Retraction?

So, I laid in bed last night regretting the fact that I used the words "muzzle" and "cage" in my last blog about my children. I have been wanting to put up some pictures and so I thought I would take this opportunity to make it clear that I LOVE my children, that I would NEVER muzzle them, and NEVER put them in a cage. Unless a baby gate counts. :-) Anyway, I always try not to brag about my kids too much here, because that gets old and because I'm biased. I try to relate the stories as I see them. But even in spite of their crazy loudness, I think they're the greatest kids in the world. Just so you know. Here are some pictures from the last few weeks. We have been enjoying Spring here, the perfect weather and the flowers.

Caterpillars, Walmart & Movies

I have a minute to catch up on some things because Libby and Cash are amusing themselves playing with caterpillars which keep falling from the oak trees and into our back yard. They carry them around and put them in the doll house we have..."Look Mom, the caterpillar is taking a bath...the caterpillar is getting dressed..." (as they close it into the drawers). At first I declared caterpillars must stay outside but they are having so much fun and leaving me alone so I figured a little caterpillar slime or poop or both never hurt anyone. In fact, if injested, it's probably the most vitamins they might get in one sitting.

In other health news, yesterday I discovered Penelope with two handfuls and one mouthful of Vicks Baby Vapor Rub. And I thought my grandmother was daring just rubbing it around and slightly inside her nostrils. Although the label said "do not put in mouth" it didn't say to call poison control if it actually did get in someone's mouth so I just tried to wipe her out with a baby wipe and forget it ever happened. But the smell on her reminded me for a while afterward.

Jackson has been amusing himself making movies on our computer and the kids have also discovered that our "Photo Booth" application can record short movies. So they sneak down here all the time and click record and just stare at themselves or say funny things. And then I discover them and say, "Guys, no computer right now...get down..." or the like and so now I have quite a few short clips of my cute children with their mother yelling at them in the background. Exactly what I want saved for posterity. This will be their memory of me. Telling them to stop being cute and creative. I can hear them as teenagers... "What was the big deal, Mom?" The big deal is, I'm afraid I'm going to come down here and discover caterpillar poop on my keyboard, you crazy people!

Two days ago we just said NO to the ghetto and took ourselves to the brand new Walmart Market/Pharmacy right down the street. Finally I won't have to drive three miles just to discover that they are out of the diapers I'm looking for. The new Walmart is miniature, it's so cute I want to pinch it's cheeks. I felt like I should be checked out by oompa-loompas or something, or take some kind of magic pill to shrink me so that I would be the right size to keep the same proportions I'm used to when I go to a Supercenter. Bottom line: if I get to the front and realize I forgot something, I might actually go and get it.

I browsed through all the movies they've made over the last week and while I hesitate to let the world see and hear my children like this, the distorted faces are pretty funny. Anyway, I'm now wondering if my scaled down Walmart has a pet department where I could buy muzzles and cages for them. I could just slip them a few caterpillars every day...

Daylight Savings Strangeness

I really hate the time change. (I'd like to propose we just split the difference and go forward 30 minutes and leave it there.) When you're a scheduled mom like me, it throws you off quite a bit. I decided I'd just go ahead and complain on the blog because all kinds of weird things have happened in the last few days and I've decided to blame it all on the time change. It hit me especially hard this spring since Jimmy had to work and I got everyone ready for church by myself and managed to arrive at church seven minutes early (quite a victory) only to discover I was really 53 minutes LATE. It really threw me off for the entire day.

I really didn't know what time it was for the rest of the day. I'm usually the time change nazi and am the one running around the night before saying "Go to bed, it's really an hour later!" and have gone so far as to move my schedule ahead (or behind) 30 minutes the week before so the adjustment is not as hard.

Weird things have been happening. Sunday was a huge blur and ended with me serving a dinner that will definitely win me Mom of the Year: drumroll please... Hot Dogs and Waffles! Yes, I didn't even attempt anything healthy. Oh, well, I did throw some leftover peas on Penelope's tray. I didn't plan this...I didn't plan anything which is why we ended up eating junk. I think it will be my new time change menu from here on out.

Jimmy had been working all day Sunday, trying to clean a floor of the office building he cleans that was coated multiple times with old floor wax. What was going to be a few hours of work for him ended up in him bending over the floor peeling wax off (kind of like when you start peeling old paint and can't stop because it's addicting and once you start you can't stop) for eight hours.

Then, on Monday, Jimmy was out meeting someone about the floor and I'm trying to fix a real dinner (after the time change meal I had to redeem myself) and eat quick before leaving for worship team rehearsal. I turn on the oven and place the casserole dish inside only to a few minutes later have my house fill with smoke and the smell of wax because someone oh so lovingly placed a crayon in my oven! What is it with my children and the proper usage of writing utensils!? Did I or did I not graduate from art school?

After my worship team rehearsal we called in friends to baby sit and I peeled wax and helped Jimmy clean for over three hours. Talk about deviating from my normal schedule. And on time change week! I must be insane. I WILL relinquish control and "be flexible" and "go with the flow" as I preach to my kids all the time.

