Puke and the Boy

S puked on her lemon custard cake (covered in thick, Crisco frosting) at church on Sunday morning.

As per my usual obsessive pattern, I covered her in antibacterial spray the rest of the afternoon.

Obsession paid off. No one else got sick.

Except maybe Bubs.

Bubs puked Cheerios once while he was crawling across the kitchen floor and Mac-n-cheese another time. I told mom that and she said, "He shouldn't be EATING macaroni and cheese!" Hahahahahahaha! I live to irritate my mom, it seems.

After those two small mishaps (is chunky baby puke a mishap?), he seemed fine. He is happy and healthy now. And busy and curious and FAST.

Did I mention that our baby got big over night? In one week, he got two teeth, started crawling, learned how to sit from laying down, and now pulls himself up to standing on whatever is in his reach (siblings' legs, toilets...)

Today, the boy opened the cupboard under my sink, turned over the garbage, and was trying to eat dental floss and grape vines/stems while I took a very quick trip to the bathroom. (Do I need to tie him down while I pee? Hold him on my lap?!) I think he gets into more stuff than my other kids did. Or else I forgot already. It seems like he just crawls from one thing to the other all day. I thought he was easy when he started crawling, because he could entertain himself more.

I was wrong.

Now he's tipping small couch-side tables over (the red one in the photo), getting stuck under kitchen chairs, tearing apart our books (the white one in the photo), eating magazines....

Every time I turn my back, the kid is on a mission to destroy. Sheesh.

Play

I am all shades of feeling bad tonight.

We were eating lunch (well, I was cutting up food for M, pouring milks, refilling plates), and Z asked, "When is Papa coming home?"

I thought maybe he wanted to work on the clubhouse with K and I wanted to let him know it'd have to be after his quiet time. "After your quiet time. Why?"

"Well, I just like him better." (Fork through heart)

Of course, that begs the question, "How come?", which was answered with a "He plays with us more."

And I just didn't respond. And I really don't think he was trying to make me feel bad. He said it all matter-of-fact. Like he was saying just any old fact; like the table was brown. Or B picks his nose and eats it. Or balls are round.

"I just like him better..."

And it kills me, because I feel like I do play with them. I just played Simon Says and read piles of books with them. But I also did the laundry, changed and fed M, cleaned up breakfast, made beds, and planned my menu for the week.

I know that I don't play with my kids as much as K does. He works at work.

I work at home.

I have way more stuff to do at home than he does. He has time to play with the kids when he is home, because he is actually DONE working. I still have laundry and dishes and bills and phone calls to make.

I know I shouldn't take it personally. That's dumb. But still..."I like him better?!" Sheesh. Punk.

"The Club House"

Last fall, I took the kids into the woods to make a fairy house. They loved it.

K always has to one-up me, doesn't he?

Naps

When the kids turned four, they switched from taking a nap to doing quiet time. Mostly because the kids appreciate having time away from their punk siblings for awhile. Time to not have to share. Or get along. Or talk nicely. Time to play with books and toys with no interruptions.

Yeah, I like the time out also. To update blogs and stalk people on Facebook. You caught me.

Of course, they can take a nap if they want to. And it seems like S and Z choose to nap at least 4 out of the 6 days that they do quiet time. S always fell asleep on her bed while "reading".
Recently though, the girl got kicked out of her room when M started taking naps in there.

This particular quiet time, she apparently was tired, because she made herself a bed and then promptly laid in it...not to awoken even by her yelling brothers and a picture-taking mom.

I think what finally woke her was the word "brownies" that came in the form of, "Hey mom, will the brownies be gone before S wakes up?"

Suddenly, she appeared on the top of the stairs. Ready for a brownie and some milk.

Genetics

Those three pictures are not all of Soren. Would you have even wondered? If I didn't scan them, and if the quality of the two of S weren't so crappy, I would do a poll and make you guess. I'd sing that song, "One of these three is not like the other...."
Every time I look at that boy, I have flashbacks of our girl. They do similar expressions. They have similar movements, even. Isn't that crazy? That I think they move the same? I didn't even know I noticed that S moved a certain way. Until I saw it repeated in the Bubs.

