More on dirt

I know a lot of people worry about the images of females we put in front of ourselves as women. As in, we need to be careful we don't think we should look like pictures of women in magazines. Those are models, we are regular people. We don't want to place those expectations on ourselves.

Well, I've got a new one. It's those pictures of people's houses in magazines. I confess, I wish my living and dining room looked like a magazine spread. I'm constantly needing to remind myself how unrealistic they are. Like, the random cutting board with 4 perfect lemons on the counter. No mail, no stickiness, no dishes. My favorite is when there's a big hairy dog right smack in the middle of the gleaming wood floor. They must hire a single person to follow around the dog during the photo shoot with a dust buster. Anyway, even though I know it's not realistic, I still long for it.

In my mind, I can get it there. I envision my walls full of cool art and photos and all the surfaces clear. In my personal reality, it couldn't be farther from it unless I unloaded a bottle of chocolate syrup onto every surface. Now I know I'm supposed to let go of this. That one day, my children will be out of the house and I'll have tons of time to magazine-ify my house. I should be content, even happy, that my rooms are full of life and thus a beautiful mess. But really, this doesn't always do it for me. I want it all. I want messy life AND pristine decor.

So what do I do with this revelation? Do the children need more chores? Do I need to get rid of more stuff? Should I hire someone to follow the children around with a dust buster? I'm not really sure. And all of the above.

One of the Queen's (my mom) famous quotes is, "Play is a child's work." This is what I observe every day. They aren't trying to be slobs, they are just hard at work playing. I ask them again and again to put away, throw away, etc. But when they are in the middle of a streaming imagination, I just don't think it soaks in. So the constant reminding can be difficult and wears you down. When I come into a room and discover someone has emptied the contents of a pencil sharpener on the floor and left it there, I honestly don't want to call them away from their "work" to come clean it up because they are occupied and independent from me.

I wish I had some sort of solution or funny ending to the mess, but I don't. I just want to put it out there that I'm tired of cleaning things up. I know like a trillion and one moms have felt like this before. I know that my mommy work is nothing compared to some of those that have gone before. So I hereby resolve (again and again and again) to love the mess. Because the people I love most in this world left it there.

I recently read this anonymous quote:

"Mothers fight all their lives against dirt, and when they die, they are buried in it."

I'd like to donate my body to science, in hopes that my skeleton one day hangs in a classroom of some sort collecting dust. I'd like to go from dusting things while alive, to collecting unlimited amounts of dust with no ability to make a move to clean it in death. Dust and I currently have a pretty close relationship so I think it would work out.

Brace Yourselves

I figured out what has been happening to me lately. I have been wondering for quite some time why just the presence of my children puts me on edge. My body has not been feeling happy and relaxed much lately because of the pregnancy, but I feel really guilty that I'm constantly saying things like, "Please don't touch me!" In the past months it has been due to constant nausea because even the slightest movement would elevate it. Some of that is still lingering, but I still find myself in need of an even bigger "personal space" bubble than I normally require.

Tonight I realized why. I had been working very hard all day to rearrange/clean/organize/paint the boys room because it has become the girls and boys bunk room. I am cramming all four of them together to allow for a bigger school room and also space for the baby. So at about 6:30 this evening I really felt the need to sit and put my feet up for a few minutes. I allowed myself to do so. Only to be bombarded, as if my legs, which were stretched between the ottoman and couch, were horses. When I requested that stop, I got a visitor right next to me and an elbow in the gut. I realized before he even climbed up next to me, that I saw it coming and "braced myself" for whatever a heavy toddler next to you may bring.

It's like the little army men who control my muscles cried, "INCOMING!" and my entire body went on the defensive. I need so much extra grace! When I'm at a low patience level and my body is pushed to the limit, it is so hard not to wish everyone had big kid sized playpens I could stick them in so as to admire them from a distance. It's like I can't totally relax until I know that no one is going to bombard me with body weight! But let me tell you how I really feel.

Anyway, all that said I am in more love than ever with all of them and gave out some tough love tonight with their new "4 in a room" sleeping arrangements. It was hard but needed to be done. Like, new rules. Or rather actual enforcement of old ones. No talking or getting up and such.

One more really important thing...Brace Yourselves...our baby is a GIRL! I found out Tuesday. We are ultra excited and it is pretty early but the sono tech seemed 100% sure so I'm taking it! We are thrilled and so are the kids and I must admit I'm a little relieved to not be outnumbered by Alley men around here. Because if I have four of those, I'm really going to look into those playpens for adults. But they would need to be self-cleaning...the ideas are really flowing now...

