering independence and decision making. Her sage words are still a favorite quote of mine, "Sometimes you just gotta let them walk behind you."

Idea from Proverbs

2010-02-25T09:02:00.000-08:00

How I do it # 3: Proverbs 26:11 says, "As a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool returns to his folly." I thought if a dog likes his own vomit then it probably likes others upchuck too. So, when the baby spits up on the floor, I call the dogs and hit it with a mop when I get a chance. (I don't do this with anyone over the age of 6 months, that would be gross.) The dogs clean under the tables for me after meals too.

Lower Your Standards

2010-02-22T09:23:00.000-08:00

I'm often asked how I raise six kids, coordinate a ministry, home school, and get everything done. The truth is, I don't get everything done and most times I get nothing done. I always tell people not to be impressed. However, people still say they are in awe and ask for my secret. My response, "I've lowered my standards." I thought I would share a few of those standards with you over the next few weeks. Hopefully you can relate, hopefully you will not think I'm crazy or disgusting and if you do...it was nice knowing you.

How I do it #1: Pray often! Not holy-long-winded-prayers, but monosyllabic oh-Lord-prayers. These at times are my most genuine prayers.

How I do it #2: If I'm lucky I get to take a shower every other day and my leg hair is usually visible from the Hubble telescope. Body spray and the ponytail are on my list for the most ingenious things ever created.

Back to Reality

2010-02-16T16:04:00.000-08:00

We are back from spending the weekend in beautiful and hot (80 degree temps) San Diego. Before jealousy wells up inside of you, let me dash the vision of me sipping umbrella drinks in the sand while the rich and the famous jog by. When I first heard Brian had to work the weekend in San Diego, I too fell victim to the scenario; a stupid smile crossed my face as I looked off into space and a fuzzy white ring appeared around me sipping the earlier stated umbrella drink with my toes in the sand and joyous children hugging one another and building sandcastles beside me. I should have known it would be a farce as soon as I saw myself in a bathing suit two months after having a baby, but a woman can dream.

Day One:

The plan: Leave the house by 10 am., drop the dogs off at the boarding place, drive halfway eat lunch at Rainforest Cafe where the kids will be in awe of the sights, reach San Diego around 4, eat dinner, hit grocery store for food for room fridge, take the kids to the pool, put them to bed by 9.

What actually happened: Left the house at 1. Our 2 lb. dog that won't even jump off the couch, lost all depth perception and jumped off my lap and out the window of our moving truck. Ten minutes of seizures, she amazingly was okay. Arrived at Rainforest Cafe. Vance was afraid of any animal thing that moved. He whined for fear we were abandoning him in the jungle if we bent over to pick up a napkin. Freeway closed down due to an accident. New route had two accidents - very slow at times. Two kids claiming motion sickness. Arrived at hotel at 8. Brian didn't tell the front desk he brought his family. Back stairwell. Three flights. Six kids. Two times. Bed at 11.

Day Two:

The plan: Donuts, park, nap for the younger four, school and Bible study for the bigger kids and myself, funburger joint, park, dinner with Brian, pool, bed at 8:30.

What actually happened: Kids up at the butt crack of dawn. Threatened kids with going home if they didn't quiet down so I could shower. Back stairwell. Three flights. Six kids. On the quest for donut shop. Thirty minutes, six strip malls later - success. Quick grocery run - disapproving looks. Keely drops a bottle of Vitamin water all over the floor didn't help our case. Park - super fun. Back stairwell. Three flights. Six kids. Nap for Vance and Sadie. Keely and Ryleigh out of control. Kids punching one another. Me threatening. Big kids on Facebook. Back stairwell. Three flights. Six kids. Little Cesar pizza for lunch. Beautiful park. Hot and tired momma. Nursing a fussy baby on a bench while the other children watch Vance jump around in a mud puddle behind me. Only shoes he has. Costco for snacks. Back stairwell. Three flights. Six kids. Times two. On the brink of losing my mind, Brian arrives. Thank you Lord! Back stairwell. Three flights. Six kids. No pool, family walk. Nice. Back stairwell. Three flights. Six kids. Leftover pizza. Bed at 9:30.

Day Three:

Plan for the day: Pack up. Legoland at opening.

What actually happened: Kids up even earlier. Grumbling. Brian has to work half day. Packed up after Brian left. Loaded truck. Back stairwell. Three flights. Four times. More grumbling. Double check room. Everyone potties. Back stairwell. Three flights. Six kids. Off to another park. Pick Brian up. Off to Legoland. Arrive three hours after they open. Fun is had by all. Dinner afterward. Kids are melting down. Mom is spent. Dad is the only semi-reasonable thinker. Pee accident. Two kids with diarrhea. Dessert. Head home. Bed by 11pm.

You would think at my age and with six kids I would realize that my expectations and romantic notions rarely match reality. Despite the fact that my plans rarely matched what transpired or that I was completely exhausted, I'm thankful that I'm not cynical because this trip really was great. It reinforced with me what great kids I have; very go-with-the-flow, funny, and helpful when it counts. So even though I didn't get to sip drinks on the beach and rub elbows with the elite; I did get to eat donuts in the park with some of the greatest people on earth and after all those stairs that bathing suit might just be a reality next year.

Where Have You Been Young Lady?

2010-02-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

Hello, I'm back! Have you missed me?

I realize it's been a while and although I would love to give the excuse of a new baby and home school, I wouldn't be telling the truth. The real issue is Facebook. I've been obsessing over my friend's statuses for months. I have a break, I pop on the computer to see what is happening on the east coast. I wake up and check to see what friends have uploaded pictures of their kids, their pets, the weather. Before bed, I read the conversations between people I went to school with 15 years ago. It's ridiculous. Why do I care who earned what in Farmville, I don't even play. I feel as if I have become a virtual peeping Tom and to be honest I don't like it, but have I stopped - no. So this is not only an explanation of my absence but a confession of my obsession in hopes that now that I have admitted it I will somehow be able to change it. Whew, sweet release!

I can't say that Facebook is the only reason I have stayed away from you. I did have another baby, baby number six. Our sweet little Sadie girl arrived three weeks early on Thanksgiving day. When they checked me the day before and realized my amniotic fluid was too low to continue the pregnancy, they said this is the day you get to meet your baby. Fearfully I was induced, but the Lord is good and I had her six hours later with no pain meds. Recovery has been wonderful and the kids have been great. (I still stand by my belief that going from one child to two children was by far the most difficult.)

I'm still homeschooling. Still can't stand it. As I type the children are neglecting their assignments and discussing farts and giggling. I have reached my yelling capacity for this hour and will begin again in 20 minutes, after my voice box has had a rest. I still fear that I am ruining them for the real world. That they will never again be able to go into a real class setting and succeed. Constantly doubting if I am doing the right thing. Hoping that they are not becoming social rejects, feeling as if I am.

Another reason I have been gone, is that after a long break from writing it's hard to start up again. Feeling as if there is nothing to say. Other times thinking there is too much to say and not knowing where to begin. Wondering if all my bloggy friends have written me off after so much time. I have decided it's time to get over my paralysis and type, even if it isn't very good. It's nice to be back and stop the excuses. Ignore the Smile requests on Facebook. Learn to type with a baby on the boob. Turn a deaf ear to the children and their slacking. Now if only the little ones could take care of their own excrement....gotta run, there are rears to clear. (Note to self: Make life easier and buy flushable wipes.)

Gripes of a Preggo

2009-10-22T10:51:00.000-07:00

I am officially 32 weeks pregnant! What this is supposed to mean is that I only have 8 weeks left until I meet the newest member of our family. I however, seem to always go late and so I am not planning on making introductions until around 10 weeks.

The third trimester is upon me. I realize I have been in the third trimester for over a month now, but just the past week or so it has really come upon me. I'm tired - that's a given. My back is so sore I visited the chiropractor this week. My crotch feels as if someone has placed a vice inside of it and is slowly (and painfully) spreading it apart, hence my walk becoming more of a waddle. The varicose veins in my legs ache all day now and if someone accidentally bumps them I'm on the floor in pain. My belly is stretched and heavy and has that squeezing feeling several times a day (gotta love braxton hicks). My feet are beginning to swell slightly and my once slender toes are beginning to resemble Lil' Smokies by 9 o'clock at night. My seemingly stable mood has begun to resemble playground equipment, some days I'm fine and the next I'm crying, no make that sobbing, over stupid things like applesauce being thrown away. Yes the third trimester is here, and in a way that I am not used to!

To make matters even worse, I failed my glucose test again! I failed the first time by seven points, took the 3-hour test and passed with flying colors. I took the 28 week test a little late and failed by 3 points. I am awaiting the call from the doctor. I'm not sure if he will make me do a three hour test again, or if they are just going to call me diabetic and put me on the stinking diet. I guess I shouldn't have eaten that Costco-sized bag of peanut M&M's last week by myself. My theory of protein and sugar canceling one another out has been canceled out.

I don't want to be the complaining pregnant lady, I know no one wants to hang out with her, but I'm a little disappointed. Disappointed that this might be it. This might be the last time my body (or rather my mind) can handle carrying a little one inside of me. That means this will be the last time to feel a baby kicking my stomach, from the inside at least. The last time I will see my body grow to accommodate God's beautiful blessing, unless we can count M&M's as a blessing. The last time Brian and I will ponder baby names. The last time I will hear Brian say, "It's a....". The last time... Even if this uterus is done, I am thankful for the chance I have been given to carry life inside of me six times. And if it's not I pray that I could do it again with His strength and grace....and that I will be allowed to eat as many M&M's as I want.

Scattered Seeds and Brains

2009-09-28T09:56:00.000-07:00

We are now beginning the fourth week of school. I can hardly believe it. I can hardly believe that I am still functioning and that my children are not begging to go back to a brick and mortar school...and most of all that they are still alive.

Many have wondered if I've had a change of heart. It's really a two part answer. No and yes. I still don't really like it, but I am realizing more everyday the importance of this new role I've undertaken. I am still trying to muddle my way through the curriculum figuring out what needs to be done and what is busy work. I have tried a new way to organize my week, for the third week in a row, and still feel that it needs revamping. Motivation is still slow going for the kids, I'm trying different rewards for work completed but still they dawdle - and still I yell. Comprehension remains a frustration for Brynna and requires repeating a lesson...sometimes several times. It continues to be a frustration for me as well, as I can't comprehend why she can't comprehend, and I feel as if I am wasting my time. The little ones still act as a distraction, as they demand a great deal of attention regardless of the crafts and teaching supplies I give them. The brief reprieves they do grant us often mean more work for me in the long run because they are off doing things they shouldn't; like drawing on their furniture and mirrors or taking everything they own and covering their bedroom floor with it. Vance still poops at inconvenient times, requiring diaper changes in the middle of lessons, and sometimes just needs mama time with a snuggle in a quiet room. Lunches and dinners have suffered greatly during this transition and I miss them tremendously. At least twice a day, I want to give up, but God is so good to me, a whiner, complainer, and bad homeschooling teacher. It has amazed me all the people he has sent to encourage me when I least deserve it. Friends who walk this same path, friends who I didn't think would understand our decision, and even complete strangers at the grocery store. Everyone has either had an encouraging word or has imparted advice that I have been able to implement and benefit from. It has once again confirmed this decision of ours, the decision I wish we had not made, the one that I still don't care much for, the one that complicates my life ten fold, the decision that makes me yell and my blood boil, the one I know had to be made - the decision I know, deep inside, was right.

I am clinging daily to Him and His word:
Galatians 6:9 NIV "Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."
2 Thessalonians 1:11 Message "...pray that our God will make you fit for what he's called you to be, pray that he'll fill your good ideas and acts of faith with his own energy so that it all amounts to something."

I certainly hope this all amounts to something, like my children's academic success, college accolades, and great jobs. However, if I have to settle for the harvest being children who feel loved despite my screams, who learn sacrifice, who develop a work ethic, and are happy caring adults; well then I pray with His energy I will continue tossing the seed no matter how haphazardly I feel it is.

School is in Session

2009-09-09T15:12:00.000-07:00

The school room has been ready for weeks with computers and desks for Jace and Brynna and a miniature table accompanied by tiny chairs for the little ones. Educational posters adorn the walls and I have spent more than my fair share of money on school supplies. I have had grandiose thoughts of what it would be like, this new school adventure, how I would be amazing and my kids would excel under my tutelage graduating early with 4.0 GPAs. Fear has gripped me at moments as self-doubt has over taken me, not knowing exactly what to expect since Sunday School is the only teaching experience on my resume. Now it is here, the moment has arrived, the moment of truth, and now I have officially done it for two days. I am a homeschooling mom.

The first day of school is always such an exciting moment in a kids life and I think parents share in the anticipation, because it stirs memories of our own childhood. I only imagined that my first day as a "teacher" would be all the more filled with wonderment. Alas, reality has once again rained on my parade. Knowing full well, and dreading, what my next statement will bring; an onslaught of "I told yous", disgust from moms who do it well and could never imagine saying negative things about their kids, and sympathy from those who have been in my shoes, I will proceed regardless. As of yesterday...

I hate it. Yes, I am afraid I have made a huge mistake. I abhor homeschooling.

This is not my cup of tea. My poor attempts at organization have yet again been foiled. My patience has waned. Never before have I ever felt like such a failure. The first day left me tired, burnt out, hungry without an easy dinner to prepare, and the very existence of my children grated on my nerves. I longed for bedtime; both theirs and mine. I'm sure it didn't help that yesterday school began at 8:00 and finished around 6 pm. It was a very, very long day. My mind swirled with images of the moms who do this and the ease they portray as they handle their days, their lives and I began not to like them. I thought of the moms who said I would have these days and couldn't imagine that they had lived lived this day, because if they had they would have quit. Truly this day that started off with "greatness" was now in a hand basket somewhere in hell. I pushed through my pity party with clenched teeth, unkempt hair, and crazed eyes anticipating relief but thinking it was only a farce. After dinner, Brian and I sat alone at the dinner table for a minute and I lost it, I began crying, telling him I couldn't do this, that I didn't want to do this, and that I would not be birthing anymore children for him. Bless Brian's heart, he never knows how to handle my emotional episodes, thankfully this outburst he didn't pat my head like the family dog as he did the last time I sobbed. He remained relatively silent. I pulled it together still discouraged, but functioning. That's when I noticed he took the kids outside and allowed me to catch my breath. He even had a heart-to-heart with Jace that night and addressed some of the issues of the day. The load felt a little lighter.