Today I walked around with a blob of poop on my shirt for like an hour, wondering why I kept smelling it. Later, at 5:15 I looked at my watch and it said 3:15. I have NO idea how this happened. I had already fixed my watch. It's just trying to mess me up even more! Then, tonight I'm home alone with sleeping children and all is quiet and I hear something on my back deck. I try to ignore it and not get freaked out but I decide to scope it out only to see a big possum messing around with a plastic bucket. STAY AWAY you big rat! Or I'll serve you hot dogs and waffles, fling poop on you, take you to church really late and then force you to inhale burnt crayon smoke! We'll see if you ever come back to my house!

"if You!"

Every morning when the kids wake up they have strict instructions to stay in their bed until 7:00 a.m. I allow them to get up and use the bathroom (don't think I haven't considered placing a chamber pot by their beds) but they must return to their room and stay quiet until the clock reaches that magic time. You would think this would be simple enough for them to understand and even easier for me to enforce. This is not the case. There are all kinds of special cases (for example, I ask Libby to NOT return to her room if she has to use the potty, she must rest on the couch so she will not disturb Penelope) and I am way too sleepy to really discipline anyone fairly--I just turn into grumpy irrational evil bed head mommy all too quickly. So all kinds of addendums (I don't know the word but this is the best I can do---I'm trying to write this before Dragon Tales is over) have been made to this "stay in bed" rule and I can't keep up. Like, if anyone ends up resting on the couch to wait until 7:00, they end up turning on the light because they can't see the clock if they don't. And the lack of darkness leads to you guessed it, foolishness and mayhem, which leads to noise, which leads to me emerging from the bedroom grumpy, irrational, etc. (And don't think I don't realize that if I was super Mom I would just get my rear end out of bed at 7. Or better, get up even earlier and put on make-up, have a super spiritual quiet time, and fix a 3 course breakfast. In my dreams.) I have solved this problem usually by just letting them watch 30 minutes of television in the mornings.

But during the school year, they are not allowed to do this on school days. I just don't want to use up my valuable "screen time" (I mentally allow myself so much before I feel guilty) so I have started giving them work to do in the mornings instead. Often Jackson just reads quietly so that is awesome. Even Libby has begun to be able to do this. But they also want a snack and have been allowed to get dry cereal, but then this has led to chocolate chips and other not so good for a morning snack choices. All of this does have a point.

Last night I left them actual work to do, along with an educational toy for Cash. I wrote Jackson a note and told him to help Libby with her work. I was pretty sure she would need help understanding the directions. It was a worksheet. I also left her a complete the sentence and draw a picture to go with it. Jackson used to do them all the time so I figured he'd tell her what to do.

Lots to keep them busy so I can sleep an extra 15-30 minutes. I even left them healthy rice cakes for a snack. Well, when I awoke at 6:54 to hear fighting and screaming I was not happy. I used all the patience I could muster, did not beat anyone or even yell but I made it clear they were to get on the couch and be quiet.

When I got up and looked at Libby's work, it was a total illustration of why I should just get up and help them (or leave them work that doesn't need explaining!). We are talking about the letter "Y" this week. I left Libby a sentence to complete: "Yellow yaks yell if you..." and she's supposed to finish the sentence and draw a picture. I couldn't believe what she came up with. She just copied my partial sentence and then drew a picture of two yaks yelling, "if you!" at each other. I will try to take a picture of it. I didn't know Yellow Yaks liked to cuss. Maybe they did so because of the crazy morning they were forced to encounter at our house...

Public(x)

Around here Thursday is library day. This means that we go to the library every Thursday. You see, our county checks out videos for one week. Books for three weeks. So this means I have things due every Thursday. I try to never (ever!) check things out on another day of the week, thus making it more complicated for my brain and body to get things back on time. I check the status of my account on the computer before I go, make sure I load up everything that's due, and so it goes every week. (Ever since I racked up $26 of fines while in the hospital when Libby was born, I'm quite careful.) Jimmy likes to go too, so many times we head out after dinner. You would think I'd go alone or just with Jackson, so as to accomplish much more without breaking any decibel barriers, but that's just not how we roll.

Tonight I felt as if I was officially a home school parent when I attached only one seat into my double stroller and filled the rest of it up with books. I usually have a list of things I'm looking for in addition to just getting fun books for the kids to read. It's quite an ordeal, keeping up with four kids, and keeping my mind enough to remember the alphabet so I can locate books. I am going through the alphabet in my head...COR...COS...shushing children...COT...eyeballing everyone..."No, don't pull out any books"...COTH...here it is... It is a crazy process and I don't know how I haven't been kicked out of numerous library branches. I should be banned from the county library system but hey, it's public.

And public it is. Tonight we had to endure a group of teenage boys sitting in the children's area using words that should not be said in the children's area. I don't like to think of the germs we are exposing ourselves to...but aren't library germs more educational or something?? And tonight I had to pick up a DVD and the attendant (whose nationality I will not disclose) seemed to barely speak english and I had to write down what I was looking for. When I was standing in line I was all of a sudden burning up and just felt generally nauseaus. I looked at my watch. 7:15. Like clockwork. I have some sort of 12 hour "maximum time alloted to be a mom" because once I hit this limit I am a time bomb. My patience and energy begins to lessen at an amazingly fast rate.