Bella 8/22/08-7/7/10

Well, I have sad news to add to this chronicle of Alley life. Two days ago our dog, Bella, was killed on a highway near my parent's home. She had run away one night while some of us were setting off some fireworks. She was afraid of them. We were leaving there this morning explaining again to the kids why we were going home without her...she had run away and Pop-Pop would get her if someone called and said they found her. We had hung up signs and were checking one of them out as we turned on the highway. We began to accelerate and soon Jimmy began to slow down. He wouldn't tell me, even though I kept asking, why he was stopping on the side of the road. He had seen her in the grass shoulder and was going to make sure it was her. I knew of course but tried to remain optimistic. He tried to lie to me when he got back in the van but I knew. We pulled into a gas station and had a little pow-wow. I said we should tell the kids. He reluctantly agreed. There was just no way I could lie to them about how she might come back and someone might find her, etc. So he went into the gas station and said I could tell them. I don't think he wanted to be there.

I sat in the seat and basically just said it. It ended with "...and she got hit by a car or a truck and she's dead." Not exactly sugar coated but I've never done this before! The middles, who sit in the very back of the van, both burst into tears. I wasn't expecting this. I immediately crawled back there with them and helped them feel better with words and motherly touch. I never had the need to believe that animals go to heaven but I had no problem telling my 4 year old that she was happy in heaven now. It was great opportunity for telling them that God knows the number of our days and that everything He does is to take care of us and for His glory.

It of course hasn't even sunk in totally but I've been okay with it. It's hard to understand but really it has just made me thankful that I lost an animal I loved and not a person. Because if the animal leaves a void, I can't imagine a human member of the family. I almost lost it a few minutes ago (this is what made me go ahead and write all this) in the van I was on the way home from dropping Jackson and Libby off and two different birthday parties. So it was just me and Cash and Penelope in the car. We passed a man walking a black dog and Cash said, "Mom! I just saw a man walking a dog that looked like Bella!" I said, "Yes, I saw it too, Cash." And then Penelope said something about wanting Bella to come back.

What transpired for the next 10-12 minutes (a long time in kid conversation) was a discussion about where Bella was and what had happened to her. Cash wasn't sad, he just plainly told Penelope that Bella got killed and now she was dead but that she went way up into the sky into heaven and she is alive again. It really touched my heart! Amazing how he has totally moved on. How he's happy to tell others that she is alive with God in heaven. Later he said, "I think God has dog food in heaven because he has to feed Bella." And, "Penelope do you know who God is? He loves us and we love him and when we die we will go to heaven and see Him and Bella!" Penelope finally got it sort of and said, "Bella is dying" and Cash said, "No! She's alive again!" So this was very confusing to Penelope and I had to ask Cash to lay off the alive again stuff so that Penelope would understand. It was a moment I know I will never forget. It was priceless to have the older ones away so that Cash could talk about it without being corrected or interrupted. Hearing his conclusions about all of it really warmed me.

And now a few words about Bella. She was a great dog. We got to have her for one year, and as much as I hated her shedding and watching her eat poop, I will miss her too. She made me feel safe. I slept every night knowing she would never let anyone get past her to our bedrooms. I knew she would warn us of any danger. She was so very tolerant. The kids would dress her up, lie on top of her, attempt to ride her...and she never complained. She had soft ears and a soft heart. I was constantly amazed by her loyalty towards us. She was just a "dumb dog" but sure did love us, even when we didn't deserve it. I hope we can do the same for each other. Stick together no matter what. Thanks Bella, for loving a crazy family like ours. We'll miss you!

Fourth of July and some Blueberries!

Happy Fourth of July 2010!

Cinco-de-Kiddo

It is time again. Time for me to announce on the blog, for the sake of the history of our family, that I am pregnant. I have been dreading this announcement for many reasons. First of all, I've been so nauseated that I cannot sit in front of the computer without consequence. (I get up feeling even worse.) Second of all, I don't want the J train to turn from "cool quirky family with four kids" to "crazy people who home school and have lots of children." And thirdly, well...the first two reasons were enough for me putting this off.

Today when I broke it to my pediatrician and he said (after I asked) that his big families were mostly either "LDS" or "Religious home school families" I assured him that we were church people, but that we were "normal church people." What exactly that is, I'm not sure, but whatever. I mean, we all watched the Cosby's in the 80's and they had five kids. No one thought that was weird, right? It was totally doable. Even funny, with the constant jokes about no one ever leaving the house. I mean, if the Huxtables can survive so can we, right? I admit, they were living on a doctor AND a lawyer's salary, AND their house didn't have four walls, but I'd like to think they were real and they thrived, even with five kids. Can we just be creative starving artists who love kids? Because that's what we are.