I don't know if S just has one of those universal looks, or if the Papa's side just has burly genetics...because S also looks alot like her cousin, G. I saw a picture on K's desktop the other day, and I said, "Hey. How'd you get that picture and I've never even seen it?", because I usually take and upload the pictures, you know...

And K said, "Oh. My sister just sent that to me."

And it was only then that I realized that the picture was not of S, but of her cousin, G.




Oh. Also, our boy officially sits now.

The Bullet Dodger

About a week ago, a friend asked, "So, what is M doing lately?", and I couldn't even think how to answer, because, "What do babies do exactly?" But I mentioned that he babbles some, he sleeps some, and he rolls (a little less than) some. He would roll maybe twice a day, and that was past his quota.

He was done.

No more rolling.

Way too much work.

But lately, the littlest boy is getting around more. He doesn't crawl yet, but do you remember how Jack Bauer rolls when he is dodging enemy bullets? Our boy can roll like that.

Not quite. But close.

I will lay him down in one spot, and I will come back to find him on the other side of the living room. Sometimes he has managed to wedge himself half-way under the couch or under the wicker chairs.

So I have been reminding the kids to pick up their little toys when the rolling boy is anywhere near them.

I laid M in an empty room, only to return, minutes later, to this:




And this:



I reminded the kids again to pick up their swallowable (my own vocabulary, yes?) things.

They did.

The rolling boy didn't care. He just started playing with the big things, experimenting to see which parts he could still successfully stuff in his mouth.

The problem with the big toys is that he usually ends up pulling them over on himself and getting hurt. These pictures were taken just minutes apart. He pulled the stroller over on himself, knocking himself in the forehead.

I took it away.

When I returned, the roller had made his way to the big pet shop and had turned it over onto himself as well.
He'll learn soon enough, I suppose.

And just for you, Rach...

Breaded Pigs

Tonight, K made breaded pork chops. Z asked what kind of meat pork chops were.
"Pig", I said.
He studied his plate for a minute and asked, "Do pigs have breadcrumbs on them like that?!"
And somehow, K managed to squeak out (without laughing), "No, pigs don't. I added the breadcrumbs before I put them in the oven."

Teapot Murders

Before we begin, it has been brought to my attention that one might need a small vocabulary lesson in order to fully understand this story:
Main Entry:

fart machine

Pronunciation:

\fah-ert mosh-een\

Function:

noun

Date:

2007 (?)

Definition: A fart machine is a small, black circle with a speaker on it. Out of the speaker comes all varieties of flatulence. There is a remote with it, so that the person holding the remote can put the speaker under someone or something (a chair, perhaps?) and then go to another room to push the remote. It creates all kinds of surprise for the person sitting on or near the machine and hilarity for the person holding the remote.

Okay then, on with the story...

How many movies can you count where the lonely, relaxed woman sports a thin robe, warms up the stove for a cup of tea, and goes to relax in the other room? The tea kettle whistles, the music gets more and more dark and animated, and we know her end is imminent.

I felt like that woman today. I had the tea kettle experience.
K took the kids out, so I could get some homework done. All was quiet...

Except for a man's voice. One that was hardly audible. But still, a man's voice. If we lived in the city. No problem. Probably a neighbor or something. Out here? We don't have neighbors. At least not neighbors that we'd be able to hear...

My mind whirred with all of the men that K might have pissed off in his sermons and with all of the ways that they might want to get back at him.

They'd want to hurt his loved ones, of course...

His wife.

I got up slowly from the couch, and then thought, "It isn't really a man. It has got to be the radio."

I tiptoed to the radio.

Nope. (gulp)

K's computer?

Off. (hmmm)

The basement?

Possibly, but did I want to check?

No. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen anyway.

And then, just like the teapot scenario, B's (ahem) fart machine started going off. I knew I had just seen the remote to that thing in the bathroom.

On the counter.

I raced to the hallway to see if it was still there. It wasn't. At least, I couldn't see it from where I was.

Again, I tiptoed.

This time down the hallway. To B's room. Where the farting persisted.

Was my death about to come to me by way of an animated human fart? I didn't know, but my homework wasn't getting done. I was being distracted, and I was annoyed. I would possibly kill the murderer just out of sheer annoyance.

I opened the bedroom door.

Nothing, except the loudly farting (and hiding) machine.

I searched through countless toys until I found the thing and quickly flipped the off switch.