So we finish the library but our day is not done. We need milk. Have to go to Publix. As we pull into the parking lot I tell Jimmy, "I could just go in..." but I need not finish. He likes to go in too. We all go in. That's how we roll. Taking Tallahassee by storm one errand at a time. So it's more of the same. Trying to use my brain power to figure out which is cheapest, remember what we need, all the while counting heads and uttering words that just come out like I'm a robot..."Stay by the cart"..."Come back"..."Walk with mommy"..."Watch out!"...

We get to the checkout and all of a sudden I'm done. I'm hot, still nauseaus, but can't remove my sweatshirt jacket because underneath is an embarrassing piece of "mommy" clothing I refuse to completely reveal in public(x). I have no more patience or energy. It has gone. Jimmy takes the kids to the car. I have Penelope but she is still small enough to be contained and/or distracted. I think she tried to eat a plastic bag but I didn't care. I revived enough on the ride home to gather enough energy to help get everyone to bed. And even though my brain and body are tired, I took a shower to wash off all my public germs and have now recorded our library day experience for posterity. Whew. I'm going to do my best to do nothing for the rest of the day. I'm ALL DONE! (I'm doing the sign language in my head.)

Brain Lotion

Tonight Libby tried to sell me some brain lotion. Penelope (who has been playing babies lately...so cute) was putting some pretend lotion on her baby and I noticed and praised her for it. Libby said, "That's brain lotion. You put it on your brain and it makes your brain feel good." I said, "Oh, I'd like some of that," thinking the pretending would end there. But she then went on to tell me the different parts of your body you can put it on (I had begun changing and dressing Penelope and wasn't paying much attention) and asked me if I wanted some. Snapping out of it and realizing she had been talking to me, I bent over and closed my eyes and asked for my brain lotion. She pretended to pump it sort of over the top of my glasses so it would go into my eyes saying, "If you put it in your eyes it gets to your brain faster because your eyes are close to your brain." I think she must use the lotion a lot because I think her brain works a lot better than mine sometimes.

So here I sit, typing a blog, hoping it will relieve the pain in my own brain. We just got back from a trip so I'm coming off of four plus hours in the car. I am going to share some pictures of our weekend in Brandon with Jimmy's family. His brother Gary and wife Sharon live in Israel so their once a year visit is special and especially so this year because they brought their new baby Sa'ar this time. I am Aunt Julie again and he made it as sweet as it could possibly be with his big smiles and soft round baby head. We helped to throw Judy, Jimmy's mom, a 60th birthday party and also met Sharon's sister, Rachel, (who introduced us to the next coolest game ever) and her two children, so that meant lots of kids and company on the premises at all times. But also lots of fun and excitement. Welcome to America, Sa'ar! Happy Birthday, Judy! We got you both gifts--Brain Lotion! If it existed, that would have been a great idea. A smart baby and some extra help for the aged. Just kidding. Neither of them need it.
Cash and Shaya with their painted faces.
Libby had a great time holding Sa'ar.Here is Judy blowing out her last candle. The 60th on one of 60 cupcakes in the shape of a 60.The Alley grandkids. Complete with leftover face paint.Here is our new nephew. He is just as squeezable as he appears to be.

Somebody's got the blues

I couldn't resist taking Penelope's picture this morning after I discovered her sucking on a blue Crayola marker. She wasn't sad or upset, only became so after I took the marker away and abandoned her to go retrieve my camera. I also didn't realize how much she had sucked and ingested until this evening when I changed a diaper full of blue pee and blue poop. Like not just a little blue, as bright as the blue in this picture. I've had some interesting finds when I open up a diaper but I saw the blue through this one even before I opened it. I am going to resist the urge to make excuses about how it is possible for me to have left a marker on the floor in the reach of a baby, how I left her alone without checking on her for so long she was able to do this, and how it's just plain white trash to have a child that looks like this. I have no excuses. I was just cleaning up from breakfast, hiding in the kitchen, enjoying an uninterrupted piece of toast and being a good mommy and taking my vitamin. Sometimes these things happen. Sometimes more than not around here! Forgive me, Penelope!

Sans Offspring

As I sit typing this post, at 3:30 in the afternoon, I am HOME ALONE. Yes, it's true. My parents came to visit Sunday for two days and informed me Tuesday morning that they were going to take all 4 of my kids home with them. I did not complain. I have been plagued with a sore throat on and off (mostly on) for nearly three weeks now. It had gotten pretty bad and I was feeling really run down. So I packed them up and sent them on their way. No one complained. In fact, when they heard they were going to Nana and Pop-Pop's house without me, they were quite happy. I don't know what that says about my relationship to my kids, but I DON'T CARE. I am enjoying 48 hours to myself and though I miss them, have been able to accomplish a lot since their departure.

I have cleaned our bedroom, which is unfortunately a dumping ground for furniture, important papers, artwork, and home decor that doesn't have a place anywhere else in the house. It becomes the room where I put something I don't want the children to touch (and thus destroy) and close the door. Though I clean out the drawers pretty often, they are still over-flowing. Though we only sleep in there, the amount of dust I found could stuff a small pillow. And the mildew I discovered on the windows literally made me gasp. Our master bedroom holds nothing masterful at all and should be called "The Master(ed by Children) Bedroom."