Today was better than yesterday, with the first book being cracked just before 9 and the the towel being thrown in with one subject untouched at 3:00 (this included making cupcakes for Brynna's Girl Scout Troop tonight). I figure we can try and catch up tomorrow and if not we will get to it eventually. I would hardly call this a happy ending, I don't think I will see that for at least another 6 years, but at least today I didn't push my own limitaitons, I'm still welcoming their hugs and kisses, and I know if I need it my man has my back. Do I still hate homeschooling? Well hate is a strong word, so maybe I will re-think it. How about, "I don't care for it." Does it mean I'm quitting? I'm too prideful for that and if anything these couple of days have allowed me to see that Brynna really needs the extra attention that I don't think she would be afforded in public school. Most importantly, if I believe that this really was God's calling, then there is no other choice. It's time to step up.

Laying the Smack Down

2009-08-26T08:07:00.000-07:00

Here is part II to Annette's question from Live, Learn, Love. "How do I handle discipline?"

You would think with five children I would be a pro of sorts about discipline, but the fact of the matter is, I'm not. I hate discipline, whether it be in my own life or in the lives of my children, but unfortunately it is unavoidable. It's one of those things that God directs us to step out of our comfort zone to do. I would say it is one of my biggest struggles as a mom, followed by what to fix for lunch. It's one of those areas where I clearly see my faults and I wish I were better with follow-through and that I didn't yell all the stinkin' time.

Like everything else with motherhood, it seems like the disagreeable behavior seems to be cyclic. Right now I'm dealing with Keely not listening the first time around, the same problem I had with Ryleigh a year ago. Brynna is having the issue of trying to be the mama and constantly correcting and discipline the little ones, something I had to have a heart-to-heart with Jace about 6 months ago. And just like every other stage in dealing with children, when you are in the throes of it, it seems endless and overwhelming.

The one think I think I do well regarding discipline, is back Brian up when he corrects the children. Even when I don't agree with him or his method, my poker face is on and I stand behind his decision. This is not to say that we don't have discussions later about it, or that I don't do "eye messages" when the kids backs are turned, but I believe in providing a united front. Brian and my other strong suit is that we choose our battles. We try not to get hung up on little things. We try to focus on the core values of our family. Do they obey us? Are they being respectful of others? Are their words and actions loving? I love how the Duggars use the acronym of JOY (Jesus first, Others second, and Yourself third), when I remember to use it, I do.

Punishment for the above mentioned infractions result in a time-out, a paddle (depending on severity and times of repeating myself) or loss of something important, privileges for the older kids and treats for the younger ones. These consequences are normally prefaced by a warning , "Don't do _______", followed by a, "I'm going to beat the living tar out of you if you don't listen", a "I'm going to paddle you into next week, now stop it," or "Do I need to lay the smack down?" (Annette, these are the empty threats I was telling you about.) After I blow off steam along with my self-confessed horrible sayings, I finish up with the correct punishment.

As for tantrums, I've never (knock on wood) had a child have a major meltdown in public, at least not one that I can remember (you'll see why below). We do have them at home on occasion. I tell them to stop or they can go in their room. If they continue I ignore them, if it still continues I pick them up and put them in either their crib (Vance) or in their bedroom (Keely) until they stop it with the crying, flailing, and all-around-fit-throwing. With Keely I actually have to stand outside her bedroom door holding the door shut until she gives up with her escape plan. It's awful, but after she cries it out and calms down we can talk and I can get an apology. Normally when we are at this point, it's because she is too dang tired to reason.

Speaking of tired, I try not to overload my kids. Major grocery shopping is done by myself on nights or weekends. If I have errands to run, I limit how many I can do at one outing and plan to do the most boring and difficult one first so that there is something to look forward to. This might make me run into town more than once a week but doing two days of three or four errands is far less stressful for everyone and is well worth the gas and anxiety I feel as I break out into a sweaty mess when my kids begin to run a muck.

An Introduction of Sorts

2009-08-22T16:48:00.001-07:00

The questions continue. My bloggy friends are so kind to offer up some more, this time Annette from Live, Learn, Love has inquired about my discipline methods, as well as, a family picture.

I'm a wimp, I'm going to start with the easy part, the introduction to my brood and a couple of pictures. Truth be told, I have to figure out how to word my discipline style so that I don't alarm people. You'll see what I mean in my next post when I confess how I spew many empty threats daily and often lack follow-through, especially if I'm on the computer.

In the mean time, Annette (and others who are not familiar with us), this our family:

We have five kids gracing our holy mess of a home and one in utero.
Jace is our oldest son, he is 11 and entering the 6th grade.
Brynna our oldest daughter and will be turning 9 in less than a month. She is going into the 4th grade.
Ryleigh, another girl, is 4. Although she is ready for kindergarten she is not eligible this year since she turns 5 the day after Christmas and in California the cut-off date is December 15th.
Keely, yet another girl, just turned 3 in June. She does pre-school activities with Ryleigh and for the most part can hang pretty well.
Vance, a boy, is 16 months and as much as I would like to say that I am currently working with his vocabulary or cognitive skills, I'm not. He grunts or squeals and plays with toys that aren't appropriate for his age, such as match box cars and Nerf guns.
In December we will be having our 6th child, and like the other five we will be surprised by the sex.

Note: I have no recent family photos, these are all from our Christmas card shoot we did in November 2008, but you get the point. Hair is longer, kids are taller, and all these clothes are tighter, stained and no longer look new.

Worries and Prayers

2009-08-20T12:33:00.000-07:00

In an attempt to get me blogging I asked for you, my bloggy readers, to post some questions for me about things you might want to know about how I run our home, deal with situations or just what my take is on life. My dear friend, Tonya from Life in Our Zoo, posted some questions for me. I really think she just didn't want me to feel bad when no one really cared what I do with my life and asked me no questions. Thanks Tonya. Here are her questions:

"Have you started homeschooling Jace yet? How do you feel about it? Why are you doing it?
Can you write funny stories about life from when you were a newlywed (if you can remember back that far)? Like when you lived out in the deserted part of the desert. :-)"

I will answer the first part, since my brain has seemed to suppress the early years, and in the mean time I will see if hypno-therapy can help me out.

I have not started to home school Jace yet. The program we are going through begins on September 8th, but I think we can sneak a few subjects beginning next week since they will release the online portion at that time. We are using a curriculum through K12. The best part is that in California, it is offered as a "virtual public school", so aside from our tax dollars we don't pay anything for the books, labs, art supplies, computers and printers. I am very impressed with the subjects, supplies, etc. and am looking forward to the accountability the program offers.

The plan was originally to have our kids go to public elementary school and then to home school our kids when they came of middle school age, unless we could miraculously afford private school again. The plan changed, the miracle didn't happen and the thought of home school seemed impossible the more children we had. I thought that I would become certifiably crazy if I home schooled and had little ones to tend to as well. So in true God fashion, He made happen what I had given up on. He had Jace request to be home schooled. At first I dismissed it, but the boy didn't let up! So I took the leap and signed up after a couple of months. We began to receive the boxes of goodies and I felt bad that Jace was getting such an awesome opportunity with such outstanding curriculum that I began to feel bad for sending Brynna back to public school. I asked her if she wanted to be home schooled and she refused stating she would miss her friends. Fine. I then got her state testing results and was not pleased. I know Brynna is a smart girl, but her take on life is more creative, non-traditional and the disconnect was apparent when looking at the scores. I tried a different approach to swoon her, I offered to get her horseback riding lessons. Still no. Okay, I thought, to each his (or her) own. I wasn't going to force the matter. Out of nowhere, the week before public school was to start, she changed her mind. We were at the doctors and she said she wanted to learn at home because sometimes she didn't hear things at school and the teachers would not repeat it. I don't think I will ever know what triggered the thought. The impending vaccinations for her siblings? Playing "I spy"? Singing songs? After a hundred "Are you sure's", she remained firm in her choice, and I signed her up too.

So, now I am home schooling both of the older kids (4th and 6th grade), piecemealing a pre-school curriculum together for Ryleigh and Keely (they beg everyday for home school), and will have an infant and a toddler at home. The first two weeks after accepting my new found role, I was stoked. Couldn't wait for it to start. Feeling confident. Cleaning and organizing the playroom like never before. Then something happened. What? I'm not sure. But I doubt myself now. Doubt our decision. The "what if's" flood my mind. What if I can't find the time necessary? What if the kid's test scores drop? What if the kids think I'm an idiot? What if others think I'm crazy? What if I am crazy? What if I loose even more of who I am to this mothering thing?

Ridiculous, huh? Maybe, maybe not. My feelings are real, hopefully not correct, but definitely worries of mine. I'm clinging to the fact that this is not uncharted territory, many a woman has done this before me, many are doing it now. My pressures are not so different then others; there are teaching moms with more children and less resources than I and they are raising well-educated, well-adjusted individuals. But still I fret. I'm praying. Praying I can do this. Praying I won't screw my children up too much. Praying that Jace and Brynna don't discover the truth too soon; that their mother doesn't know everything. Praying that I don't get lost in the jobs I do, but that they enhance who I am. Praying that the teacher's manual will fill me in on what the heck a predicate is again before I have to teach it.

Questions...

2009-08-19T08:14:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I did an interview for the Homemaking Cottage. They are doing a series on large families and I volunteered to give a glimpse into our lives and the reason why I keep birthing more children. Click here to read my interview and check out the other moms too. Don't you just love the vicarious peek blogs allow us into others lives?

I found that answering questions was a lot easier to do then to sit in front of an empty blog page searching for inspiration. It was reminiscent of journaling in elementary school. The topic is already picked, I just have to respond. So, with that being said, if you have questions let me know and I will answer them. (A note to family: this is not the time to ask when we are coming East.)

Cracking Up

2009-07-29T11:14:00.000-07:00

I no longer care. I have reached the point of being so fed up, that I no longer give a darn what others think, and with that decision I will be half-mooning everyone at least until the end of my pregnancy... possibly longer.

In every pregnancy there is a time when non-maternity pants are too tight and all the maternity pants are too large and fall down - constantly. I am there and not happy about it. I guess I really can't even blame the pregnancy/maternity thing since I have been guilty of "showing the end of the butt crack," as Brynna says, on more than one occasion when I'm not knocked up, but the problem has escalated and is hampering my life. I now walk over things I would normally bend over to pick up and put away. I hate to do the laundry since my front loading washer and dryer require me to squat to swap loads. Playing with the kids on the floor is a guarantee of crackage and while changing a diaper the other day, Keely dropped a penny down my pants; most likely because of her father constantly calling it a coin slot. These are the main reasons why I have decided that baring my back side has become a necessity. Why I am going to integrate it into everyday life so that my kids believe it is the norm. I have decided who cares, it's a butt, we all have one and instead of standing erect all day and bending at the waist with one leg jutting back to help keep my pants in position I am going to show my assets. No longer will I squeeze into a too tight pair of non-butt-showing, non-maternity pants, that mark my abdomen with with bright red indentations. And I won't settle for unflattering sweat pants everyday that make my rear look as if it is two feet tall just so I can make it through the daily chores. No I'm going to wear the maternity pants and I am going to plumber-ize my life without regret. My derriere is going to see the sun. If those women who sport and show their thongs like an accessory are viewed by some as sexy, how much sexier will it be when there isn't a thong to distract the view, because my cotton panties have slid down as well? I realize that this is a bit of a stretch but I am done with yanking my pants up or pulling my shirt down. Sick of the jean designers making pants that won't stay where they belong. Upset at the movement to dorkify "mom jeans," the pants that guarantee no display of buttocks.

So for at least the next five months my posterior may be slightly viewable. If you take offense look away, if it ends our friendship I'm sorry, but I will no longer allow material to ruin my day, I will not become a slave to the yank and pull. Realize I mean no disrespect, but I am frustrated, tired of worrying, at the end of my rope, ready to live life...ready to crack up.

Note: This picture is NOT me, but I wanted to allow you to see what you will be experiencing if you decide to still be my friend.

The Evolution of Erica

2009-07-28T07:52:00.001-07:00

The other day I said something about the evolution of society and Brynna stopped me and said, "Mom, we don't believe in evolution." I tried to explain to her that although we don't believe in the biological evolution of man, we were not once an ape, evolving is something we should eagerly desire for ourselves. I'm not sure what changed the subject; whether it was a fussy child, a song on the radio she would rather listen to, or her wandering off, but there it ended. I didn't think much more of the talk until today. You see today is my birthday, and I'm sure like many of you, it is a time of reflection of who we were and who we are now. Okay, seriously my reflection normally consists of me thinking, "How did I get so old?” and “When did my legs begin to look like those of an elderly women?", but today it was deeper and the conversation with Brynna resonated with me. I began to see my own evolution; physically, domestically, emotionally and spiritually. The definition of evolution is as follows: a gradual process in which something changes into a different and usually more complex or better form.

The physical evolution is hard for me to grasp, at least in the aspect of evolving into a better form. I miss the once thin tan body adorned with small perky breasts that has now been replaced with a pregnant belly, three months bigger than it should be; varicose veins on my legs so large I can't even shave over them without fearing nicking one and dying from massive blood loss; and miniature breasts that belong on a tribeswoman on the pages of National Geographic. The truth of the matter is, I struggle with the belief that I have evolved into something better than I once was, especially after glancing through a magazine or watching the TV, but I try to focus on the positive. I give it my best shot to look at my deflated breasts with admiration for the five, soon-to-be six, babies they have nourished. I size up the overinflated basket ball belly that houses a baby that is proportionate to a tomato and am grateful for the spacious abode it provides. I try to adjust my gaze from what I wish I looked like to why I look like I do; it makes acceptance much easier and the “better form” because a bit more clear.

When first married, Brian and I had Hamburger Helper four times a week for dinner. Even though I had a dishwasher, the dishes would pile up in my sink until we ran out and I was forced to wash some. My laundry room floor was covered with dirty clothes and I completed a load of laundry possibly once a week. Once washed and dried, the laundry would sit on the guest bed unfolded until we wore it – most likely wrinkled. The only thing ever ironed was Brian’s military uniforms and that was because they had to be. I think the only time I even thought of cleaning our house was if people were coming over. Now, I meal plan two weeks in advance, but I always keep frozen pizza and cereal on hand for when I can’t pull it together. I actually utilize my dishwasher daily. Laundry is kept in hampers and is done several times a week and now the clothes sit folded in baskets in the laundry room until I am motivated to put them away. I now think about keeping a rigorous cleaning schedule, but I still only really clean before people come over. There is still much to learn about keeping house and motivation to do so, but when I look at where I was and how far I have come I am grateful for evolution, but even more so is Brian. (He has banned Hamburger Helper from even crossing our threshold of our home.)