But still...when would my killer come? I knew I had heard him somewhere in the house. He now had baited me into position. I had to get out of this room. Quickly. (I was seriously scared!)

All espionage-like, I made myself one with the walls, and slid silently down the hall, to the kitchen again. The male voice was louder, closer....

And it was coming from K's ipod. On the kitchen counter.

There is absolutely no good ending, (I mean, I'm not dead, and that is good) but if I was an author (and I'm clearly not), this ending would suck, because the conclusion is this:

For some freak reason, the frequency in our house went wacky (or something), causing the fart machine and K's ipod to start going off simultaneously. I still don't understand it. K said that happens sometimes. (?)

All I know is that I am happy to not have been wooed to death by a fart machine. That would have just been embarrassing.

I Wonder How He'd Look if He Wasn't a Pacifist

See that mighty knight? And the eye-patched pirate? They are trying to protect the princess from the evil enemy. The princess was actually doing a pretty impressive job whooping the enemy's butt herself, but you know...we let the boys think they were helping anyway. Male chivalry is important, I guess.

To them.

Not to me.

By the way, if you read this said enemy's blog, you might think he was a pacifist.


I just have a hard time believing that sometimes. I don't know why.

Clothes and Drawings

Z informed me that "turkeyflage" is much more practical than "camel-flage', because "we don't really shoot camels around here! Who cares if camels can see us or not!?"
--------------------------------
B has been drawing like crazy. Not that long ago, he asked me how to draw a dalmatian.

I showed him. An oval for a head, then a big, black nose, two dots for eyes, and some little, black ears. He watched me, and made one similar. It was one of the first drawings he's done that actually looks like the thing he was copying. I was proud. I had him sign it, and I dated it and hung it up.

My sister came over, and said, "B, nice picture!"

"My mom made that," he said.

And no matter how much I tried to tell her that I wasn't guilty, she still looked pretty unconvinced in the end.

I threw it away, and I quickly decided that he no longer can copy my drawings.

Only originals from now on, baby!
-------------------------------
S asked if she was big enough to pick out her own clothes, "because the boys always do", and I was thinking, "Yup, but they only have cachis and jeans...you can't really screw that up!" Finally, she won me over, and I thought, "Oh well. She can't screw up TOO bad. She really only has SOME jeans with colors and stuff on them...maybe she won't pick those..."
I was right. She didn't pick those flowery jeans. She picked a skirt. And tights. Huh.

Good try, sunshine! We might wait awhile to try the independent dressing thing again.

Random Stuff About Your Mom

I thought I should paste this list here, because I wouldn't want my kids to miss out on how cool their mom was....

1. I used to have to wear an eye patch to school, and my mom drew an eye on the top of it to make it look better. I probably scared people.
2. I scratched my best friend's eye, and she had to wear a patch WITH me for a week. I thought that was cool. She didn't.
3. When we used to have those desks that slanted towards us, our teacher rearranged the room so we were facing another classmate. My desk partner puked on my desk, and it rolled down my desk towards me. I escaped just in time.
4. I used to think that I was mentally impaired, and my family just didn't want to tell me.
5. When I was in 8th grade, I transferred to a new school. The teacher asked where I was from, and I said, "I'm from Mars." Well, actually I said, I was from MARNE, but everyone thought I said Mars, and they started calling me Tard. I KNEW IT! ( see #4)
6. I say dumb things to people all the time, like when I asked a former classmate (a guy) what his name used to be or when I told a guy (who was all thankful for the good care the funeral home people gave his wife and who was all teary-eyed that they cared so much to make her look so beautiful), "Oh. Well, that's their job." (see #4)
7. I used to think that I had such long toes because I was gonna be in some big tragic accident that left me with severed hands. I would need my toes to write and draw.
8. I bleached my eyebrows gone once when I decided that Hydrogen Peroxide would be a good thing to clean my face with. I didn't realize my eyebrows were gone until people started asking about them. (see #4)
9. I have to pluck my nose hairs all the time.
10. Someone asked me if my kid was my grandkid just a few months ago.
11. Someone asked me if my sister was older or younger than me. She's TWELVE years older than me, darn it all!
12. I got in an accident once, when I first got my license, and we weren't sure if the noise was our car being crashed or if our music was just up too loud. (see #4)
13. Then, I drove away from the accident, because I didn't know you needed to stop. (see #4)
14. Someone chased us down.
15. I'm doing this stupid list instead of doing my homework.
16. I've been in seminary for SEVEN years.
17. I still have two more years to go. One class per semester...
18. I hope I can use my degree some day.
19. My kids all look more like my sister-in-law than me.
20. When I go away with her, people automatically ask HER if they are twins, how old they are, and what their names are.
21. When I first got married, K took a big ol' bite of uncooked rice, because I followed the recipe, and it said, "Serve over rice". It didn't say "cook the rice first"! (see #4)
22. I haven't improved much.
23. My kids have eaten candy every day since Halloween. The other day, they ate a popcorn ball, a sucker, and Kool-aid for dinner. (That's really true, Cind!) :)
24. I'm done. No more Random Things. I've got to go play "Knock Over the Other Person's Army Guys" with B.
25. Okay, one more. I have scars all over the place. Most of them are from when I tried to show off for a cute guy by pedaling my bike really fast down a steep paved driveway that curved at the end. (I fell, sliding on my knees, hands, and face.) The other ones (the ones on my hands) are from getting bitten by Alroy, my favorite biting human ever. He lived in the group home I used to work at.