We are excited and feel blessed to add another to the family. The kids are excited too. I was afraid of selfish reactions but they all wanted to name the baby right away and while it's tempting to give the baby a name thought of by the whole family I told them "If you want to name a baby you can grow up, get married, and have your own!" (A very Cliff Huxtable kind of thing to say, I thought.)

I am feeling all the normal physical issues of pregnancy and it is at this point that all us mothers wonder how in the world we can forget how sick, fat, and tired you feel under the weight of a tiny being. It's like I want to knit on a pillow "Pregnancy is hard" (that's the edited version) and display it on my couch in case I forget. When I'm not pregnant, it seems rosy and miraculous. When I am, it's hard work. But one advantage I have is that there are four miracles running around here that prove to me every day that it's worth it. Let's knit that one on a pillow. Because no matter what challenges this new one brings, it is life and it is precious. I am privileged to be a part of it all.

Piercing Fun

Libby got her ears pierced today! It was part of her birthday from us...she will be six in a little over a week. Because of my multiple frames per second camera, I was able to get quite the progression. You can see she was fine for a few seconds, then began crying once she realized it had hurt. She is fine now and such a cutie, I love her to pieces. Of course she's feeling great afterward with a purple lollipop.

This is before...
During...



And after. Such a good kid to smile for me when I ask her to!


And a quick funny... Today I heard a strange noise from the computer room where Jackson was supposed to be cleaning up. I said, "Jackson, what the heck?" (It's hard to admit I said this--but whatever.) He responds, "I'm the heck!" Yes, Jackson, that is exactly what you are. Smiles.

CSI and an Art Show

Tonight I discovered 4 blue X's on my couch. (Will it ever end?) Cash told me Penelope did it. She has been writing on herself again lately and I believed him. I brought Penelope to the scene of the crime, and disciplined her. (I won't say exactly what that means lest some might get the wrong idea about me...) She cried. I went to get the cleaner for the couch. Libby followed me, saying that it was NOT Penelope but that Cash did it. I really don't know who to believe so I questioned Cash and he was very insistent that it was NOT him, that Penelope did it.

I began to believe Libby since she kept insisting it was Cash. He became more convincing, and I decided he must be telling the truth. Back and forth I went. Libby would not let it go. She became quite the investigator, making me a believer by simply explaining, "Mom, Penelope can't make four perfect X's. Cash did it." And I stopped to assess Penelope's writing abilities and discovered she is correct. It must have been Cash. I disciplined him as well. In the same manner. I didn't do a very good job. He said, "That didn't really hurt Mom." Well, then I did the job better, if you know what I mean. Thank you, Libby for your crime solving skills. (And she was actually a witness as well, so that helps.)

And also, last night we had our Home's Cool Art Show and here are a few pics. I am glad the home school year is wrapping up for me. I've done this a few years now and I think they really are learning something. Like you know, crime scene investigation and such. And how to make perfect X's. What I need to devise is a class for my entire family about writing utensils and their purposes. I can see the syllabus in my head already. Class One: SHARPIES. Class Two: Ball point pens...

If it's yellow, let it mellow

Just wanted to document our trip to Busch Gardens this past Sunday. We didn't bring any sort of still or video camera and I was thinking, if you don't have pictures, did it really happen? Because I really think it's possible to forget events like this, even though I've always been really good with dates and my own personal and family history. When enough time passes, these things sort of blend together.

It was a fun day filled with lots of cool things for the kids to see, plus I got to ride two roller coasters! But the strongest memory for me was when Penelope decided to sample some of her own urine. My kids are growing up and I fear I'm going to run out of these kinds of stories yet still they seem to happen to me.

I was watching Penelope, Libby, and Cash play in their swimsuits in the kiddie water playground. Basically a bunch of falling water contraptions and spouts of water that come up from the ground. Penelope is potty training and doing quite well, so I just had her in her swimsuit with no diaper or anything. There were a lot of kids there and a lot of parents, so when she began to spread her legs and look down and watch the stream of yellow going through her suit and onto the rubber ground, I was standing a good distance from her so I decided to pretend she was not my child. I figured she'd finish her business and move on, and if anyone was grossed out by this they wouldn't know who to blame.