My emotional and spiritual evolution goes hand-in-hand. Immature, would best describe my then. Not that I am claiming maturity now, but I do strive for it, even though I often fail. Looking back to my earlier days, I was faddish in my causes. A bandwagon jumper. Passionate without knowledge. I admit that at times I still fall into that rut. I equate just with right, and then find out that sometimes they are not one in the same. I now try to look for a little more information before diving headlong into a movement. During my evolution thus far, I have heard my father’s wise words, the same words I believed to be the babble in my youth, resonate with truth in my adult life. I have learned that just knowing who Christ is, being raised in a Christian home, and confessing him as Savior does not commensurate real relationship with Him. Rather I have found real relationship; in speaking to Him, in hearing Him speak to me, His discipline, the times he has allowed me to suffer consequences of my own actions, the times He has rescued me when I least deserved it. More importantly I have discovered His love for me. I have learned that any relationship whether holy or less than, requires effort, honesty, and communication. I have learned that a gradual process is not what I desire. I would like to expedite the changes and reach my best form as soon as possible, but I am grateful for changes no matter how small or how long they have taken because they mean I am progressing. Progressing towards being a better wife, a better mom, a better friend, a better daughter, a better disciple, a better Erica.

I Wanna Be a Cowgirl

2009-07-07T14:00:00.000-07:00

Type. Delete. Type. Backspace. Type again. Delete.

Why is it so hard to get back on the proverbial horse? I have been trying to write for days and at this present time for many minutes. No luck, bucked from my pony again. My last post was ages ago when I wrote of my uncle, who has since past away. Even though many things have happened since that entry, I can't seem to elaborate, collect my thoughts, or even really recap life over the last several months, but please know I am trying. Trying to lasso these scattered notions into some semblance of a blog post, making my best attempt to pull myself up on the saddle from the one foot that's caught in the stirrup.

An Impeded Life

2009-04-24T08:39:00.001-07:00

Retard. I have always been a bit sensitive to the word. The definition for retard is to make slow; delay the development or progress of an action, process, etc.; hinder or impede; or disparaging slang for a mentally retarded person. I suppose it’s an innocent enough word compared to some, but hardly ever used in proper context or without being malicious, it's a word that causes me to cringe. I’m sure my disdain for the word was influenced by my dad’s little brother, Roger, who is mentally retarded. Anytime I heard the word I took it as a personal attack against him - somehow against me. My uncle's retardation was just part of life, no explanation needed, you looked out for him, found humor in what you couldn’t control and loved him for it.

It’s been years since I’ve seen him, but I can vividly picture him, over 20 years my senior, wishing everyone he met a "Happy Birthday" and how he would say "Yes, dear", with his eyes tightly closed and his head cocked so far to the left, his ear almost rested on his shoulder. He was always praising God with a "P.T.L. Praise the Lord" or a "Happy Birthday Jesus." I can imagine him gently rocking as he built with Legos stacking bricks on top of one another, just so my Pappy could take them apart again. He had a fondness for toilet paper, pens, and toothbrushes. Before leaving our house my mom and grandmother would have to check his pockets so that in the morning we didn’t have to make it through the day with tarter encrusted teeth and so my grandmother didn’t launder the five Bics he had stashed. The toilet paper, a parting gift of sorts. There was the time he shut my sister's cat in my dresser drawer and we didn’t find it until several days later (yes my room was that messy, scary huh?). He was more than funny stories, he participated in the Special Olympics, he had a job, he went to church, he loved bowling, he had friends. He had a life, not like yours and mine, not typical, but he had one.

You may wonder why I’m using past tense. Well, my Uncle is now lying in a hospital bed battling cancer, from what I am told, he is a shell of who he once was. He has fought this battle before and won, but it has returned and now he is weakened and most likely won’t pull through. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to fly back for the funeral. I won’t visit him in the hospital much to my dismay. I could find solace in the fact that he wouldn’t know me anyway, like I said it’s been years, but then again his memory would often surprise me. I could comfort myself with thinking that at least I can remember him the way he was, but that would be selfish and ridiculous. The fact that Roger is lying in a hospital has made me see myself as being somewhat retarded, as well as a retarder. Retarded, in the fact that I have the tendency to disengage myself from home and my family in a way that only allows me to remember people as they once were and not how they are now. Good or bad, I’ve done it with everyone, not just Roger. I pick and choose what I want to remember, what I choose to involve myself with back home. The things that may hurt I tend to stand-off from. I don’t see life for what it really is sometimes, I hinder the truth with blindness so that I don’t have to deal with what I don’t want to handle. You see if I went to that hospital bed and I saw Roger lying there with an ashen face, the rosy-cheeked-man just a glimmer, I may not like what I’m seeing but the truth of the matter is I should be rejoicing. I shouldn’t retard the process, delay the progress, of what he is going through because in weeks possibly days my uncle will no longer be considered what some call a retard, but he will finally reach his completion. He will finally get to be whole in the presence of the one he loves so much. Nothing will be hindered; no more seizures just dancing before his God, no more body laden with cancer he will be covered in righteousness, no more limited understanding for God will reveal his ways to him, and no more building with Legos for God has built him a mansion. And all I can say is P.T.L.

An April Fool - The Joke's on Me

2009-04-21T10:30:00.000-07:00

In the fifth grade, my friends and I got in really big trouble for pranking our teacher for April Fool's Day. For some reason, Ms. Mitchell didn't see the humor in her drawers being taped shut with what I believe were croutons inside. (Don't ask I'm not even sure how that made sense or where they came from.) She especially did not appreciate the "Talking Toilet" we fastened to her chair that said something about her having a large butt. We lost recess privileges and my brother's commode device was thrown in the trash. Some people are no fun at all. Not since that day has an April Fool's backfired on me, until this year. Okay, if you count the year I made "cat puke" from spaghetti squash I guess that would go in the "Don't Do Again" file too.

Normally my jokes of faux food are a hit, when I was employed my "mark" fell for the message from Mr. Lyon and called the local zoo-like Feline Compound, and the kitchen sprayer with the rubber band gets the unsuspecting hand washer every time. This year though I wasn't in the zone. My meatloaf made from Coco Rice Crispies didn't firm up in time. The chip bag I replaced with carrots and put in the kids lunches were upgraded for cupcakes before even being opened. Even my jello drinks did not set all the way before having to serve them to the kids. This year was a flop. All of them fell short, even the one my brother suggested, the one I played on Brian. I woke him up as usual for work and told him we were expecting again. Even though he believed me, he was unphased, slightly excited and just asked me questions. I had to end it quickly since once again I didn't get the elicited response. My prank arsenal was depleted, I was done for the day. Then it happened fifteen days later, the best April Fool's joke ever. Sadly enough I can not lay claim to the ultimate joke, I was not the pranker but was instead the recipient. The only April Fool in our house this year was me as I stood in the bathroom barely peeing on a pregnancy stick before two lines magically appeared. Yes, we are pregnant!!

God always knows when to humble us doesn't he? Here I was thinking I was so funny, almost smug at times, tricking friends and family for years and he reminded me who has the best sense of humor of all. Thankfully his humor is more thought out then salad toppings in drawers and electronics from Spencer's rigged to chairs, and most importantly it is always accompanied with blessings and not humiliation.

What I'm Missing

2009-04-09T19:52:00.001-07:00

My parents, the kids, and I, along with half of Los Angeles, decided to visit the Aquarium of the Pacific last Wednesday. I am not a crowd person. I don't like crowds when I am by myself and I definitely don't like them when I have 5 kids in tow. However, after two hours in the car there was no turning back. We pressed forward - and when I say pressed, I mean it literally. Thankfully my parents were there to help me out.

For the first 15 minutes, following the 15 minutes that it took everyone to potty, I floundered in dread. Not that anything dreadful was happening, but my mind was trying to formulate a plan of how we were going to make it through this jam packed place, alive, and actually having fun. Why couldn't we be like Jon and Kate or my beloved Duggars? Often when they visit museums and attractions, they close the whole place down or the camera crew creates such a cushion that it's like being alone. I began to think that big families can't do attractions like normal families, unless they have some TLC status. I couldn't even get all five at once up to the window to see the dang puffins. My double-wide stroller was just another obstacle that added to my anxiety, as I would get gridlocked while the family moved forward without me.

To the credit of my brood they were awesome. Unlike some others, they waited their turn and said nothing as other children pushed them aside to view the jelly fish and the sharks. I secretly wanted to tell them to shove the Gap child model down or better yet push her in the touch pool and I would look the other way, but thankfully they are much better than me, in more ways than one. The crowds phased them very little - they stuck together with no wandering off and they looked out for one another, enjoying each others company.

Afterward we walked around the harbor at Long Beach and the kids loved rolling down hills and playing in the sand, I was grateful for a few minutes of quiet, while I sat and enjoyed the cityscape. Filled with great restaurants and beautiful hotels I became a bit jealous of the mother of the little girl I wanted to feed to the sharks. I envisioned her having the single-child jet-setting life that I imagine many LA moms to have, and having all these places at their whim. How nice it must be to eat at whatever restaurant you want, to stay at hotels and not have to sneak kids up so that you don't exceed the 4 person per room limit. Yes, ashamedly, I admit the green-eyed monster paid me a visit on that bench I was warming. Even as I watched the kids play and I joked and laughed with them it still stayed with me, the want of more, the guilt of not doing enough with and for my kids, wishing we could do elaborate vacations. Are you shocked? I was. I tried to shake it but it clung to me like the sand to Vance's runny nose. Even as we left the picturesque city and headed to meet Brian who was in Orange County on business, I quietly let it bother me. I selfishly thought of all the things I'm missing out on; weekends away with Brian (after all who can find a sitter for five kids), delicious foods at my favorite restaurants (I would eat out everyday if I could), the clothes (I still have things in my closet from 12 years ago that I still wear - no offense would be taken if anyone wants to send me to What Not to Wear). My mind began thinking of all the things my kids are missing out on because of our decision to have a larger-than-most family; the family trips to amusement parks and far away destinations, the bikes and boards Jace wants, and the toys the others want. Not to mention all that Brian sacrifices as he goes to work every day for us. There I was driving the 405 with a gray cloud over my head, thinking poor me, poor us, we're missing out on so much.

We pulled into the place where we were to meet Brian and as we sat there listening to Vance who had been screaming for the last 30 minutes from over stimulation, I wallowed in my "woe is me" thoughts some more. Then I saw him. There was Brian, breaking the law by jay-walking across the divided highway, and I felt such a relief, such love for my life. The clouds parted and I knew I was missing nothing at all. Maybe it was the four days apart, maybe it was the PMS finally settling, or maybe it was God reminding me of what I have. At that moment in time my pity party evaporated. Seeing him, my goateed honey, brought life into perspective. Brought our family into perspective. My envy for the mom with the adorable rude child dissipated. Why would I want to travel the globe, wear Jimmy Choo, and never regulate my restaurant food consumption, when we have the desert to explore, I can sport a "vintage" t-shirt from High School, and I have an easy rockin' pot pie recipe that the whole family loves? My five kind children may have taken away my chances for living the "good" life in the opinion of many, but what they have left me with instead is a blessed life, for which I am thankful.

Another One Bites the Bust

2009-03-18T07:58:00.000-07:00

I have nursed all my kids and at one point in time or another all of them have bitten me. It's normally resolved when a.) I jump in pain, b.) in a stern voice I say "No biting!" and c.) they cry because I've never spoken so harshly. This however is not the case with Vance. Sure he's startled when I jump two feet as his teeth clamp down on my nipple. Yes, he looks like I just killed the dog in front of him as his bottom lip sticks out and he begins to cry. Yet after he latches back on, he is biting again within 30 seconds. This behavior has made me contemplate weaning him, something I've never done since all of my kids have weaned themselves.

I would like people to believe that I nurse and have nursed my children because it is so great for their development and that it makes them healthier and smarter. Actually those were my reasons for Jace, however once I realized the benefits it afforded me, my motivation was selfish. I am a lazy mom. I hate to wake in the night. I hate to wash dishes. I always forget to restock the diaper bag. I don't like to exercise. So when I realized that I could just pull the baby in bed with me to feed and sleep at the same time, I became a fan. The fact that there were no bottles to wash, made me never regret the decision. I was grateful that even though I may have forgotten the pacifier and baby toys, I could always nurse the kid quiet. The way the pounds would drop off me like leaves in the fall made me practically an advocate for breastfeeding. Now there is Vance, making me question my nursing choices, and apply salve to my bruised nips.

So what's a mom to do? Even before the economy took a dump I refused to pay $20 for a can of formula. I could pump, but then there is the time involved with standing in the bedroom with my equipment for 20 minutes three times a day. A whole hour a day, where the little ones run a muck while I shout at them from behind closed doors for what they are doing or about to do - sounds like a bad idea to me. So then I heard that goat's milk is the closest milk to human milk and could be given to infants. Evidently the milk is healthier than cow's milk and would be beneficial to the whole family. My interest was piqued. I began the research, thinking I could buy a nanny and save us a whole lot of money, since we go through 4 gallons of milk a week. Although I had never had a milking goat the memories of raising sheep made me a bit giddy inside. I approached Brian with my request, and in typical Brian style he never gave me a diffinitive answer. I took this as a yes and began searching Craig's list and furthering my goat-milking research. I found the momma goat and her baby for $100, that equals around 20 gallons of milk, five weeks of milk buying.

Then like all my great plans they started to crumble around me. A friend of mine told me goat milk doesn't taste anything like a cow's milk and tastes rather gross. I heard I'd have to milk twice a day and the amount varies as does the time from a quarter to a half gallon of milk in anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes. That barely covers our breakfast. My hopes were being dashed. I was beginning to think if I won't milk myself, why would I want to purchase a goat and milk it. I'd have another mouth to feed, have more poop to clean up after, and have to buy food for every other week. I've decided that I am going to tough it out, literally, or I am going to break down and pump. After all my mom always said, "Why buy the goat, when you can get the milk for free?" Actually she said "cow" and used it in a different context, but the point remains true.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

2009-03-13T15:04:00.000-07:00

Jace is feeling better, but is getting frustrated with his limitations and his itchy brace. Last night he cried because he won't be able to play and ride for at least a month. I think it was a combo of not enough sleep as well as being fed up with his lack of mobility, the rash developing in his armpits didn't help either. I think the cons are beginning out weigh the pros. Sure mom has been making him cookies, running to his every call, writing his homework, he has control of the television, and his sisters are leaving him alone, but he can't get out of bed without help, can't dress himself, and today he asked me what he would do when he had to poop. It doesn't take long for the fantasy to fade and reality to set in.