Bubs is Almost an Adult

Some friends said I should blog more about Bubs, because they still feel like he is a tiny baby, and they were surprised to see he was a near-adult when they came to visit recently.

I agreed to do so.

But in attempting that feat, I realized I have little to say:

He still does all the same stuff. He's just bigger.

He eats, and he is mostly content with the every 3 hour set-up. Once in a while, he gets mad that I am not a "24 Hour Drink Bar".

He poops. Alot.

He cries when Z kisses him too much, but is otherwise pretty smiley.

He rolled over two times, and then decided that was way too much work for his cellulitey body.

He drools lakes-worth.

He is cute. Very cute.

And he is good entertainment when S's toys have lost their appeal.

Water

Our trip to GWL was better than I expected. The room was HUGE, and the kids had their own little room/log cabin entirely. And their own TV. I never knew what a blessing that could be. Woohoo! We weren't stuck watching Dora when we really wanted to watch 24.

The waterpark was completely age-appropriate for them. When I called before-hand, the receptionist said our kids wouldn't be able to go on some of the bigger slides, so I was picturing these wimpy baby slides for them while K and I took turns on the big ones.

When we got there, the kids could actually go on almost everything by themselves, including two really long slides, and K and I could take them with us on the three really big inner-tube slides.

I literally had to carry a clinging, crying S up a ROPE LADDER (imagine that, will ya?) and shove her terrified, shaking body down the long slides the first time (before the attendant noticed and told me to stop), because I knew she would like it if she would only just try it.

"Like it" ended up being an understatement. The girl spent most of her day in a constant cycle; going up and down those two yellow and red slides, over and over again. They actually ended up being her favorite thing of the day.

Ahhh, what a little "mom pressure" can do...

There was also a regular swimming pool, a gigantic shallow pool (that I sat in with M alot), and a hot tub.

We stayed for 10 hours the 2nd day.

We'll go back next year.

Five Years Ago, again

When my brother died, I was ten. I remember not knowing how to be on the anniversary of his death. Was I supposed to pretend like it was like every other day, so my parents wouldn't have to remember? Was I supposed to be sad? Was I supposed to be happy, so they wouldn't feel bad about my remembering?

Of course, I grew up, and realized that my parents were thinking about Nate anyway, so it wouldn't hurt to acknowledge the day. And I didn't have to pretend to be happy or sad. I just needed to let my parents know that I still remembered.

Today, five years ago, we lost our Adeline. We didn't want our kids to have that same pressure I felt. We didn't want them to feel pressured into sadness on this day.

At some point, when they are older, the kids might have questions. They might be more affected than they are now. They might be sad at not having had time with their sister. We want to open to talking with them. We want them to feel good about asking those questions. On the other hand, the kids might not be affected by having lost Adeline. They hardly got to meet her. We want them to feel free to not be emotional as well.

So, we decided that we, the parents, should acknowledge the day, (so that the kids don't have to tiptoe around it), and talk about how sad losing Adeline made us feel. Then, because we are thankful for our healthy kids, and we are thankful that Adeline is having a riot with Christ, we can use this day too have fun together too. A day to thank God for our family.