I also accomplished what I was ordered by my mother to do, which was rest and eat. I stayed up only a little later than usual last night (reading a book, not working) and challenged myself to sleep as late as possible. I even restricted fluids so as not to have to get up and pee, thus ruining my chances of sleeping in. I don't like to sleep in, and even before children would get up by 8:30 or 9. I really didn't think I could do it, and when I awoke, did not open my eyes for quite a few minutes, telling myself it was probably only 8 a.m. and to go back to sleep. Because once I look at my watch, I begin calculating how many things I have to do and how long it's going to take and how I need to get started. But I caved, looked at my watch, and it said 9:55! Yes! I was amazed! I did it! I slept in! I was afraid that having children had ruined my abilities but it has not! And to make things even better, my throat wasn't even sore.

Needless to say I am thanking God for my parents who saw what I did not--that I really needed to rest and get better and be without my energy sucking, sanity stealing, calorie burning, germ filled children for a couple days. Hopefully my parents won't get too exhausted or sick themselves. And now I've spent enough time doing this. I've got much to do before the offspring are back on again!

The Homely Virus

Well, we're on like day 10 of some person in our family being sick. The whole "it takes a week for it to go around the whole family" is no exaggeration. It's not enough of one. It started with Jackson getting fever, then Libby had pink eye in both eyes, Cash is finally over his diarrhea (which included one episode of poop in his bed that was so disgusting I can't even make a joke about it) and Penelope has had a little of all these symptoms, including a rash. I have a sore throat. Jimmy, somehow, has escaped unscathed, although today feels pretty run down. For this recovering emetophobic (fear of vomit, yes it has a name) germ-a-phobe mommy, this whole viral plague has left me with bloody knuckles (from 24-7 hand washing) and living on a diet of Altoids and lip gloss. (Just exaggerating for effect, Mom. I'm eating.) I half-apologize for divulging this information. Who wants to know, right? But if I document this maybe I can offer up a little sympathy in a few decades to another young mommy like me who is SO OVER IT. Can you please get better!? Yes, they're awesome. Yes, I'm thankful for them. Yes, I am blessed. But sickly, whiny, feverish, smelly children are still sick, whiny, feverish, and smelly and it takes it's toll.

Last week, Jimmy was looking at a photo of the author on the back of a book Jackson was reading and said she was "homely." Jackson wanted to know what that meant and so I said, "Watch it, Jimmy. I'm homely. Jackson, a person who is homely is someone who doesn't fix themselves up because they're home a lot. So they don't wear make-up or nice clothes." I mean, I was only two days into the sickness at this point, but if anyone fits the definition of homely, it's me when everyone is sick and I can't leave the house nor want to. (I later looked up the definition to see if I was correct, and I did a pretty good job combining all definitions.) So the next day we went somewhere and when we pulled up I said, "Don't get out of the car yet, I'm going to finish putting on my make-up." (My make-up bag lives in the car...there are only four things in it, and I just put them on while driving on the way to wherever I'm going. I can barely be on time getting everyone else ready, and getting up earlier to apply make-up is NOT important to me.) Anyway, Jackson watched me finish up the mascara (it's hard to apply mascara while driving when you wear glasses and need your glasses just to see your speedometer) and as I put it away he said, rather enthusiastically, "Not homely anymore, Mom!" Yes, it's as if I have an alter ego. No one will know I'm the same person they saw walking to her mailbox in her pajamas with ratty hair and a snotty baby on her hip. Homely girl has left the house! And she's packing mascara! Look out, world.

So anyway, in the midst of all this, I am trying to potty train Cash. And miracle of miracles, he is doing REALLY WELL. Like, he's further along than either of my other two were at this age. I have had to change my reward system up a bit, though. He was totally working the system and squeezing out two or three drops or a tiny terd just to get candy. His entire life was peeing or pooping just enough to get candy. After six days of constant candy, he got what's going around and so I had to take him off all the sugar. So he was sick AND going through detox. It was quite a day. But now he is content with goldfish and Gatorade and is really having a lot of success. It's a Festivus miracle. Cash wins the "feats of strength." (If you haven't seen this Seinfeld episode, you have no idea what I'm talking about.) He amazes us with his ability to control his muscles. Not just sphincter muscles. All muscles. You go, Cash. As long as it's in the toilet.

P.S. I know it's incorrect, but I really like spelling terd with an "e". I think if you wipe up enough of them you should be allowed to spell it however you want.

For Mom Only

Well, vacation is over soon. Garage sale is done ($102 and a lot less junk later), Christmas is put away. Tomorrow Jimmy is back to work, I'm exercising at the park, schooling, and attempting potty training. I meant to take this next week off and do some major planning for school, but Jackson is expecting to have work to do, so I'm going to dish it out, no matter how unorganized I am behind the scenes. The kids don't know. I tried to get some things done today and actually did but ended up getting side tracked and doing things like collecting my own back to school box and making this message on the top. My personal pencil box is full of unbroken crayons, adult sized scissors, markers with lids (that are the right color), and sharp pencils. I'm not bitter. I'm glad the kids are at work with paper, pencils, and scissors, but I'm a little tired of sharing and never being able to find a pencil that works or a pair of scissors that aren't preschool sized. At a home school, you don't have a big brown intimidating desk with a drawer that locks; giving you at least a small amount of personal space. My students not only invade my personal space, they begin doing so rather early in the morning and until the sun goes down. I showed Jimmy my pencil box. He laughed. Not because he thought I was funny. Because he knows it will never last! Oh well. I can't help trying.