This photo is Jace's actual x-ray.

Romanticizing the Bone

2009-03-12T09:12:00.000-07:00

My best friend, Jen Parks, broke her arm in the second grade and although I felt bad for her, I was jealous of her new found status. With her concrete-hard arm she was the center of attention; students and teachers alike. It happened to be her right arm and she couldn't do her homework or classwork like the rest of us, someone did all of the writing for her. Her cast was covered with signatures and drawings, a child's version of having a sleeve tattooed, and just as cool. In my seven-year-old mind it seemed as if the perks must have outweighed the pain. I never was so "lucky" to have broken a bone, although I tried on several occasions in hopes of getting out of homework. Thankfully, my children have never had any bones broken either. A somewhat selfish relief, since I don't deal well with emergency situations. Even Jace whose interests lie in extreme sports, has never sustained anything worse than a sprain - that was up until yesterday.

Yesterday the call came, a call from Jace crying, thinking he had dislocated his shoulder. I hung up and tried to spur the other children into action so that we could pick up Jace from his friend's house. Brynna stepped up; brought the dog in, grabbed her homework, and ushered Ryleigh to the truck since she was the only other one completely ready. Vance and Keely had no pants or shoes. I quickly located some and headed out the door. Jace's friend, Sam, lives three country blocks away, and when I arrived Jace was waiting out front covered in dust with tears streaming down his face, his helmet still on his head, holding his right shoulder. I knew this was the real deal and we were off to the doctor's. I called Brian to tell him what was going on and he asked if I looked at his shoulder, to which I replied, "no." He thought if his shoulder was out of socket I should put my knee in his armpit and pull his arm and put it back into place. I kept driving. I can't believe I've been married to this man for 13 years and he thinks I would or could ever do such a thing.

We arrived at the doctor's office and in accordance with Murphy's law as I unbuckle Vance I smell poop. Jace had stopped crying and just sat there with eyes closed so I quickly changed the little man before I got everyone out. We first headed to the Urgent Care. Brynna was relishing her role of being in charge of the younger girls and ensuring they didn't run out in the parking lot. As we crossed the street in front of two waiting cars Brynna led the way with her arm outstretched "halting" traffic. We got inside and as I waited in line I was told by security that because he was 11 we needed to head to Pediatrics. At this point Jace couldn't walk anymore, as it hurt too bad. I grabbed a wheelchair and with a baby on my hip and three in tow, I pushed Jace across the medical campus, trying not to be bitter that the two guards sat and watched me struggle and never offered to help. When we got to Peds we signed in and the waiting began. The kids were awesome. Then after 40 minutes Vance began to fuss, I had no pacifier, no snacks, no sippy cup. Can you believe I have had five children and don't have a well-stocked diaper bag? I can't. So I stood and rocked and bounced and walked and swayed. Jace seemed to settle again and his pain level decreased. He moved from the wheelchair to a normal chair so he could dangle his arm. Then, the domino effect began with Keely having to use the bathroom, followed by Ryleigh. I left Brynna to watch over Jace and I took the three small ones to the restroom. After Keely used the bathroom and touched every foul surface in there we headed back to the big kids. (Yes, she washed her hands.) Five minutes later she had to poop - of course. The bad thing about potty training is that you can't tell them that they don't have to go, because the next thing you know you're sloshing poop filled underwear in a toilet or throwing them in a trashcan, which by the way I didn't have extra with me. We headed back to the bathroom, where she just fondled her porcelain friend without pooping, peeing, dripping or even farting. Frustrated we rejoined the older two; Jace and Brynna had done fine. They finally called us! Back in the room they took vitals, gave him a pain killer, removed his shirt (not a fun time) and put a hospital gown on him. Keely washed her hands several times in the doctor's sink and made huge puddles on the floor for me to clean up. They sent us to X-ray. We had to wait but not very long. It was however, long enough for Keely to pull her pants and panties down and do a spinning "moon" dance. Trying not to laugh and wrestling her with Vance still in my left arm I was able to get them up. Poor Jace began laughing at the site and ended up in tears from the pain. They called his name, but I was unable to go back with him since I had all the kids. Thankfully it was very quick and we were headed back to Peds. We waited 10 minutes in the lobby, where Keely spit on the fish tank and 10 different chairs before I caught her. Visible pools of saliva were in the center of each one. How could she have that much spit? They called us and we waited another 20 minutes for the doctor to come into the room. I hit the lollipop bowl twice to keep the kids quiet and Keely away from the sink, it worked.

Up until this point, Jace had not been able to remember how he had gotten hurt, he only knew he was riding a bicycle on Sam's BMX track. With the painkillers starting to kick in, he began to recall the details. He was on the bike trying to jump a double but didn't have enough speed. He made the first jump, not the second and flipped over the bike with it landing on top of him. He said when he got up he lifted his arm and heard something crack. I felt woozy just hearing the story.

The doctor came in and told us that he had broken his clavicle, and he would need a brace. Off to Orthopedics. Again, Jace was tired and sore so we found a wheelchair and Brynna pushed him. The tech who put the brace on was great and joked with all the kids and printed out the x-ray for Jace.

After a total of three hours at Kaiser, we were done. Jace was still in pain but was on the phone with friends reaping the status and bragging rights that go along with a broken bone. He filled them in on how he didn't have to go to school for the rest of the week, that he has a picture of the broken bone, that he can't write for a while, and that he doesn't have to take a shower for a few days. Ahhh, the mind of a child - why was jealous of this list when I was younger? To add one more perk I took the kids to get a Frosty from Wendy's. As everyone said "thanks", Jace said to his sisters, "You're welcome I broke a bone so you could get ice cream." What a good brother to share the benefits of a broken bone with those with intact skeletons.

Going Around the Block

2009-03-02T10:44:00.000-08:00

The block has struck me again. The block that seems to weigh down any creative ideas, it rests on me not allowing anything witty or pithy to emerge. Sorry. It has been not only crushing my imagination but also presses on my thought process in general. My friend Tonya wrote the other day asking me to blog so she could know what was going on in my life. Our blogs are really the only link we have to know the comings and goings of our long-distance friendship. I figured today I would press forward, past the cumbersome block, and update everyone.

We have been battling a cold virus, that began with Jace followed by me. My inability to control my kisses while around Vance led to my poor little man getting the crude. Ryleigh has no doubt learned her self restraint from her mother and contracted it from constantly kissing Vance's face, regardless of my shouting. Since Ryleigh and Keely share a room, it was inevitable that she caught it too. Fortunately, Brynna is borderline OCD with hand washing and only touches anyone younger than her if she is commanded to do so. The cough and snotty nose has hung around the little ones like a sloth in a tree, but thankfully the fever has passed and their energy is back. Okay, honestly I'm not so thankful that the energy is back but I am glad they feel better.

Vance has a total of four teeth now with a fifth one emerging. I always love it when the top two teeth begin to pop through and my little babies look like a mini David Lettermans. Since getting the cold Vance no longer sleeps through the night, so I have begun to accessorize with the ever chic black "bags" again. Although he is mobile and wiping my floor with his version of crawling, he has only pulled himself up on things a few times. The doctor said she would be concerned if he didn't start by 10 months, however I have not called because I know he can do it he just doesn't have to since everything is handed to him or he is lifted to get his desires.

Keely has begun to speak a lot more. Not that I understand most of it, but at least she is trying. There are a lot of things I don't understand about Keely, her speech being just one of them. Her desire to shove items down her pants and into her pajamas are another facet. The other night she put her jammies on by herself and when I saw her right leg was twice as large as the left my investigation found two gloves, a pair of dirty socks, and a lego. I felt like a magician pulling things from a magic hat wondering when it would stop. This isn't the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last. Before the weather turned cold I found a live beetle that she had put in her pajamas hanging out in the top of her diaper. She's an odd one, but we love her.

Ryleigh is doing well, nothing really to report except for the fact that she is growing up too quickly. She is copping a diva attitude, which I attribute to an excess of Hannah Montana. She constantly needs to be reminded of her attitude. I keep her in check with, "Four-year-old-Hannah-Montana-wannabe say what?'' I don't really say that, but if you have ever watched the show then you would have understood that and possibly laughed.

Brynna has begun her own blog, entitled Bryn's Blog, she has even learned to correct her own misspelled words with the spellchecker. I cracked up the other day as she wrote about the book she is reading for school which included the line, "she goes on a trip to a castle with her friend the douches." She meant to type duchess, misspelled the word and picked the first one the computer offered. I helped her correct it before it posted. If you have a chance you should check out her writing and leave her comments, she loves that.

Jace has asked me to home school him next year. Brian and I have been discussing it and weighting the pros and cons but I think we might give it a try. California offers a public homeschooling program where all of the curriculum is free and after speaking with several families who use the program it seems like the way to go. I am intimidated to say the least. Part of my fear is that I am beginning to fall into the large family stereotype; long hair, lots of kids, shopping at thrift stores, meal planning, church-going, desires a nanny goat and chickens. I even own a jean skirt but if I ever put it on with a pair of Reeboks and jump into a 15-pack van, someone please intervene.

Hopefully my next post will return with some semblance of a storyline, but until then this is how our lives look when being squeezed out from under a writer's block.

Motherly Advice

2009-01-25T21:01:00.000-08:00

I attended a baby shower this weekend for a sweet friend of mine. She is expecting her first child - a baby girl! As you can imagine, shower festivities were aplenty. The "candy bar in the diaper" game, the "don't cross your legs" game, the "baby in the ice cube" game, bring a book for the baby's library, and fill out a card to share advice for the mom-to-be. All these things I greatly love. However, there was a problem with the day...

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I second guess all that I say and do at public gatherings. Ten minutes after arriving home I begin "the replay". "The replay" is like a movie in my mind, where I see all my interactions and all my words and I feel absolutely dumb for all that has transpired.

On this occasion, the replay revealed the stupidity of my advice given to her on one of the decorative cards, that I'm sure will become a part of some baby scrapbook. In my defense the pens were not working correctly and I think it threw off my game a bit. I tried five different pens, all of which refused to write my words - that should have been my sign. No, I dug a little more, tried a pencil without any luck. At last my persistence paid off, or so I thought, and I found a Bic to relay my message containing the sage wisdom of my mothering. The writing looked like that of an eight year old, because at that point I had traced my friend's name several times. Not really the problem, but it is vivid in my mind's eye so I thought I'd make mention. I can't remember all of the note but here's the gist:
"My advice for this special time is: to laugh. When the baby is crying, your step-son has broken your favorite something or other, and someone's dog has pooped on your floor realize the situation for the ridiculousness that it is - and laugh." It didn't start off too bad, but right now as I type those words I cringe as a wave of embarrassment hits. She has no dogs! The only relief I have right now is that "ridiculousness" did not appear with a red line underneath it, I woke last night doubting its legitimacy, thinking it might not really have been a word. But let's get back to the dog pooping thing - what the heck? Everyone else is sweet, "get sleep when you can", "let her get dirty", "let me babysit for you" and here I am telling her to laugh when someone's, not her own, but someone's dog poops in her house. Why didn't I say burn dinner or your doorbell rings with unexpected company? No, I picked stray dog feces! I think I revealed a little TMI into my own life. And do I laugh when my dog craps on my floor? Heck no! I spank the dog, threaten to kill the dog, and then I tell the kids I'm getting rid of the little rat-dog and make them all cry; I follow it all up with locking the dog outside or in her bed for the rest of the day. One big jocular moment in time - yeah right.

Maybe my advice should have been, "When you become a mom, lack of sleep wreaks havoc on the mind, and you will write and say stupid things so think really hard before you open your mouth or write your thoughts. Give yourself time to think things through, lest you allow people to peek into the not-so-pretty-window of you life."

That's what I've done the 24 hours since her shower, I've thought about all I could have said and what I should have written. If I had it to do over, it would have said this:

"Dear Kristina,
My advice to you during this special time is: to realize what an honor has been bestowed upon you, treasure it.
Sleep when you can, if you can.
Know that it all passes too quickly, except for the stage where they wake up during the night, several times a night - that seems to last a lifetime.
Ask for help when you need it and put pride behind you.
Surround yourself with friends made up of moms that you respect. Take their advice - but not always, at times you have to make your own path.
Realize that all mothers feel like they have miserably failed at their job at one time or another. (The mothers who don't - most likely have royally screwed their kids, they will figure it out in 15 years and it won't be pretty - don't hang out with them.) Take heart, children extend grace to us more often then we deserve and are generous with their love.
Love your little one enough to discipline - no one likes to hang out with other couples whose kids are brats.
Remember the fun that brought you this precious gift - set time aside for you and your man.
There will be days in the beginning when personal hygiene will become a luxury, buy some nice perfume and a hat - it will cover a multitude of sins.
Etch into your mind those adorable moments when you smile at your little one so much that your face actually begins to hurt.
Laugh out loud everyday.
Dream big for her, but don't forget your own.
Pray for discernment, for guidance, for protection, giving thanks always to the Lord.
Your world is about to be rocked - but don't fear it will be the best thing you have ever experienced. Congratulations!
With Love, Erica"

My P.S. would most likely remain the same, "If all else fails, keep a bottle of vodka in the cupboard above the fridge...," you'll need it if you ever get your little one a pet.

The Maledictory Mariner of My Mind

2009-01-15T08:01:00.000-08:00

I think I might be certifiable.

Last night at 3:00 a.m. Ryleigh came in our room to tell me she had a bad dream. I told her to go to her room and I would be in to see her in a few minutes. I laid there and drifted back to sleep, it was only when I heard her start to cry that I jumped from the bed in fear of her waking the others. When I went in there she told me that Brynna made her watch the movie Indian In the Cupboard and now she was afraid because the toys came to life. Like any mom, I offered to pray, tuck her in and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Keely woke during this time and requested milk to which I obliged, not cheerfully, but obliged none-the-less. Fifteen minutes after returning to my bed, Ryleigh began to cry out again. At this point in time, my mind begins to swirl with expletives and I again run down the hallway to try and avoid the whole house waking. Granted, my attitude is not as sweet as the first time, but still I try to comfort her by telling her it's just a movie and to think of all the fun we will have tomorrow. It doesn't work, she's still whining. My patience wanes, I then resort to, "The only thing you need to be afraid of is me. Now go to sleep." I'm not sure why it didn't work or why I am not Mother of the Year but it was obvious, I needed a different approach. I thought if I brought her to my room she would quickly go to sleep on the floor and then I too could get the rest that I needed to avoid a major meltdown.