Maybe none of that makes sense to anyone. It doesn't have to. I just know that I would rather acknowledge our sad feelings, remembering Adeline, and then move on from there to thankfulness, for her time with us here, for her good ol' time with Christ now, and for the gift that God gave us in the family we have with us here.

We chose today to go the Great Wolf Lodge. The kids are excited. I must be too, because I couldn't sleep when I thought about getting to go on water slides all day.

FIVE!

The big kids had a birthday. They are five years old.
Z said, "When I was sleeping, I was four, and then I turned five. When I woke up, I was bigger and stronger!" And it seems pretty close to the truth. These five years flew by.

Christmas Money

We are going to the Great Wolf Lodge! A indoor water park and hotel. The hotel offers "a Kid Cabin suite sleeping area with a bunk bed, a day bed and their own TV. In the main portion of the suite the adults have a queen bed, and a corner gas fireplace." Woohoo!

My Grandma gives us money every Christmas, and usually I throw it into our bank account, and end up using it for groceries or gas or something. But THIS year, B saw her give me the envelope, as she said, "Merry Christmas to your kids!"

He asked, "What did Mooka (Grandma) give to you?"

"Money for Christmas", I said.

"What will we DO with that money?", B said.

And I realized that this is the first year that we would actually have to devote that money towards something fun for the kids. I'm sure my Grandma would be glad, as she probably didn't know that her Christmas money went towards tampons, milk, and wheat bread.

So we decided that we should spend it on something that we could do as a family.

Thus, the Great Wolf Lodge...

(Hey, Auntie Ange, this would be a good time for you to come visit us. At least we would be out of the cold winter wonderland for one night!) :)

Happy, Merry, Late Christmas

Nickels

B came out of quiet time holding a quarter and a penny. (He found the treasure under his bed.)
He said, "Can people swallow these?"
"No!" I exclaimed, "People don't eat money."
He said, "But CAN they?"
"No", I said, "I don't think people want to AND I don't think that they CAN."
"Well, I think they can, 'cause I swallowed the nickel."

"WHAT?! You did what? You wanted to swallow a nickel?! (lots of exclamation points)"
"No, but I DID swallow a nickel."

Apparently, the kid put a nickel in his mouth (to see what it tasted like), and then he accidentally swallowed it.

I panicked a little, thinking of the fact that he could have choked to death with me right in the next room, not at all aware of the danger.

B's Turn

It is B's turn to be re-introduced. I am, again, going to help you to see who he is by telling a few, short stories:

We "splurged" at McDonalds for K's birthday: We got Happy Meals the kids and something not on the Dollar Menu for us.

We might have picked another place to celebrate, but the Chinese restaurant waitresses are crabby, and no other restaurant will entertain our kids for us (with an indoor playground) for up to two hours at a time. What better birthday present could you get?!

So, B was still hungry and asked for another order of chicken nuggets. I, (being the health-conscious mom that I am) said, "Do you want a cookie or more chicken nuggets?"
The kid answered, "A cookie. AND more chicken nuggets."

------

On Tuesday, S spent most of her morning crying. B said, "Mom, S is whining ALOT today. Can she go to her room or something?"
S said, "B! I WAS going to get a treat today for earning five stars (which is lost if she whines), and I WAS going to share some of my treat with YOU. Now I won't be able to."
B paused, and then said, "Mom, I think S has been so good today. She didn't whine or cry or hit or anything. She was just nice all day."

Huh.

Last story:
B broke the GLASS (who thought of this preschool craft anyway?!) Christmas ornament that he made at MOPS. He dropped it on our tile floor. It shattered. He walked over to Z, all calm, and said, "I dropped my ornament. You didn't want yours, did you?"
Z looked at his ornament adoringly, and said, "Um, you can have it if you want, B."
And B held out his hand in expectation.

So, in case you haven't gathered it so far, B knows how to get what he wants. Or at least he tries. He is creative in his problem-solving. He takes charge of situations. He is assertive. He makes the most of every opportunity.

Right now, I have to struggle to remember that one day, when he is just a little bit older and less narcissistic, these will all be very, very good traits to possess.