Yellow chair Yard Sale

Well, although I vowed to spend this week strategizing and planning ways to make school more efficient in my home, I instead spent today organizing, pricing, and piling up all the items I have collected for a yard sale. I have hit a point where I can't stand this extra crap in my home and in my crawl space for another week and so I'm going to stick it out on the lawn on Saturday and let the chips fall where they may. I have learned many interesting things about myself and my relationship with money. This one chair in particular, a comfy yellow rocker I reupholstered myself, has been sitting in my living room looking really ugly for quite a few months now and I want to kick it to the curb but have held off, thinking someone might want to buy it. I bought it for $5 myself at a garage sale and so really can't expect to get much more than that out of it. Is it worth months of the chair bothering me to maybe make five bucks off it? NO! But this is who I am, so it still sits, waiting for a price tag and a sale, earning me a little satisfaction that I did my part for the family. That I wasn't wasteful. That I helped someone else (I'll try not to gag as I write this...) recycle.

After working all day on this task and suffering the allergenic consequences, I realized that the majority of the items I'm selling were already either handed down to me or bought at a garage sale or thrift store themselves so what in the world do I think I'm doing? Does anyone else really want my junk? Is a penny saved really a penny earned? And why don't I donate it to a worthy cause? Are the truly thrifty really greedy deep down? Is my need to save and go to way too much effort for a load of junk hereditary? Will I ever be able to spend money without feeling guilty? If Jimmy says, "Let's buy such and such..." will I ever be able to give him a huge smile and say "OKAY!"? These are questions about myself I may never have answered. But I admit, if I can get more than $5 out of the nasty yellow chair, I'll feel pretty good. Will all this effort be worth the pay off? I'll keep you posted. ha.

The Two-Year-Old

For all of you who read my blog who have (or have had, or will have) a two-year-old...because I know there's quite a few of you...

Cash is 2 and a half, and seems to be growing up quite a lot these days. Yet still acting like the two-year-old that he is. There is something magical about the age of two. They can make my insides disappear. Like, I lose my stomach when I see some of the gross things he does (and change some of the gross things he poops), he destroys pretty much my entire nervous system (I haven't lost my mind, he's taken it and now it's under my bed collecting dust), but most of all, he captures my heart. He drives me crazy and requires every single ounce of patience I can muster up, but then, in a flash, showcases the cuteness only a two-year-old can and I can literally giggle with delight no matter what is going on around me.

Whether it's dressing up, jumping off the couch, or yelling from the back seat when he sees a truck outside, the two-year-old's wheels are always turning. They are like a wrecking ball much of the time, but beneath all the wreckage is simply a human being discovering the world around them. What would happen if I dumped this entire box of pasta on the floor? What kind of sound would it make? What could I do with the empty box? Okay, on to something else. I think I'll answer the phone and talk. Why can't this person understand me? Maybe if I say it really loud and say it 20 times they'll understand. Why can't I eat cookies? No one ever lets me eat cookies! What's the big deal about eating a cookie?!!

Two-year-olds seem to have very little understanding of volume. Like, they can't control how loud or soft something comes out for more than like 10 seconds. They've already forgotten they're supposed to be whispering and it's become a full blown yell within the next 10. They also have trouble with gentleness in the same way. Like, you can trust them to be careful with something for about 10 seconds but before you know it they'll be seeing what will happen when they eat it, drop kick it, or crush it with their sticky little hands.

At two they begin to resist holding your hand, sitting in anything with straps, and think they are big and strong enough to do just about anything. And if you get in their way, well... you know a variety of things can happen, none of which are pleasant and all of which you try to avoid at all costs.

Yet the two-year-old changes into your friend, not just someone you have to take care of. He wants to please. He begins to give back, to make jokes, to help out, and contribute to the relationship in ways a baby never can. All of a sudden your baby has become a person and you begin to see what they will be like as an adult. Things are looking up. You are rewarded for your hard work and training. They've given back a piece or two of your sanity. Then, without warning or reason they scream at you and tell you NO! and resist your affection. You realize they're still "just two" and you can't expect that much of them yet.

So may we enjoy our two-year-olds, and while we're living with one, allow ourselves to act like one ourselves every once in a while, just to make it through the day. Tonight I kicked a stool across the room out of frustration about something and no one really even seemed to care. We're used to occasional temper tantrums around here. Nobody's perfect. Bring on the tantrums, potty training, and cookies. We have two-year-olds! Hear us roar!