My children don't realize that different levels should be used when speaking indoors or at night time, they only choose to whisper and mumble when I am asking a question that needs an immediate response. So here is Ryleigh making requests for warm corn bags, cooler pajamas, and more lighting in an unhushed voice. The sailor in my mind is getting a little out of hand. "Lay down and don't say a word." Quite ensues. Then 15 minutes later as I begin to rejoin the sandman, "Mom, my arm hurts."
"It will be better in the morning. No more words."

Sleep. I am able to begin dreaming of Keely dipping my couch pillows in chocolate. "Mom, it's hot even when I take the blanket off." That's when it happened. I dropped the S-bomb. "Shut-up." This is a big deal in our house. I was thinking worse, but still it felt good when I said it, but two seconds later I realized that I actually said it and not just in my head...I felt horrible. Brian who obviously was feigning sleep made a little gasp. That just added to my anger, why wasn't he interceding when I am two seconds away from moving on to some hardcore vulgarity. He was saved by the cry, Vance was awake. I commanded Ryleigh to stay put and off I ran to the boy's room. My hope was that a paci in the mouth would do the trick - not so lucky. At this point my face is pressed against the wall praying for God to allow me some sleep. I succumbed to the pressure of the wailing boy child and nursed him for fifteen minutes. I tiptoed in the room and hunkered down under the blanket.
"What did Vance want?"
Are you kidding me? Is she ever going to sleep? "Go to sleep," I hiss.

"Can we pray?" I don't know if I should try to speak to God when he knows all the horrible things I would like to be saying. I offer up a prayer anyway. It's short and to the point, "Lord, Let her sleep. Please! Amen." I shut my eyes as tight as they will go in hopes that it will keep my tongue from passing my lips again.
"And help me not to think of bad things and only good," she chipperly added.
It was 4:50 am, her last request, not another peep from her. Convction hit. I decided to utter the same prayer in hopes that the potty-mouthed pirate who was wreaking havoc on my mental process would set sail and that I would drift off to dreamland thinking about how blessed I was to have these little ones - even if Vance was up again at 5:20!

A Non-Discerning Palate

2009-01-10T21:06:00.000-08:00

Keely, the two year old, has begun to demonstrate her independence. She has decided that she no longer likes my cooking. I'm not cooking exotic dishes or forcing her to eat spinach, I stick to kid-pleasing menu options; Chicken Parmesan, Homemade Mac n' Cheese, Sloppy Joes. Things that two months ago she would have scarfed down, she now refuses.

Grandmothers don't worry, she is still healthy and thriving, croutons and milk obviously provide some nutritional value, and yes I am giving her a multi-vitamin. My concern, as horrible as it sounds, has nothing to do with her caloric intake, rather it is a pride issue on my part. Why doesn't she like the food I prepare? This little one has consumed dog food on more than one occasion. She frequently gulps her own creations from cups of water that have meat sitting on the bottom, chips floating on top, and cookies that have expanded and developed into mush. She drinks sour milk from sippy cups found days after they were made. Remember from previous posts - she is the one who swallowed the penny? I even think when we went to the petting zoo last summer, she ate a goat turd, yet my meatloaf turns her stomach. Is it possible that goat's produce tastier morsels than mom? I'm not sure, but I certainly hope that the age old statement "We are what we eat" is not true, because I think that would make her a cheap little poop.

And Then There Were Two...

2009-01-10T20:25:00.000-08:00

I've started a new blog, not to replace this one but, to maintain in addition to this one. Crazy, huh? For years I've been filing away ideas from magazines and other moms of things I want to someday do with my kids and I've decided to share them with the cyber world. I named the blog "My Mom is Better Than Yours", not because I think I am better than anyone but, because I think if you do fun things with your kids they will think you are better than all other moms. So the blog is filled with crafts, tips, and ideas to do if you have kids. It won't include my tips for cleaning the floor, which is to get a dog to clean the kid's messes and have kids to clean the dog's messes, but it will tell you that if you plant a peanut you can grow a plant. I realize it's not for everyone but hopefully it's fun for those with little ones.

An Apparent Sacrilege

2009-01-05T12:10:00.000-08:00

Here's my stance on my writing. I want to share my heart for God, my love for my family, the reality of life, and a side of my personality that I don't often get to express. I offended someone, known because of an anonymous comment left, the other day with my story about Jace's gas, they weren't disturbed by Jace's issues but rather by using Jesus and farted in the same sentence. I am sorry. Not that I wrote it because, I still believe my Lord passed gas, but sorry that my heart for my fully-man-fully-God savior was not clear. My heart is to be real, to acknowledge the stuff others might not want to but still need dealing with - I am trying to have a heart like God.

I hope those of you who personally know Christ see the humor and recognize the truth of the subject - he was a man, he lived as us, he was just sinless! Those of you who don't know much about Christ and think I am just being funny, please know that while I am trying to make you laugh, God came to earth as a man to connect with you. Not to inundate you with rules but to relate to you in reality. He lived, loved, got hurt, was falsely blamed, became frustrated, enjoyed spending time with others and, yes, he pooped! In Mathew 15:17 Jesus says, " Don't you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then out the body?" I don't think he was referring to vomiting.

I realize this is not the typical approach to sharing about Jesus, my prayer is that through my rants and stories that you see the presence of God in my life. I even hope that you will see how God loves this crazy, yelling, at times unappreciative, messy, talks-to-much mother and realize he loves you too. Find out who He is for yourself and don't rely on me or the other extreme, an uptight Christian, discover him for yourself . One thing I've learned over the years is that Christ always meets me in the poop of life. He will meet you too.

A Little Community Service

2008-12-11T10:12:00.000-08:00

I am a believer in community service. For our family it's getting involved in ministry but for those of you who don't hold religious beliefs I still encourage you to go out and make a difference. I personally feel that God has led me to work with teenage mothers and today I think I began an outreach for prevention with teenage boys as well. Here's how it went down...

I woke this morning with a horrible headache and cramps and wanted more than anything to climb back in bed and sleep. With three kids three and under at home, I'm sure you know - not a possibility. So I did what every mom with young children does when ill, turn on the boob tube and let them eat whatever they want. Vance went down for his nap and my sitting on the couch turned to laying with eyes closed. Keely, the two year old, came up to "snuggle" but began kicking me in the face, jumping on me, and sticking fingers up my nostrils. After trying to shoo her like an annoying fly didn't work, I sat up to notice she was naked. "Get your pajamas back on and come lay with mommy." Surprisingly she listened. Vance down for at least an hour and a half, Ryleigh quietly eating as many cookies as she wants, and Keely, the trouble maker, laying right beside me. This is fantastic! I dozed with my little one, as Dora the Explorer provided the mood music, only to wake when Ryleigh opened the back door. "Shut the door," I said. "But Keely is outside," she replied. She's right, she isn't beside me anymore. Crap. The little dog is missing too. Crap.

So here I go outside shouting for the MIA twosome. My attire consisted of flannel pajama pants, hair far from tame in a semi-ponytail, face broken out again like a ProActiv commercial, black mascara under my eyes from the previous day, imitation Uggs with one pant leg tucked inside, and the ugliest sweatshirt I own. They aren't out back. As I circle the house there she is in her two-toned pink footed pajamas trying to lift up the knocked over trashcan that's three times her size. Cali the 2 pound teacup poodle is verbally assaulting the neighbor with her yipping and with every step I take towards her she runs closer to him and his 4 dogs. Ryleigh has come out to assist in the hunt wearing capris, a bathing suit top, and her Cinderella dress-up shoes (at this time of day the temperature was in the low 50's). Keely turns around and her pajamas are completely unzipped revealing that she is at the moment, anti-panties and anti-diaper.

I know you are thinking, "you lost me with the community service thing". Well the witness to this fiasco, is my teenage neighbor. I'm apologizing profusely between yelling for the girls to get in the house or at least zip up the show and at the dog to come. I resort to desperately pleading to the evil spawn I call a dog so the guy can pass through his gate. He says nothing, nothing at all. Awkward. I think he's scared. He just looks at me and then the girls who have both fallen on the ground trying to erect the can, and goes into his yard as soon as I have detained the micro Kujo. As I pick up with one hand the semi-streaker, the yapping dog in the other and turn to walk the crew back in the house I thought if this had been on film right now the caption that would appear across our backs would be "Trojan...wrap your willy or this could be you."

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

There's Something in the Air

2008-12-05T09:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon the CallerID showed the children's school calling. First thought...crap, what's this about? Second thought....maybe I should just let the machine get it. No, I will buck-up and answer, I figure I will have to deal now or later, no time like the present. It was Jace's teacher....oh no.

"Mrs. B., I was calling to ask if Jace might have some stomach troubles."
Believe it or not I had this same call last year, so I know what this is regarding.
My reply is a simple "No" since I don't want to go there if I don't have to, maybe my initial thought is incorrect. At least I hope.
"Well, we've been having some issues with Jace passing gas. It is beginning to disrupt the whole class." Okay I have to go there. "Jace is a very gassy kid, but we've never had anything medically documented."
I'm so thankful that this is over the phone because at this point in time I feel myself turning as red as the sweatshirt I am now wearing. Why? I'm not sure, it's not me passing gas and stinking out my friends, but at this moment in time it might as well be. What am I supposed to say, "I fed him Chili two nights ago for dinner and watch out tomorrow because he had leftovers when he got home from school today"? I'm sure this is just as awkward for Mr. Ward, in fact he even mentioned that. He apologized and said he didn't want me to think he was saying I couldn't feed my child what I wanted but he just wanted to make sure there wasn't a medical problem he should be aware of. No, I just have a child who can cut the cheese and makes no apologies, or at least weak giggly ones.

So here it is, another parenting quandary, how do you teach manners on gaseous matters? I always make the kids say pardon me. Reasonable. However, I feel if they know it's coming they need to try and squeeze it in. And if it's at the dinner table then leave and come back - discreetly. So this is where maybe I'm getting a bit unreasonable. It's probably my own fault because with Vance and Keely I always make it into a joke just as I did with the older kids by saying with a tickle, "Someone has a rooty tooty in their booty." Maybe my lightheartedness as toddlers has led to flatulence with fanfare as adolescence. I admit that I personally would rather suffer a blow to the head then fart in public or with friends (I will confess as I age this gets harder and harder to do), but why should I? Does everyone not have bowel activity? Tooting isn't a sin, so that must mean that even Christ farted. I imagine he and the disciples being all men probably reacted a bit like Jace and his friends. Maybe my children have a healthy view of it, realizing that God made them and that they deserve a little release now and then. I just hope as maturity comes they are able to temper their vapors with some appropriateness and not go to the opposite extreme like their mother who rarely allows this so-called indiscretion. A mom who for this moment is not ready to move ahead with her walk with Christ in this area and will continue to fart like a Pharisee.

My Grown-up Christmas List

2008-11-20T08:40:00.000-08:00

For those of you who follow my blog, no I have not given up. My desire to get back on here and type is great but my time is too short. We are still moving. What has it been 2 months now? It's ridiculous but true. This weekend is the final push before our tenants move in. We have been making trips back and forth and now my new one is filled to the gills with boxes that have yet to be unpacked. The job of cleaning the other house hangs over me like Eeyore's rain cloud. I will be so relieved when we are done, I mean completely done with the other house so that I can turn my attention to this one. In the interim life has not stopped, we've had ministry commitments, school commitments, potty training regression, sickness, allergies, and the everyday screaming, nakedness and fighting that is my reality. So my hope is that by Christmas, life will resume some normalcy. I hope that the smell of cardboard will be gone and replaced with tons of yummy cookies. That the stacks of stuff will be replaced with a tree and just a few of my favorite decorations (I'm not doing the whole shebang). That the continuous loop of kids shows so that I can get something done will be replaced with Hallmark channel Christmas movie watching. The "heck no" response to the requests to paint or craft will finally be replaced with a "yes, let's make Christmas presents". That the screams, shouts, running, peeing on the floor, hair pulling, nursing, diaper changing, cheerio throwing, non-nap taking and mess making would be replaced with peace on earth...or at least eight straight hours of sleep.

Still hanging on...

2008-10-14T14:35:00.000-07:00

No, I have not fallen off the face of the earth, even though a few short weeks ago I felt as if I was teetering precariously there. We are for the most part moved in. God is so good that he has provided us with a renter after having two back out, we are pleased. I do not have the computer hooked up at the new abode yet so that is why I have not been blogging. However once I do, have I got some stuff to say....

On the Brink

2008-09-17T22:37:00.000-07:00

I am a woman on the brink...of what I'm not sure, but at this very moment I'm leaning toward insanity. I currently have many irons in the fire as some proverbial elders might say and maybe it might not seem like a lot to those of you reading it, but to me it seems momentous. Here’s my list:

Moving:

We are currently in the throes of packing for a move across town and the realization of our over abundance of belongings has begun to make my head swim. I feel as if I am signing my life away with the infinite amounts of paperwork that accompanies purchasing a home. We know that escrow closes before the end of the month but the date has not yet been confirmed which brings a whole lot of unknowns to be dealt with. Lack of boxes has put our work at a standstill and the hunt for cardboard has left me feeling like an alcoholic Nancy Drew, as I stalk the neighborhood for newly moved in neighbors and frequent the Liquor store.

Kids:

Numerous times throughout the day I find myself saying, "Get your hands out of your butt" or "Nobody likes hiney hands." As fun as these are to say they are not in vain. Keely is in the midst of potty training, not by my choice, she just refuses to wear clothing or diapers ripping them off as soon as they are put on her, which necessitates the need and the sayings. Thankfully she is doing well, the accidents are few and far between, now if only her hands and butt were.