I'm doing fine until she reaches down, catches some of the pee in her hand and puts her hand to her mouth. But I'm committed. Besides, I really don't want to admit to being her mom at this point. Yet I can't let it happen twice so I go over and catch her in the act and redirect. She looked at me as if she knew but didn't care. This is toddlerhood at it's best. The "I know it's bad for me but I'm going to do it anyway and see what happens" mantra they must brainwash the toddlers with when we're not looking. Like, if we played their kid videos backwards it's going to say, "Eat poop, bite people, and run the other way when your parents call you!" This, I believe, is why God makes them so stinkin' cute. Because if any person over the age of 4 samples their pee, we are repulsed by them. But when my angelic looking 2 year old does it, it's really quite funny. But still really gross!

I'm sure there are times I've lost it when my kids want to pretend like I'm not their mom. This is the nature of family. We're figuring it all out together and we love each other regardless. And in the end, it all goes down the same drain.

School of Rock

Let's hear it for the boys!

This week my girls are with grandparents (one with each set) so they're having great fun and are getting lots of attention I'm sure. So it's just me and the boys, and we're having a blast. Complete with secret words--when someone says it you scream PeeWee Herman style.

Last night lying in bed I had the idea to do a rock star photo session with them and they complied and came through with flying colors. I only had 10 minutes until Cash had to be at school but I coached them into a variety of expressions and the result did not let me down.

These boys are so creative and so much like Jimmy. They brought home a CD player from my mom's house last weekend. They immediately plugged it in and had an air band going within seconds. There is quite a void without their sisters but we've made the best of it and rocked out the week anyway.

Thank you Jackson and Cash! You are my little rock stars!

Always behind the camera...

I recently took photos for the children's ministry at our church. I went around to all the classrooms and tried to capture the kids and volunteers in action. I've actually done this 3 or 4 times. For gifts for the workers, website photos, etc.

Sunday I was taking photos and I went into Penelope's class. She's pretty well adjusted and I didn't think it would be a problem, me going in and out, but I tried to sneak a bit and hoped she wouldn't notice me just in case once she saw me she would want to leave. I was crouched down behind her taking a photo, unseen by her yet.

I snapped a picture and as soon as she heard the sound my camera makes when it takes a photo she turned around and said, "Mommy!" How interesting that she can associate her mother with a sound. Very animalistic to me. She knows not only the sound of my voice but the sound I make with my little machine called a camera. I of course took a picture of her.

Because of my constant state of photography, my kids are very comfortable with it. Cash has noticed he can see his reflection in the glass of my lens so he bends himself into the middle of the frame to do so, no matter who he is stepping in front of. He then makes a face like kid would make in a mirror--totally unnatural.

My photography has advantages and disadvantages when it comes to taking pictures of my own kids. I have the advantage of nice equipment, and experience, but the disadvantage being I take off the hat of mother and put on the hat of photographer when I'm trying to capture a moment. I see mothers laughing with their tiny point and shoot cameras and I'm a bit jealous. They are still totally part of what's going on. They are still living life, they're just holding a camera while doing it. I, on the other hand, suspend my participation in what's going on in order to get a good shot. This is why I often leave my camera at home. I want to watch them through my mom eyes, not through my camera lens.

Here's the picture I took of Penelope right after she identified me by the sound of my camera. And Cash leaning in to see his reflection, illustrating my point. And in the photo up top, I am actually holding the camera. And Penelope isn't really waving, just trying to grab it, which of course goes on all the time.And here's a funny one I got at church. This is a friend from Junior High and High School, Tim Naddy. So since he knows me, (and this is his sense of humor) he was not afraid to pose as if he was asleep on the job. As a photographer I love it when people "work with me." Hey, Jesus was asleep in the back of the boat, right? So he's just being Jesus to the kids! Sleep on, Tim.

Spaghetti Night

Ah, Spaghetti. Such a great go-to meal for a mom like me. It's easy to make and the kids love it. The mess it makes, however is not so easy. Last month we visited my family and my mom was going to serve spaghetti and meatballs. I gave my kids a ham sandwich instead. Because whenever we eat spaghetti it's usually straight into the bath afterward.

When we came home I began feeling a little nostalgic and sad. I remembered that I don't have babies anymore and that my kids can totally handle spaghetti and how odd that I've been so programmed to think that spaghetti equals mess. I felt silly for acting like my kids and me couldn't handle the menu.