Snowballs and Snowflakes

Cash has begun talking a lot more lately and many of our conversations these days happen while I'm changing his diaper. We are uninterrupted then, and he knows he has my full attention. I guess I've proved there is much to be said about poop. He likes to tell me what to say. Like, "Gross!" or "Peee Uuuu! Stinky!" A while back he started telling me what his poop was. "It's grapes, Mom." That was the first one. I don't know if I said something once about him eating a lot of grapes or something but his poop doesn't look like grapes. I wish. Then it became "It's a snowball, Mom." I have no idea where this came from. Then, while changing him one morning after he ate oatmeal it was, "It's an oatmeal snowball, Mom." The most recent was, "It's candy, Mom." And I said, "No, it's NOT candy. That would be gross." So he responded with, "It's gross candy, Mom." Yes, the grossest kind.

It's going to be one of my first objectives in 2009 to potty train him. I would like to tell you I'm optimistic. I'm not. At all. Not even a little. I'm praying for a potty training miracle. Like, I could just post a sign in our house saying, "ALL OATMEAL SNOWBALLS MUST GO INTO THE TOILET" and that would be it. I mean, Libby's caught on. Last week she said, "I have three poops, Mom. They're like snowflakes!" and then proceeded to make up a song about snowflakes into the potty. I just shook my head. What do you say to that? Nice song about poop sweetie? Well, whatever works to place the winter wonderland inside the toilet bowl. Because I hope to be hit with my last oatmeal snowball of the season very soon.

A Disney Miracle

What do you do when two of your kids are snotty, coughing, and feeling cranky? Take them to the doctor? Give them medicine? NO! You go to Disney World, of course!

With much gratitude to my sister Susan and my parents, we were able to go to Disney World (Magic Kingdom) last Friday with free tickets they earned last year at Disney's Candlelight Ceremony. The tickets expired at the end of 2008 so we had only this month left to go. When we looked at our busy December calendar up against my parents, there was really only one day when we could all go. So when Penelope and Cash both got sick early in the week, I was a little worried it wasn't going to happen. Thursday morning I decided that they were just feeling too bad and we shouldn't try to go. But Jimmy said as long as no one had a fever or was throwing up, we were going. He said, "If you're going to be sick, you might as well be sick at Disney World!" We didn't have the fever or vomit, although we did have coughing, runny noses, and earlier in the week low grade fever and runny poops. (And my Dad also had a bad cold.) But hey, it's Mickey Mouse! Who cares if you feel like crap? It ain't called the Magic Kingdom for nothin'!

And you know what? The kids really were feeling better and I didn't change one dirty diaper all day. And I think I only wiped Penelope's nose once or twice. The lines were incredibly short and the weather was perfect. Sometimes Mickey Mouse shines down on you, Tinkerbell sprinkles you with dust, and Cinderella's fairy godmother waves her wand all at the same time. It was a Disney Miracle. The kids loved it all and behaved really well. I got to ride in the front of Space Mountain and Thunder Mountain, which was a special treat because I hadn't ridden a roller coaster in over 5 years. I am grateful to God for watching over us and keeping everyone safe.

So now I'm trying to get everything back in order here around the house. After four days of sick kids and then four days of travel/unpack/laundry everything is in total mayhem. I feel like NOTHING is in the right place and that I could actually give Jackson a lesson on archeology by digging through the layers of food and dirt underneath my dining room table. Even though I have showered, I haven't washed my hair in like five days. There has just been too much going on. And when it's the end of the day, sleep always beats out anything I need to accomplish. Even hygiene. Maybe I still have a little pixie dust left in my hair from Friday. Maybe I could have a Disney miracle right here in my own house and wave my own mommy wand and have everything clean and in place. Not likely, but if you just believe...

Thanksgiving 2008

We are back from Thanksgiving at my parents house in Waldo, FL. We joined my mom and dad along with my sisters and their families for the holiday. It was the ultimate family party and there is never a dull moment when you have eight adults and ten children under one roof for three days and four nights. We eat the same exact menu every year (no one wants to change it--it's too good) and every year I wake up to my mom pestering my dad to put the turkey in the oven because she's afraid it won't get done in time. And every year my dad says, multiple times, "Leave me alone, Betty June" and I feel good knowing that people who have been married over forty years still have words with each other. And the turkey is always done and always yummy. But one has to wonder if it's because Dad does what he wants or if it's because Mom pestered a little. I think it's probably a little of both. Whatever it takes to get that bird done.

This year we made home made hot air balloons out of trash bags, straws, scotch tape, and birthday candles and launched them off the dock and watched them go so high and far we could barely see them when the candles finally burned up. We sent my bro in law Willie out for retrieval in a kayak but they went way beyond the perimeter of the lake. It's quite possible a horse in a field (or some guy looking out his window) got the joy of watching six plastic bags fall from the sky and land in his pasture. We'll never know.

Every year we try to get a group picture of the family. I am always responsible for this and do not at all mind setting my timer and trying multiple times to capture everyone in a reasonable expression and position without actually being behind the camera. Well, I recently got a new camera and had everyone and the camera set up when I realized that I had NO idea how to set the timer on the camera. It definitely caused me a few moments of panic, with everyone waiting in their nice clothes and in the perfect spots and me not knowing how to take the picture. But I just kept pressing things, literally, and I figured it out and we got a few good shots, actually. Of course, the only picture where Cash and Penelope are actually both looking forward is in the picture when we yelled, "Now everyone make a silly face!" Oh well, you can't win 'em all.