Me:

Speaking of needs, my sleep needs are not being met, four hours of interrupted sleep does not do it for me, two of which were on the kid’s bedroom floor. My sleep, or lack thereof, has left me weepy and irritable. Brian is out of town on business and calls me daily and normally gets the brunt of my emotions. I love to hear from him and miss him terribly but as much as I want him to be having a nice time, my jealousy rears its ugly head. At first I was living vicariously through his dining out and Vegas fun, but I turned a deaf ear after two days of hearing about gourmet cuisine while I ate Taco Bell and cold cereal and trudged through all of the aforementioned crap. What a bad wife! Where's my joy? Most likely it rolled under the Dora bed when the kid's kicked it out of me while lying on the floor at 2 in the morning.

Misc.:

Some commitments I made before we even thought of moving are now due, within days. Have I started? I'll let you guess.

So, there it is, the edge in which I precariously teeter, ramrodded there by all of the above. My mom, who is out trying to help me make sense of my domestic nonsense, has been able to reel me back a few steps. Helping with the kids and allowing me time to nap has clarified my out-of-control feeling to an extent. However, I am hoping that a life line will not be necessary. I believe if I am able to rally myself, this final push through my own personal crisis I will not see myself fall endlessly into a pit of despair but rather realize that I'm on the edge of some type of success. A success that will bring to fruition the dream of a new home that will accommodate our family better; where I can make semi-gourmet non-Taco Bell meals, where children can roam the land, and that our foolish pappy-loving stuff will finally have a rightful place. Maybe just on the other side of this ledge is a daughter who will potty like a big girl and will no longer feels the need to spread her cheeks. I know that over this hurdle that seems to last a lifetime are children who sleep through the night and will no longer need a comforting pat or a mother to threaten them to go to sleep. My prior commitments which seem to be creeping up behind me will only allow for growth of the groups I made them to, as well as myself. Maybe the brink is not such a bad place to be. Granted, I normally like my ground flat with quite a bit of space surrounding it, but you never really see what God has planned for you until you stand on the edge and see what you weren't able to before.

Groceries, God, & Good Sex

2008-09-02T13:12:00.001-07:00

On my last trip to the grocery store, I took 3 out of the 5 kids along with me. Vance slept the whole time and Keely and Ryleigh were, miraculously, exceptionally well-behaved. I think God allows a good grocery trip every once in awhile as an encouragement. Anyway, this particular store has a bulk food section where I bribed the girls with candy of their choosing to carry in their very own little plastic bags. My ploy worked!

Upon checking out I ran into an older gentleman, almost literally, who apologized for cutting me off and struck up a conversation regarding my mannerly kids. I'm not sure how the conversation exactly went but the two missing kids came up. The man told me that he too had a house full at one time and then said, "Let me remember how this goes. Are you Catholic?" I replied, "No", thinking I know how this goes. "Are you Mormon?" I kindly said, "No." "Jewish?" "That's a new one. Nope." "Then they would say 'must be a sexy Protestant'." I'm not sure who "they" were but I was in love with "them" and him for for that matter! He completely made me smile the rest of the day and I considered getting several t-shirts made in a variety of colors stating "Protestant Who Likes Sex", to exhibit some humility.

It does strike me as funny how many times Brian and I are asked the Catholic/Mormon question. I guess some people believe it's only if your religion mandates you to have many children that you would ever have more then two or three. We without a doubt know that our children are a great blessing from the Lord, but we don't feel as if God has commanded us to procreate and now we have a job to do, so we continue to pop kids out. Rather, we feel as if something is missing from our family. Yes, you read correctly, I used the present tense. I don't know when we will have another baby or if God will continue to bless us in that manner but I do know there is the desire and the room for more. Our kids feel the same way, Jace would like seven and Brynna, the one who rarely interacts with the little ones except for the occasional pat on the head, said she would like to have more brothers and sisters. Even during those moments where my kids drive me nuts and I think I could be institutionalized, I never question the love I have for my clan or doubt that it could be shown to additional children.

We know that if we didn't have God at the center of this chaotic, noisy, messy and sometimes smelly household we would never manage. Our decision to have a larger-than-most family, is a choice we have made, a choice to not limit the blessings God has offered to give us as long as we are equipped spiritually, physically, and mentally. We have made this choice not because we think we will get a better place in heaven or that the only purpose of sex is to create life, but because we love our kids and couldn't imagine life without them and because the world will one day be better because of them and those that are yet to come. Not to mention, this Protestant likes sex.

A Calgon Moment

2008-08-21T12:58:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the commercial when the lady with the screaming kids said, "Calgon, take me away", cutting to her in a tub of bubbles looking serene? Today, I feel as if I could oust that lady and become their new spokesperson, that is if they don't mind eyes with dark circles and greasy hair.

My sleep of five and a half hours was interrupted three times last night, leaving me in a groggy daze. What has really left me chanting the Calgon plea in my mind is the disaster called my family room. A quick survey of my family room floor reveals a carpet of gift bags the little girls were playing with, the stuffed animals and books that were the "gifts", and the tissue paper that the ceiling fan blew everywhere. Baby dolls are tripping hazards and the individually wrapped toilet paper rolls the girls helped me put away from Costco are not put away at all, but lay scattered on the tile after falling from various toilet paper towers. My fridge houses fruit my friend gave me along with all the tools to make two batches of jam, and at this juncture in time I have no desire since I have stomachache.

I'm still fuming over Brynna calling home to say, "I feel like I need to vomit." When the phone call came, I had just put Vance, Keely and Ryleigh down 10 minutes prior and I thought they were already asleep, so I called my neighbor who went to pick her up. The girls however had fooled me, after my discovery of them dancing around the room it took more then an hour for them to finally fall asleep. Brynna on the other hand took a 20 minute nap, which was evidentially a miracle cure because after waking she was looking to play, not vomit. Play? Fat chance, a tired cranky mom with no plans for dinner will never allow that, don't you worry. Crab Appley, nap lusting, Calgon-needing, mom will not allow anyone to enjoy anything for that matter. I am feeling borderline crazy but, I realize what needs to be done to regain sanity, but it's just out of my grasp, and no I'm not referring to Vodka. A nap.

Right now a nap would part the clouds, would bring forth the sunshine, birds would sing, and flowers would burst with color. A bath might do the trick too, personal hygiene has become a luxury as of late, but I know that I would just sit there and think, "is that soap scum", while the kids pounded the door. No, I need a nap, I need to block out the world and just catch a few precious "ZZZ's". Calgon,nor Mr. Bubbles, will be of no assistance to me, I need the sandman.

Islands in the Stream

2008-08-15T11:17:00.000-07:00

I have just sat down to enjoy a moment of peace and to write. The little ones are down for naps and the older kids have not gotten home yet. I think it's kind of crazy that when I actually, have a spare moment for me, this is where I want to be, sitting on the couch with my laptop. Maybe it's because I can finally have a complete thought and at the end of the time I have invested I have something tangible. I think that this has been the hardest thing for me being a stay at home mom, results aren't seen. Housework is undone within hours if not minutes, laundry within a day or two, and then there's the kids it will take years before I can tell if I've really done right by them. But, right now after a few minutes I have a whole paragraph. An accomplishment.

In case you couldn't tell I sat down today without a decisive thought of what to write, I had a few ideas but nothing really said "blog me, blog me". I considered writing about how my shower could be a Discovery Channel show with the infestation of ants. I so hate those six-legged pests! They have found a chink in our fortress and have yet again invaded our bathroom of all places. Partially my fault, I'm told since I don't allow them to take the bait back to their queen. I just immediately spray them with ant spray or squish them with my thumb, making their absence only temporary until more workers can be sent out. So this time I am being patient, allowing millions, yes there are that many of them, to see me naked and hear me sing in the shower as they travel across my shower ledge to the bait. My only comfort is knowing that if the sights and sounds don't kill them their time will surely come when their queen takes ill from the fruits of their labor and keels over and dies....(tapers off with an evil laugh). No, I couldn't make this a whole post.

Maybe I could blog about how Vance's tooth has some how disappeared? A tooth that Jace, Brynna, and I all saw trying to pop up through his little white gum has some how gone in reverse and disappeared. It never pressed its way through the tender skin yet it was right there. This is why you never refer to yourself as a "seasoned mother", you will quickly be proven wrong. Although, a phantom tooth, doesn't really warrant a whole post, this situation needed to be mentioned, so when Vance is a one year old and toothless people won't think I'm a liar.

When I woke this morning and saw how I resembled a thirteen year old just passing onto the threshold of puberty with my pimple filled face, I thought I should blog of the injustice. How is it that as teenagers we have the impression that as we enter adulthood our clogged pores are no longer? If I am going to keep anything from my pubescent years why can't it be my ability to stay up all hours of the night? That would sure come in handy instead I get pockets filled with puss...great deal! Then I thought poop is probably enough for my few readers to handle I shouldn't discuss gunk that could shoot out of my flesh if I by chance make my face too taunt with a smile. Next...

I thought back to earlier today and Keely's hellish hairstyling. How she empties a whole spray bottle of water onto your head, then every stroke of the brush starts with a thorny bristle whack against your skull, followed by a brush stuck in your locks which is then pulled loose, managing to rip visible amounts of hair from your cranium. Cute, in a sadist kind of way but really that's the whole story so it lacks the length of one of my typical posts.

Wait! This is why I love writing so much! I can see that my stream-of-consciousness has led to a complete posting. The floor I swept today is yet again dirty with play doh, the dishes just taken from the dishwasher are once again in the sink, the freshly vacuumed carpets are covered in dog hair, but this which I have typed, a hodge podge of thoughts, has come together to make something I can see and others can read and it will last until blogger.com has a glitch and looses it all - but until that time I can see I've finally accomplished something today.

Not the Last Laugh

2008-08-13T09:37:00.000-07:00

"Who is a cute baby? Who loves his momma," I asked Vance in a sing-song voice. He responds with peals of laughter and a shriek.
"Isn't it weird," Brynna asked me, "how you're not the funny one and Vance always laughs at you and Dad is funny and he never laughs at him?"
"I am too funny," I argue with the 7 year old.
"No you're not, you only make me laugh if you tickle me or something," she retorted.
"Maybe you have to have a sense of humor to think I'm funny," I thought, my maturity showing.

Mind you this all occurred on Monday the first day back to school. My ego had already been bruised by my oldest thinking his dad was cooler than I and now, evidently, he has the humor market cornered as well? When did I loose my mojo? I have always been funny, if for nothing more then out of necessity. In High School, it seemed as if I befriended all of the beautiful girls so if I wanted a guy's attention it normally came through making them laugh. I was the crackup and now it seems that my comicality has fled.

You might be thinking, for Pete's sake, why are you taking a person whose idea of good humor is an ice cream bar (get it?) or a knock knock joke, but really her comment is just a straw that has been beginning to collect on this camel's back. I've had several reminders lately that I am not the funny girl I once thought I was. You would think with age, self confidence would be a well stocked resource, but it's not. Year by year it's been depleting in the humor department and I've called it growing up.

In my youth I would put on comedy shows for my family and friends dressing in 60s polyester dancing around like an idiot and imitating people. I would have a jocular response for almost everything said to me. Now I only dance unreserved in front my children, the world outside my home gets the sway and snap. As for the rest of my humor, I'm guessing it has been shoved aside by cooking, cleaning, ironing, chasing kids, packing lunches and changing diapers. It does on occasion rear its jovial head, when stress is at a minimum and I can enjoy the moment and actually reason appropriateness or when stress is at its peak and it functions as a coping mechanism.

So as I search for my funny alter ego in my ever increasing domestic chaos I will try to push the insecurities aside and show the world how I really bust a move, I will learn some new knock knock jokes and I will strive to keep this blog alive so that I can see my life for the humor it truly contains. In the interim, I will keep up with my imitation of a sweet mom with a kind voice that makes Vance laugh so much. Maybe I will emulate that soft spoken mother with my other kids, instead of the screaming irrational mother who is constantly referring to her children by both their first and middle names . I think it might conjure up a chuckle, if they don't think I've gone crazy first.

Between a Rock and a Cool Place

2008-08-11T11:02:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, The first day of school! The kids were excited to wear their new outfits and carry their new backpacks. The thought of the snacks I had set aside for only school lunches was enough to get Brynna out of bed without a squabble. As sad as it it is to admit my kids have only eaten "baby" carrots and never realized that carrots could grow well over two inches long. Now that Brynna has made this discovery, she packed the biggest carrot she could find in her lunch, minus the plumage. Such simple pleasures.
They were dressed and ready before breakfast was on the table. Jace looked the part of a young skater (Hurley shirt, plaid shorts and slip on shoes) and Brynna went back with her Punky Brewster mismatched style (brown monkey shirt, green and ivory floral pants, and orange floral print shoes). I took the first day of school picture outside the front door like always and put the camera in the stroller for the photo ops at school. "You can take Brynna's picture at school but not mine", Jace commented. Fair enough, I got my picture and I don't want to embarrass him with making him strike a pose at his classroom door.
The kid's school is about a 3 blocks from our house which made it easy for the entire family to walk over and witness the festivities. We dropped Brynna off first, did pictures, she found her BFF and was running toward the playground before even saying good-bye. Next our brood headed to Jace's classroom, which was locked so we went to the playground where his new class was already lined up. I assumed that he would saunter off in his I'm-too-cool-for-life way and join his buds but he stood there for a minute. "You want us to walk you over", I asked. "No", he replied. "Well, maybe Dad could."
What??!!?? When did I become that uncool? When did Brian rank over me? I bit my tongue and stood on the sidelines with the youngest three and watched as Brian walked over with him and just stood with him at the back of the line. The whole time I'm thinking, "Why is he just standing there? I would go up and introduce myself and Jace to the teacher. The teacher doesn't even know Jace joined the line. What is he doing? He's not even making conversation with the kids surrounding them. If only Jace had asked me..." Then it dawned on me, maybe it's cool just to be there with him. Jace seems pleased just standing there with his dad not speaking. Could it be that I talk too much? Humbling.
This afternoon I walked in 100 degree heat to meet the kids at school, because this morning at breakfast they asked me to. Go figure I was late; Vance was fussy so I was packin' him while trying to do some computer work, Keely was naked, and Ryleigh was spitting on the floor while she was being punished with a timeout. I knew leaving the house I would be late but I wanted to do it, I didn't want to disappoint and I wanted to try the skill of just being. I did make it 3/4 of the way to the school when Jace came running full speed toward me and talking just as fast. As we waited for Brynna he talked about how great his outfit was , how people didn't recognize him with short hair, how he doesn't have any friends in class that are guys, and how nice his teacher was. He saw some friends a few times along the way and would run up to talk with them but then he would let them go on ahead and he'd wait for us continuing his conversation where he left off. I just let him talk and was just there. I know that my time of on the sidelines will become even more frequent as time progresses but I guess I don't mind not being cool as long as I can be his rock.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ouch

2008-08-09T08:39:00.000-07:00

Good news, Vance did not contract the crud that circulated through our home, which is amazing that he and I have been able to avoid the coughs, nasal drips, and saliva smears. So what has been causing my youngest babe to cling like an infant monkey to his mother and why wouldn't he sleep for the past 5 nights? Teeth! You might think, "How could a 'seasoned' mother (not a descriptive I normally use when describing myself, but I'm going for dramatic effect) miss that option?" Well considering the earliest any one of my other four teethed was 8 months, the thought didn't enter my mind. So instead of a runny chapped nose, I'm dealing with a runny mouth with a chapped chin. Instead of coughs, I hear cries all day long, that is unless I'm holding him. Unfortunately unlike my primate example, Vance can't cling to my back without apparatus and so I front pack him all around the house while trying to accomplish normal everyday tasks. It's like being pregnant again except now my bump can grab things that come within his vicinity. Aside from oral gel, constant nursing, and Vance becoming an extension of my abdomen I just have to wait it out and eventually my easygoing kid will return. The bad news is that I think it's periodontal neighbor is moving in. The ouch, I'll let you figure out for yourself.