Then and Now

Although it may not look like it from this picture, the scarf was much further away from the baby's nose and mouth than it looked. He COULD breathe. We love you, Baby M! :)

When I was young, we spent alot of time swinging over a giant ravine (complete with poky branches and sharp rocks on the bottom) on a long, long piece of rope. A rope swing. Remember those? My sister Kathi and my cousin left my other sister in the middle, alone and basically trapped, "for hours" (according to her) one day. They were sick of playing with her, I guess. She helplessly hung there until they came to retrieve her.

We had snowmobiles in the winter, and we would be gone (far away in the woods) for most of the day. I remember playing tag with my cousins. We'd chase each other at full speed and try to pull each other off of our machines. Whoever was laying on the ground (with the riderless snowmobile in front of them somewhere) was not the winner.

We also had a sledding hill. It was huge. And really dangerous. There were trees on both sides, and it dropped off similarly to that of a scary roller coaster. I think someone broke their leg (or an arm?) on that hill.

We loved it.

Today's sledding experience reminded me of my own childhood and how much I want our kids to experience those kinds of things. Outdoor things. Good, old-fashioned fun. Fun that doesn't require batteries. Experiences that get the adrenaline going.

All of that without getting hurt, of course.

S, also reintroduced

See that necklace? Z made that for S. Who else in the world, besides a girl with three brothers, gets to wear a necklace lovingly made out of army tank wheel parts? The bright flowers and the black go together well, no?

I promised a while ago to reintroduce you to the kids.

Today is S's day.

The girl is girly. Her papa says she is way girlier now than I ever have been or ever will be in my life. She is obsessed with Barbie (not given to her by me), Polly Pocket (ditto), princess movies (ditto again), and beautiful dress-up gowns and jewelry (geez, are we horrible parents, because I have to say ditto AGAIN!) I just am not girly. At all. I have a dress, but I haven't worn it since before I got pregnant in 2003. (Think Rachel's wedding, Ange!)

She is compliant to the point of getting her feelings hurt when we correct her. Today, she said, "More milk..." and I said, "Could you ask for milk in any other way? Like maybe more politely?" and her lip quivered as she said, "Milk please?"and then, "I'm sorry I asked like that."

She is a helper:

I was drying my hair in the bathroom. The girl came in, and said, "Ohhh. I am so tired. (Wiping fake sweat off her forehead). Man, gettin' those boys ready is a LOT of work!"
Later, I passed S in the hallway. She was leading Z to his room by his elbow, exclaiming, "Now, it just doesn't make sense that you aren't dressed yet."
And while I would usually object to S being the "parent", I was running late that morning, and I was just grateful that someone was directing "those boys".

She is a wimp! I mean, um, safety-conscious? I wouldn't mention this, except that we just put up her new loft bed, and I wondered if we would even be able to talk her into sleeping there.
Surprisingly, she learned rather quickly how to convince her feet (rather shakily) to "just keep going one-by-one".

She is social. She knows WAY more people's names than I do, everywhere we go. If I have a question about someone at church, I only need to find S, and she will tell me who it is. She just wants people around. I found her crying once, in her bed, and when asked what was wrong, she said, "How come B and Z have a room together, and you and Papa have a room together, and I am stuck in here with no one. I want someone to talk to in here!" We got her a Fur-real Pig (temporary fix) and promised that when the baby came, she would also have a room partner (more permanent fix).
Today is the day for the permanent fix! M has been sleeping through the night for about a week now (10 hours last night! Woohoo!), and he has earned a place underneath his big sister's bed. She is elated. "Someone to talk to at last!"

Good Times

B came across some old Creative Memory books that I had started for the kids when they were born. I have about 2 1/2 years worth.

They are mammoth.

But then I started blogging and completely "forgot" about the books. Who wouldn't "forget" when blogging is so much easier!? No cutting out paper, pasting, trimming photos to fit the page, buying expensive embellishments...

But the kids thoroughly enjoyed paging through the books, and so I started to feel guilty...like I should be putting alot more work into documenting our lives together.

In the end, I swayed my guilt by simply uploading a few photos of old times (ones that haven't been posted before) and calling it good. Here ya go, kids. I love you.

Side note: Is anyone else worried about our kids not being able to access our blogs some day? All this writing and they won't even be able to read it? I do happen to save mine to CD, but what if those are obsolete too by the time they are old enough to care?