I am extremely tired, for the long weekend included altercations with both Jackson and Penelope in the middle of the night, multiple nights. Libby and Cash were true to their "play together, make trouble together" form and did the same thing every night: make lots of noise before falling asleep, sleep soundly all night, and wake together every morning at an ungodly hour, play loudly and make lots of noise, and wait somewhat patiently for the clock to say "seven zero zero." I don't know where they get all their energy but if I'm going to compete I've got to finish up this and everything else I have to get done before seven zero zero hits the clock tomorrow.

F'Real

Well, my baby is growing up. Penelope turned one three weeks ago. All of a sudden yesterday it seemed like she is no longer an infant at all but is turning into a little person. She all of a sudden was interested in walking with help. And then there were the things that made me look at her and say, "Who are you and what did you do with quiet, calm, no trouble Penelope?"

Let me give you some examples. Yesterday, all in one day, I caught her playing in the toilet, eating money (more than once), sitting on top of the coffee table with a pencil (lead end) in her mouth, standing up on a stool reaching the kitchen counter, sitting at the kid table coloring, and, after spitting up on the floor, leaning down and trying to lick it up. Gross! It made me think of that Proverb about a dog returning to it's vomit. What about a baby trying to eat their regurgitated lunch?

While she has not yet grown the horns and pointed tail she needs to be dubbed a toddler, she screams and protests enough to prove she has little nubs where her horns will someday be. (Horns meaning the mischievousness, defiance, and testing that comes with the older baby. Just trying to be funny here. Don't worry, I'm not calling my little angel a devil.)

Changing the subject. Saturday we were trying to quickly run an errand before lunch and were in somewhat of a rush. But of course, Jimmy had to stop and get a Mountain Dew at the corner convenience store. As I was sitting in the van waiting for him and trying to pretend it wasn't happening, I was reading some of the signs in the window. I can't remember exactly what it said, but one was advertising some sort of ice cream treat and it said, "F'Real! Ice cream..." This is exactly the look I give Jimmy when he stops to buy 44oz of Mt. Dew. Like, really. F'real?

One last item. The other day I was sweeping the floor and I was pushing around a small hard item which I thought was a rock. I swept it all over and collected all the nastiness and when I bent down to sweep it into the dust pan I realized it was a tiny ceramic baby Jesus that goes to a small nativity scene that Libby got last year. (We put up our tree and such recently.) I picked him up and put it back. I thought about how, if I was a cheesy sentimental freaky emotional mom, I would write a long blog about how if you're not careful, you can get caught up in the busy Christmas season and sweep Jesus into the trash. It would be copied into an e mail and forwarded all around the world. You would get it from those same people you get "Love you like a sister" e mail forwards from. But that's not me. I'd just like to say, simply, that if you have kids, be careful, or you might sweep the baby Jesus from your nativity scene into the trash. You have to look out for these small people who, although it's not their fault, try to sabotage Christmas and turn it into toys and presents. Let's keep it real. Like, F'real.

This is my normal

Things around here have been full of extraneous events, and we haven't had a "normal" week in a long time. Until this week...

Normal this week included me waking up to Cash at the side of my bed with chocolate all over his face. I leave school work for Jackson and Libby on the coffee table in the mornings and for Cash, I leave a special toy or puzzle. I don't think he's really into anything I leave out, he's more interested in finding something to eat. He comes to the side of my bed with granola bars for me to open, or with an entire gallon jug of milk and a cup...saying, "I'm so strong, Mom." Yes, Cash. If you can just use your super strength to resist chocolate.

Normal this week included Jimmy being off from work on Veteran's Day. I decided we should take the kids to see the Vietnam Memorial traveling wall at Lake Ella in Tallahassee. It would be a good home school field trip, right? In chasing my preschoolers, I walked right through the soldiers who were walking slowly back and forth in front of the fancy stones and felt pretty stupid. Then, I had to answer loud questions like, "Why are they standing there?" and respond to "Mom, this is boring!" I didn't really feel like we contributed a whole lot to the memorial. But you do these things anyway and just hope something gets through. When we got home we told Jackson he should go into one of the armed forces. He refused and when I asked why not? he said, "But all I have is a BB gun!"

Normal this week was Letter K week. Libby blew me away, as usual, with her ability to learn. She was told once about silent k (as in knit) and then pointed it out to me later in a book (knife). I feel so much responsibility to give my kids more and more to think about and learn because they can hold so much! Like a baby wearing a diaper in a swimming pool. They fill up with knowledge until it makes you uncomfortable to look at them. You think, "How can it hold so much?" They can, and I want to make sure it's good stuff. I realized recently that there is too much to teach. It is hard to pick what to talk about. There's no way I can teach them everything there is to know! It is overwhelming.

Normal this week was taking Jackson to gymnastics class, which involves me having to put Cash down for a nap early. I tell him I will wake him up when it's time for gymnastics and I hope I never forget hearing him say, "Go nastics, Mom! Go nastics!" Cash has begun his own gymnastics--he stands on top of the coffee table and jumps off. He is constantly amazing us with his feats of strength. And high pain threshold. He sat very still and watched Jimmy pick a splinter out of his finger this week.