Who Got My Baby Sick? S'not Me

2008-08-04T11:58:00.000-07:00

My little Vance is a wonderful baby! Sometimes, I'm afraid he's good to a fault. He only fusses when hungry, tired, or needs a diaper change, so it seems when not napping a majority of his day is spent in his chair watching all the action. Well my little guy is not happy today, in fact I now am typing this with one hand so that I can cradle him with my other arm while patting his bottom. His clingy behavior might be brought on because of my bragging about my sweet baby, just yesterday, I jinxed myself. I should have counteracted the jinx by mentioning the jinx but did I, no. Now here I sit with Vance trying to sleep yet not willing to shut his eyes all the way, I'm sure not because of superstitious curses (at least I hope not, knock on wood) but because the other children have been battling a small cold and have passed it on.

It started when Brynna the other day complained she had a sore throat, two days later Ryleigh, her roommate, was not feeling so hot. Ryleigh being the lover of all things shares her hugs freely and unfortunately sometimes her coughs. So Keely caught it and yesterday Jace began to feel symptoms as well. I have been trying like mad to keep the kids away from Vance and enforcing oodles of hand washing, especially the two younger girls, but I'm guessing my attempts have failed. Keely is my biggest offender, her nose is a sieve and she is normally oblivious of the fount until she gets a hankering for a snack. At that time she either picks a treat or opts to blow her nose on the back of her hand and lick it. As you can imagine, I am at the sink absurd amounts of time daily. Keely was accosted the other day when I saw her within inches of Vance's face, saying, "Hiii Bance" repeatedly. Although the snot that was running out of her nose was not found on his face the spittle from the raspberry she blew while being pulled away was. As a mother you have to realize that despite your best efforts, kids will get sick. The more children you have, especially if some of them go to school, the more illness circulates. My only hope is that all these little coughs and bugs will one day build up their immunity levels to super human proportions and they will never have to suffer a serious illness. At least this is what I tell myself to feel better about Keely sometimes eating out of the trashcan. Do you think I have a good argument?

Well my typing has finally put my baby to sleep and the slits where his blue eyes once peeked out of have given up and closed. I do hate when my kids are sick, mainly because I hate to see them not feeling themselves, but it also seems to slow things up and I can't get done the things that I normally have to do. At the same time I kind of enjoy when my kids are sick, because I do get so caught up with what has to be done or what I should be doing that it's nice to sit with my children all snuggled up and wanting comfort. I know that eventually I will have to get dinner ready and clean up the dirty dishes from lunch, but for now I'm going to stop multi-tasking and just enjoy this little boy resting quietly in my arms that is until Keely decides to eat another mucus featured entree.

Pappy versus The Flylady

2008-07-30T12:26:00.000-07:00

I am constantly on a quest to get my house clean and organized. As you can imagine with 7 people and four animals in a house, it gets messy at breakneck speed. To compound the issue I have inherited the "I'll use this someday" gene. I come by it honestly, my Pappy, God rest his soul, lived through the Great Depression and for good reason kept everything for the rainy day when it would be needed. His basement was a wonderland!!! Those of us after him have continued on with our borderline hoarding heritage. I have in the past taken this desire to keep things to absurd levels. At one point in time I had over 130 empty toilet paper rolls stored in drawers and a closet. I thought they'd be good for kid's crafts, mind you at that juncture in time I only had one child. I finally parted with my cardboard cylinders, but not as easily as one would think, but when I did it was completely freeing.

Normally my stockpile involves emotional attachments: cards and notes from grade school, toys given to my kids from family and the worst offender, my children's clothes. Just imagining them in the tiny apparel brings such nostalgia I have trouble parting and so I keep it. My treasures have at times enveloped me in a funk and I am torn between my desire for domestic saneness and my biological need to squirrel stuff away and use for future kids. In my quest for household sanity, I found the Flylady. If you have never heard of her, she is a wonderful women who helps millions discover what it feels like to have a clean sink everyday and an uncluttered life. I have read her book several times, I've joined her website, I daily receive her emails trying to keep me on the right track. I can't tell you how great it feels to follow her program to fling out the things I don't need, use, or love. Then I have a day like today. A day when instead of getting rid of things I bring them in. I get my "Pappy" thoughts flowing and I head to the thrift store that's going out of business and not only do I purchase the sizes the children are wearing right now but I set out to acquire the clothing in the following three sizes as well. I mean how adorable will Vance look in four years wearing those jeans and shirts and what a great deal boot. Do I need it? No. Do I use it? Well not yet. Do I love it? I love the price. Would Pappy approve? If it can be used someday, yes. Would Flylady approve? No.

Maybe this does not seem like a dilemma for those with ample storage, such as the illustrious basement or even an easily accessible attic. I however have limited storage space, a ladder leading to a 3'x3' opening in my ceiling is my attic, it houses holiday decorations, baby supplies, boxes containing I don't know what, empty boxes, and clothing from birth to at least size 7 for both sexes and here I am, "Pappytizing" my life with even more stuff when I should be "flying" and downsizing. I imagine the only way Flylady would allow such a thing to happen is if I followed her recommendation of the number of things brought into a home should be balanced with the same amount of items leaving to bless others. I'm afraid there is no way to satisfy both of the voices in my head...

Well maybe there is, if I brought in 10 new outfits do you think I could justify eating those 10 candy bars taking up space in my fridge? I know that would bless me.

Birthday Gifts

2008-07-28T14:59:00.000-07:00

Today commemorates the day of my birth 32 years ago. The day where my poor mother pushed out a 9 pound 14 ounce baby and still had the energy to win the name game of Erica versus Bonnie. Yet here I sit collecting the rewards of her effort. I'm sure that being contracted by her uterine muscles was not a day in the park and yes I did suffer the unfortunate cone shaped head for several days after but thankfully I have no memories of that voyage past the cervix.
My celebration of that momentous day has, thus far been spent with my children. Brynna spent the night with a friend and brought me home a beautiful orange colored cake decorated by her and her friend with a whole bottle of sprinkles dumped on top, accented with half a bottle of candy stars. She said she chose orange because that's my favorite color and she knows how much I like sprinkles. Evidentially, I like them A LOT! The children along with our neighbors, John and Matt, sang me "Happy Birthday" with the cha-chas, the version I prefer. I think they were hoping by doing so that they'd be able to have some cake. Their plan was quickly foiled, because as soon as they sang the last note Keely came up to me and presented me with her birthday gift. "Mom, poop", my Sloth girl said. While I was washing my hands in the other room those sprinkles beckoned the children like a siren calls a sailor to his demise. Brynna decided to show her masterpiece off and slid the cake into the lid. Keely slid her chair over and "checked" out the damage. My beautiful cake did not last long. I'm not sure how it happened but it is now two inches higher on the right and marked by finger pokes all around and for some reason it looks as if was sat on. How the heck does this happen?
Ryleigh later made me a "cake" out of toothpaste and rainbow jimmie sprinkles on a plate in her room. When I confiscated it along with the tube of Thomas the Train Tooty Fruity toothpaste she claimed it was to brush her teeth with. "We don't brush our teeth with that much toothpaste and we don't brush them with sprinkles either", I said. "Okay," she replied, "let's just eat it then." She ran to grab some spoons. Yum!
So as I reflect on this day I have to thank my mom for all her hard work in pushing me out, if she hadn't I wouldn't have this day to treasure: a hug from Jace, a battered cake from Brynna, a sweet dessert that's good for your teeth from Ryleigh, a poopy diaper from Keely, and a smile from Vance. Birthday girls get all the good stuff!

There's a Tear in My Beer...

2008-07-26T09:30:00.000-07:00

Well actually it's in my 2% milk, but nonetheless it's there for a stupid reason. I assume my emotional distress is the cause of hormones regulating themselves after birth. It has been 3 months though since Vance's arrival, so maybe I can't blame it on postpartum and just have hormonal issues. The end of Disney Channel's movie Jump In got me all choked me up. It is a cute movie, but does it warrant tears? That would be a big resounding "NO". I mean it wasn't even as if I watched the whole movie and got really involved in the plot or the characters, but rather I caught their jump rope victory and welled up. That's right, I said jump rope victory, it wasn't even an all American sport like football or baseball but just some kids doing double dutch. I've always had a seeping eye problem with movies, but movies that were tear worthy and that I watched at least three quarters of. No, this emotional distress was caused after walking in and out of a room for an hour and then settling down to watch their rope skills leading to a win. Crazy!

Maybe my melancholy was the result of my approaching birthday and the fact that I can only do 10 jumps over a rope before becoming winded and quitting. Or maybe it was because I'm reading the book of Ecclesiastes, not one of the more uplifting books of the Bible, yet I haven't come across any mention of playground props. Whatever the cause it's a bit asinine. What's going to happen when the kids go back to school and I see other playground games? Will tether ball or dodge ball set me off? What could a game of tag do to my psyche? I hope I will be able to pull it together because salty milk tastes gross. Probably even more so than young Hank Williams' beer.

Bald Barbies

2008-07-25T18:35:00.000-07:00

I sent out a photo update to family and friends showing off two of my girls new hairdos. Brynna and Ryleigh got their hair cut last week. Normally, I'm too lazy to take my kids for hair cuts ,no that's not why Jace has long hair. The girls have never wanted any sizable amount chopped off and I just can't see paying $15 for an inch off the back - I can do that much. As a mom with three beautiful girls, you would think that I'd be all over the bows and braids. The truth is I hate to brush hair and I only do pony tails. Now granted, I have mastered the pony tail and I can do one, two, or I've even gone as high as 8 pony tails on a single head, but that's the extent of my hair doin' skills. My girls only get braids when their grandmother comes to visit. All of this to say, I'm not a hair mom.
Brynna has been letting her hair grow for a purpose, and I've been not so patiently waiting for her to reach her goal. She once had a short little bob with bangs, her choice only with strong maternal influence at the age of four and the promise of coloring it pink. Then I think Brynna was about 5 when one of her friends cut her hair for Locks of Love and Brynna was in awe. She declared that day that she would do the same and help little girls who didn't have hair of their own. Very admirable, I could back this. After a year of slow growing, Brynna announced to someone that she was growing her hair out for Barbie wigs. Confused I asked her what she meant, "I thought you were growing your hair for kids with cancer." "I am," she replied, "that's the back. I'm going to grow my bangs out for the Barbie wigs." The "Duh" was implied.
Brynna's friend once again unselfishly chopped her mane for the program and Brynna went with her, Ryleigh just wanted to be like the big girls and tagged along. When Brynna's turn came and she was getting her tresses clipped, the hairdresser asked if she wanted bangs. She opted for not. I guess all those bald Barbies are going to have to get someone to knit them some beanies, it's going to be a cold winter with no hair.

Poop in a Ziploc

2008-07-24T08:47:00.000-07:00

Keely's penny has made the arduous journey through her bowels to reintroduce itself to the world in a sticky brown clump. "You pooped the penny", I said as if she had accomplished great things. I asked if it hurt to poop the penny out, her reply was "yeah" with a smile on her face. She wanted to see her effort and then her Sloth voice chanted, "Poop penny" three times. Brynna came into check it out and was a bit disgusted. However, even in her disgust, she still thought her sleeping older brother would be upset that he missed out, hence poop in a ziploc. The depths of brother-sister love.

Naked in Rain Boots

2008-07-23T11:01:00.000-07:00

Two of my children love to be naked, actually I have a 3rd one that does while pooping but that's another story. I figure, for two of the three, it is just a developmental stage since they have all loved the freedom from a diaper. Keely will strip at the chance and Ryleigh although out of diapers still gets the "nude bug" every now and again. I have always tried to downplay nakedness. I wanted my kids to not think being naked was bad, but rather was natural. I figured if I talked about it and acted like this is who we are and what we look like then it wouldn't be such a curiosity later in life. I'm not sure if my plan has worked. Brynna is freaked out by her unclad siblings to the point that she will not remain in the same room with them. Hence, today, she came running in the house yelling, "Mom, Ryleigh is outside, naked in rain boots." My thoughts; she's out back, it's hot, what's the deal, but to Brynna it is vulgar. I had my same bare philosophy with her, she too at the age of 2 ran around in the buff but now she is very guarded. She will only undress in the bathroom, never in a bedroom, for fear someone will see her. I guess in a way it's good that she has developed some modesty because the two little ones possess no discernment when it comes to their disrobing. We've always said, "it's not a party at our house until somebody gets naked", because it has always seemed that when we have people over one of our children bares it all. I'm not sure what to do regarding my little buff butts, I don't even know if it really is an issue. Maybe I need to read a bit more on the subject, see if I'm raising strippers who will one day trade in their rain boots for shimmying in go-go boots or if this desire to feel the air in their nether regions is a desire all humans have had since Adam and Eve and have just learned to subdue. Hopefully by the time Vance comes of the diaper banning age, I will have discovered the answer, the thought of him in go-go boots freaks me out.

A Penny for Your Poop

2008-07-22T14:08:00.000-07:00

Keely, who just turned two, was still walking around with a pacifier dangling from her lips, as of three days ago. She reminded me of an plump old fellow who would talk with a cigar in his mouth as if it were an actual part of his body. The pacifier rarely left her mouth and on the occasion that it did I would try to hide it only to have her crying for it a short time later. I am well aware of the pacifier recommendation of stopping by the age of 3 months but I never enforced it with my others and they turned out fine. When Ryleigh sucked one we always made her remove it while speaking as to not need speech therapy later in life like her paci-speaking older brother. I'm not sure if the pacifier is the culprit of Jace's struggle to keep his tongue in his mouth while trying to pronounce certain words, but I wasn't going to take chances. How quickly we forget though! Keely kept it in her mouth while speaking and only when I would remember or need clarification of a word would I ask for her to remove it. Now, Keely speaks like Sloth from the Goonies, I don't think the paci is to blame but rather I think her deep whining grunt-like communication is a phase. The pacifier was her best friend, her comfort; sleep was not easily found without it and with her companion in her mouth she was the best sleeper of all of my children. The pacifier was her playmate acting as her chew toy. Many a paci found it's way into the trash because of holes she had chewed in them. The holes would collect food particles because Keely liked to put food in her mouth top it off with a paci and chew it all together. When a hole was discovered I would confiscate and replace. Well, I have finally run out of replacements! The first night without her dear friend was not fun. I contemplated running to the store and purchasing another one but Brian stood firm. Eventually she fell asleep, but it has not been an easy few days. She misses her paci-buddy terribly. Off and on throughout the day she tears up and I have to hold her for a while until she calms. Numerous occasions I've had to remove her from the trash can, as she searches for her lost chum and eats a couple of scraps she has found. Now her oral emptiness has led her to find surrogate comfort. Normally it's her hand, fingers up to her knuckles or her fist, occasionally I ask her not to chew toys or animal food. Today however, when I went to change her diaper I laid her back on the couch and she started coughing and choking, I sat her up ready to Heimlich her when she swallowed. I asked her what was in her mouth and she replied in her Sloth voice, "there", pointing at a pile of pennies in Brynna's purse. Thanking the Lord that it went down and didn't choke her, the older kids were almost in tears with concern. I assured them it would be okay, and told them that I've heard stories that it just comes out in the poop. Well you might have thought I told them we had won the lottery. The questions of how, the excitement of when! I'm a little anxious over this situation. Not my children's fascination with fecal matter, but over Keely's desire to replace her beloved paci. You can only child proof a house so much and I later found her with a die, from one of the kid's games, in her mouth. I guess all I can do is pick up as much as I can, solicit the older children for help, say a prayer that whatever she ingests goes down okay and see what treasures await me in tomorrow's poop.

Is that a peanut in your pocket...

2008-07-21T17:38:00.000-07:00

The other day I asked Ryleigh if she wanted some peanuts. She answered, "Not one like in Jace's pants but the one in the jar." I think I have myself a new euphemism.

Answering my own question...

2008-07-21T13:53:00.000-07:00

I think the answer to my question the other day about how these super mega-moms do it, is this - they have no animals. So now, I am just biding my time until our menagerie's time is through.

The fish, no complaints, Brynna has trouble pouring him into a cup when she cleans the bowl, so she asks for help. The help? Oh, that would be me.

The three turtles, pretty painless, except when they escape and need to be found, signs need to be posted around the neighborhood, guess who does that. Oh, that would be me.
Three times a year, roughly, their pond needs to be emptied and refilled, guess who that job might fall upon. Oh, that would be me.

The dogs, where do I start, Calli, the teacup poodle bites a child every other day (not that they don't deserve it), but who has to take care of rescuing Kujo from Dennis the Menace and tend to injuries? Oh, that would be me. Puppa, the stray that was never claimed, is a great dog. The kids could probably remove some major organs and the dog would just try to nudge them away, however, she sheds and who has to sweep and vacuum everyday(Okay, at least every other day)? Oh, that would be me. The dog also poops. Not little Calli poop, but big dog poop. The kids for the most part clean it up, but I have to constantly remind in a loud voice so they remember. On the days they don't though, who's cleaning dog poop out of tiny toes? Oh, that would be me. To top it off the dog's in heat and keeps sneaking in the house. Right now I'm nursing and "my friend" isn't visiting for the next year, I don't want to be entertaining hers - but who is running around with a wet paper towel swiping up drips? Oh, that would be me.

As for the two rats, giving them to Brynna was the best gift Brian and I have ever given, but their huge cage needs to be cleaned often so that my kids don't go to school and become known as the "rat pee kids". Guess who takes care of the rat cage. Oh, that would be me. Also, if their cage does not remained centered on the wall then they chew whatever comes near, i.e. my couch, the speakers, toys, etc. All day long, I constantly am reminding Keely, in a loud voice, that she needs to leave them alone. She knows how to open their cage and tries to take them out against their will. I'm sure removing her, removing them takes up at least 30 minutes a day.

The kids are responsible for all of the animals and they assure me with each new addition that I won't have to worry about anything, but they're kids and their priorities are not always aligned with mine so, who has to pick up the slack? Oh, that would be me. I know what your thinking, get rid of the animals stop your griping.....but then they cry. Huge tears that roll down their cheeks accompanied by sobbing promises and whose heart breaks a little and thinks, "It's not that bad"? Oh, that would be me.

Entomology

2008-07-20T13:00:00.000-07:00

Brynna ran into the house the other morning so excited that she and Jace had obviously discovered a new species of insect. Begging me to hurry outside, she claimed to have never seen one before and they were thinking that they might get a show on Discovery and be able to name a new insect. Alas, I crushed their dreams when I told them it was just a "beetle".
It actually was a June Bug, but at the time I couldn't remember what they were called. My memory lapse is just one more reason why we should move back to Maryland, how can anyone forget the overabundance of June Bugs? I have such fond memories of flicking them off our screen door every night and listening to them "thump" on the ground. Ahhh, sorry I digress.
Anyway back to my original story, after dashing their hopes, Jace just decided to keep it as a pet and name his beetle Charles. Poor Charles didn't make it through the day in a plastic cup on our patio in 110 degree weather, go figure. However, the next day Ryleigh found "Charles" in the kiddie pool and made him a pet yet again, only for him to meet his demise by 4 in the afternoon. Brynna, my child who carries crickets around and has been known to stick a roly poly in her pocket, feared both of the Charles'. I knew she didn't like them because she would stay away from Ryleigh as she "cuddled" her pet, but the extent of her fear was confirmed the other day when she came into the house screaming hysterically. Once she calmed enough to talk through her cries she said, "Jace flicked a Charles at my face". Confirmation that I am a bad mother came shortly there after, as I began to laugh at my sweet girl and the new name given to an old species of beetle. Please know that I'm not completely horrible I did give her a hug as I laughed.

How do they do it?

2008-07-01T22:06:00.000-07:00

I guess I need to stop watching all those shows on TLC that feature large families. I am in awe how they can have 12 kids or more, homeschool them, keep them under control and content, how they all like each other, and how they keep a clean house. I'm at least 7 down, I send my older two to school, my kids fight constantly, are always bored and want friends over, and my house is never clean...even when I clean it. So how do these wonder women do it? Do they ever sleep? Are my priorities completely screwed up? I guess my dreams of being Michelle Duggar are just that, dreams.

Beware of the Ravens...

2008-06-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's just because it's summer, but my kids seem more out of control than normal. I have to repeat myself 5 times instead 3 and then Brynna has developed some teenage 'tude, having to comment with a sassy remark to everything. In my frustration I told them they had better watch out or the ravens would come and pluck out their eyes. Of course they wanted to know what I was talking about so I told them that in Proverbs 30:17 it says, "The eye that mocks a father, that scorns obedience to a mother, will be pecked out by the ravens of the valley, will be eaten by the vultures." Jace and Brynna were not phased but poor Ryleigh was freaked. She continually asks if the "raisins" are coming to get her eyes or if the others are misbehaving if the "raisins" will get their eyes. Of course I reassured her that everyone would be okay but, when those older ones start to act up I let out a "caw caw" and they know what I'm getting at.

He's here...

2008-04-30T12:33:00.000-07:00

Well once again, I have birthed another beautiful child. Even though it wasn't like my other four, it was an easy labor and delivery. I will try to write more when time allows but here are the facts: boy, 8lbs 1oz, healthy, not named Jamal.

Brynnaisms

2008-04-07T13:19:00.000-07:00

Brynna is constantly saying something to make us laugh. She truly has a different way of looking at the world.

As Jace was working on his 4th grade school project, the question came up between Brian and myself of how much parental involvement there should be. I stated that the project should be done completely by Jace with just parental supervision. To which Brynna immediately replied, "You guys don't have super vision!" I'll be honest I didn't get it at first, and then Jace began to explain what supervision meant and then laughing about how fun it would be if we (his parents) did have some super powers. After the 10 year old explained it to me I couldn't stop laughing. I guess my ability to know when Ryleigh doesn't use toilet paper after peeing or that Brynna is making faces while walking away from me doesn't count as super vision, but a mom's keen sense of foresight should be viewed as somewhat heroic, don't you think?

Then one night at dinner Brynna claimed to know where I bought the extremely large container of Old Bay spice from. I thought from the sheer size of the bottle she would claim Costco, but to my surprise she stated it was Best Buy as she held it in her hand. Again, Jace clarified the situation for me, when he told her that it was the expiration date and not the store. Get it, "Best by" such and such a date.

At back to school night she shared her school papers and artwork with us. Hanging on the wall was her book report with illustrations of a book she read about tigers. One of the scenes showed two tigers who I thought were wrestling however the page read "tigers have to mate". They were wrestling in the second drawing...I guess tigers have to play too.

She's the only one in her classroom assignment asking what she will look like at 100, who drew herself in a wheelchair. Everyone else just had more hair and was taller.

Maybe she just sees things how they really are. No fantasy with her and she won't let you have any fantasies either...don't even think you can have super vision.

Baby Jamal

2008-03-01T15:48:00.000-08:00

One day while discussing baby names at the lunch table, the kids began to throw out baby names. The responses were pretty typical. Brynna wanted to name the baby after her BFF at school Annika, but she also liked Crystal and Kaitlynn. Jace, in hopes of it being a boy, threw out the name Michael or Justin (his BFFs). Then Ryleigh said she was going to call the baby Jamal. Not sure at the time where this was coming from we asked her what if it's a girl. To which she said she would still call the baby Jamal. Ryleigh loves the cartoon "Little Bill" and on one of the recent episodes Little Bill had a brand new cousin named, you guessed it, Jamal. Ever since that day at the table, Ryleigh only refers to the baby as Jamal. "When is Jamal coming?" "Does Jamal like rice crispy treats?" "Goodnight Jamal." "I love you, Jamal", as she kisses my belly. It has become quite endearing and now with just a few weeks to go we all refer to the baby in my belly as Jamal. So although I don't think Jamal will be a first name, I am trying to talk Brian into a second middle name. I'll keep you posted.

Dinner for two at the Dora table

2008-02-14T12:10:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day at our house is celebrated as a family. We normally have a romantic dinner with candles, wine goblets, a more adventurous entree and a fun dessert, chosen by the kids. This year our son had requested Baked Alaska, mind you I had no idea what this was, and dreaded the thought of making something elaborate. Why couldn't they have asked for cupcakes? My dread was increased by having our seven year old daughter ask me if she could invite her "boyfriend" to dinner with us. I told her I would think about it and after Matt showed up at our house on Valentines day with a box of chocolate and a stuffed animal I thought I would oblige. I looked on the internet and found an easy version of Baked Alaska, not so dreadful after all. Now my only worry seemed to be my little girl growing up. When she came home from school she started planning, she would bring the Dora table out of the playroom and place it in the family room (close by our eating area thankfully). She picked flowers for both of our tables, daffodils, and got down some candles. Jace wrote up menus and was to be their waiter for the evening. Brynna went to get ready in a dress and heeled shoes. Matt arrived an hour early. I'm thinking isn't it enough that I'm fixing dinner for him now I have to babysit him too? My pep talk to myself went something like this, "you're creating memories for your kids, it's fine don't worry, the screaming and yelling is their way of self-entertainment." When dinner was ready, the candles were lit, Disney provided the mood music, the punch was served and the menu presented. Of course they chose what I had made, there were no other selections. The two giggled the whole time and ate super speedily. The couple, along with the other three, upon finishing danced around while I cleaned up and prepared to put the finishing touches on my dessert. I put it in the broiler and burnt it, go figure, I've never really worked one of those before. Pep talk to myself, "it's fine, they're kids, they eat their own boogers, it's still gonna work." I was able to scrape the burnt part and the kids scarfed it down (go figure).8 After I told the kids it was time for Matt to go home and we were all cleaned up, Brynna told me it was the best Valentines Day ever. I was glad I could make this day special, hopefully she will remember her first "date" with a boy, 'cause if I have anything to do with it, it's her last until she's married!

Oops we did it again...

2008-01-26T12:08:00.000-08:00

Well actually, we did it awhile ago but since it has been so long since my last post I thought I would update to say "We're pregnant!", yes again...this makes five. I'm about 7 months along and feel as big as a house but we are excited. I will admit that I have many days when I think that we are in fact crazy to have a baby again. When Ryleigh, the 3 year old, and Keely, the 1 year old, cry and scream simultaneously or when I'm at the store with all four and my oldest is running the cart into displays and Brynna is begging for everything and the little ones no longer want to sit in the cart, I could cry. This pregnancy wasn't actually planned but it was very much wanted. I don't think five kids is a lot, and when I see them all playing together or to hear all four of them laughing I know I would never want any other life. The crazy part is the last three being so close together in age. I'm not sure how it's all going to go but the truth is that in a few months it's going whether I'm ready or not. So I had better get ready.

In the beginning...

2007-04-10T11:06:00.000-07:00

Being the mother of four children, ages 9, 6, 2, and 10 months, at the age of thirty I often receive the comment "my you have your hands full" and although it is a true statement I cringe when I hear it. It makes me feel like I don't have control over my children, which at times is also true, but for the most part I think they will become contributing members to society one day. I also wonder what the kids think when hearing the beautiful dressed and put together mother of one or the grumpy old woman say this, not so much the younger two - oblivion is their friend, but the older hear it so often that I don't want it to become a self-fulfilling prophecy and for them to think they overwhelm me. So one night while lying in bed I decided that every time someone said it to me I would respond with "I do but, they're a handful of blessings", but the hard part was saying it without bursting into laughter(lack of sleep always makes me laugh). It's been two weeks since my decision to reply with my new catch phrase and I have not been able to muster the nerve or the ability to stifle my snickers, so until then a nod and a smile will have to do.