Normal this week was Jackson running to the mailbox every day to see what's inside. He hopes for magazines, letters from his pen pals (We love you guys!!) or anything else interesting like toy catalogs or something involving scratch-offs or stickers. We also mailed off three pairs of goggles for Jimmy. If you read our blog and you need goggles, please, search no further.

Normal this week involved Penelope all of a sudden climbing on top of everything. This change in how close I have to watch her is daunting. It's right up there with when your toddler can open doors, open the refrigerator, climb out of bed, or take off their own diaper. AAAAHHH! Slow down, please!

So, my normal is full of all kinds of interesting things that really don't make me feel especially normal. I am a white female, I don't have a job, and I home school. Pretty sure that makes me a minority. I'm pretty strange. But not to the people that matter. To them, I'm normal.

Smelly Lane

Lately it seems as though my whole house smells. Smells BAD. Usually like poop or urine. I feel like it's too late, that there have been too many accidents and dirty diapers within these four walls to ever return to a normal smelling home. I get a whiff of it, check my diapered children, ask the others if they had gas, and if all are clean, I wonder if it's lurking under the couch or a bed or maybe it happened when I was out and Jimmy didn't clean it all up. It's really disgusting. I KNOW there is a certain smell somewhere (this last week I've smelled it) but I haven't discovered it yet. Maybe it's skid marked underwear or a sippy cup with that tiny bit of milk they can't get that's been rotting for an indefinite (but LONG) amount of time.

But then I start thinking... What if it's just that WE smell? I've been exercising more. Maybe I got sweaty and sat on the furniture too many times. Or maybe, even worse, my CHILDREN smell. Like, some of them are old enough now that they don't smell like powder and baby soap anymore. Instead, they smell like kid sweat and that outside odor. They come in, and BAM! They bring their smell. What happened to my sweet smelling babies?? Who took them away and left stinky, messy, sticky, large, loud, and hungry things called KIDS?

Now, I know what you're saying. You want me to get a smelly candle, some incense, one of those things you plug into the wall, or Febreeze to spray my furniture with. Make my home smell warm and inviting or at least clean. But to me, that's like going outside, working in the dirt and sunshine, getting all sweaty, and then coming inside and just putting on extra deodorant. Gross! I want my house to smell clean and trendy because it IS clean and trendy. (NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.) My solution? I want to strip my house down to the bare wood, paint it all, and get new furniture. And then, get an outhouse. In the morning I'll just feed my kids a big load of oatmeal and prunes, and then deposit them outside next to the outhouse and tell them they can't come back until they've done their business. But I'm not naive. I know my house will STILL smell. (And what the outhouse in the back would do for the neighborhood may not go over so well.)

Oh well. Life smells. Human beings live here. We eat together, play together, and make stinky smells together. It may be unpleasant at times, but I am thankful I have smells to smell and kids to make them. All I ever wanted was to do just this. But when people gave me baby showers they never included nose plugs. So, to all my pregnant readers-- you might want to register for those.

Libby Says...

"BE PATRIOTIC! DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!"

Ran Ran Random

Life is moving along like crazy despite the feeling at times that the last thirty minutes until bedtime are NEVER going to end. We do school Monday through Thursday around here, and so I go hard those days, neglecting things like objects hiding against the bottom of the kitchen cabinets. Because bending down one more time to pick up something Penelope really shouldn't have in her mouth, should she find it, is just too much to handle when I'm trying to teach tens and ones, searching for cylinders, cones, and rectangular prisms in my pantry, spelling words for young writers, and explaining to Cash why he is NOT allowed to pour the orange juice by himself.

So right now I have let Libby and Jackson lay a blanket outside in the wonderful weather and write in their journals while taking turns listening to the disc man CD player. Does anyone else in my generation find it strange that my four year old listens to CD's with tiny white earphones when I didn't even have the capability to listen to music while walking around until I was in like fourth grade? And then, it was a big heavy tape player that used like four batteries and the earphones were flimsy and metal with a millimeter of foam on top of the speaker (to make it "comfortable") and it was impossible to lie down without seriously injuring your ear.

Again, we seem to be going through a season of frustration, hitting, and pushing if someone is doing something you don't like. Sometimes I picture one of my children as like executives or something, sitting in a boardroom, and when someone takes away their funding, they walk over and push them so hard their office chair rolls into the glass window and they fall 25 stories to their death. And someone else in the room says to my child, "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to push??" And I'll say what every mom says whose child is misbehaving (and which no one believes)..."I TRIED!"

We recently had a reason to talk about kissing and we told Jackson that he should save all his kisses for his wife. He responded, "Yeah, and I'm going to kiss her at my wedding! And if she doesn't want to kiss me, I'm going to hit her on the head!" And he then proceeds to pump his fist in the air while shouting, "DIS! DIS! DISCIPLINE!" I guess I've got a long way to go in the teaching right from wrong department. Good thing he's got another decade under our roof. Hopefully by then I will be able to refrain from saying to his fiance, "Are you SURE?"

We got a new phone and Jackson has left an amusing greeting on our answering machine. I don't know where he thought of this, but at the end, after pleading with the caller to leave him a message, and giving his own phone number (as if the caller doesn't know our phone number they just called), he closes with, "And if you don't have a social security card, just call 9-1-1!" So there you go. How to navigate social security red tape--by Jackson Alley. Random!