Well, it feels good to say, I was right. Tonight we had spaghetti. I admit I cooked it on bath night on purpose. And we had the kids take their shirts off. It was like this crazy feeding frenzy and I had been looking forward to enjoying a normal, quiet meal together. Hello, Julie! Don't you know what goes on in your own house? A meal that is normal? Or quiet? How could I have believed this possible? Yet we are hopeful beings. Obviously!!

I somehow have been assigned to the seat next to Penelope on the bench where she is able to scoot right up next to me and share her tomato sauce in an all too intimate way. And looking around the table I felt as if I had enrolled in the class for etiquette school dropouts. Everyone's face was messy, there was an incident with the ranch dressing (isn't there always) and people who wanted seconds either yelled for them or just reached over their neighbor to help themselves. And of course there was lots of "Watch this, Mom!" as they slurped the noodles into their mouths Lady and the Tramp style.

In the moment, I could barely eat without being totally grossed out and struggled with losing my appetite. Now, a few hours later, I feel grateful for spaghetti and kids to eat it with. But let me say, it's a struggle for me to realize what my life looks like compared to what I thought it would be. Like, my dreams of motherhood never really included eating dinner with a bunch of savage beasts who scream my name not because they love me, but because they want milk. And when I used to associate spaghetti dinner with fundraisers and the Olive Garden, I now think greasy bathwater and laundry stains.

But they LOVE it, so I make it. Over and over again. All the mess and cleaning required is totally worth it to me to give my beloved family a yummy dinner. Period.

Art & Misc

I'll try to make this short. But I'm behind on updating life here and a lot has gone on. Easter and Cash's 4th birthday and a concert to name a few. And I'd like also to share what I've been thinking about lately-- creativity.

It seems as if I've been molded in life for creative things and pursuits. I began as a small child with music. I started taking photographs in high school. I got my college degree in art. I taught drama for a time after college. I write. I long to be good at just one of these things but find myself doing just a little of each and never mastering anything. Yet all of this together actually has made me good at one thing: cheering on the arts. (I was a cheerleader too, so it all comes together.)

I have always felt that one is closest to God, their own creator, when they create. Even the most "uncreative" (so they say) person can make something new. I never believe someone when they tell me they are not "artsy" or creative. I tell them, "You get dressed every day. You are wearing art. And if you don't wear clothes, that's an artistic statement itself." And what's more, we all listen to music and watch various kinds of media every day. Art is everywhere. You can't escape it.

Cash turned 4 this week and we went to a park to open some presents and have a little party with his Nana and Pop-Pop. All he wanted was a chocolate covered granola bar and an umbrella. He got both. He also got some presents. I had found a bunch of Star Wars figures at a garage sale so I snatched them up and wrapped them for Cash. One was Darth Vader. He looked down into the gift bag, saw who was coming next, and began to sing "dum dum dum, dum-da-dum, dum-da-dum" as he pulled if from the bag. Thank you, John Williams. Do you see how art just makes our life more fun? And presses in on us without our conscious consent.

Last night we helped put on a concert by Eric Peters, an independent musician from Nashville, TN. Jimmy and I have been wanting to bring him back to Tallahassee since we saw him here in college a couple times. He put on a great acoustic show and we played a few songs before he went on. Jackson got to go with us to watch. The last time we played a concert was March of 2003. Jackson was 18 months old. So he doesn't remember seeing us play. He video taped it and ran concessions and pretty much had a blast. We left the concert and he told me he wanted to see other bands live. Like U2. Eric or "Mr. Harry Peters" as Cash was calling him stayed with us overnight and Jackson enjoyed showing him his worlds he's drawn and cried when he left. I truly think Jackson felt inspired creatively by the whole experience. It was great to watch.

So I myself am encouraged anew to support art. Especially art done by artists that realize where their gift came from. Creative talents and gifts can only come from heaven itself. I always said I would have a wall in my house that my kids could draw on. I never did this, but my refusal to remove sharpies from the premises have afforded me enough permanent art. My kids are like little creative plants and I hope I can water them every single day. May I encourage them and other artists I meet to "Create, create, create. Produce, produce, produce." And as a result give back to God what was already His in the first place.
About the photos: Cash at his preschool party wearing his "4" crown. And also a good one of he and Libby, whom we now refer to as "the middles." Also some pictures from Easter, when we dyed eggs and ran in the grass in our Easter clothes. And one of Eric Peters, whom I did a photo shoot with this morning before he left.

The Daily Grind

I always worry my blog seems like I'm overwhelmed and tired all the time and that I complain too much, talk about poop too much, and generally sound strung out. Some really nice people recently told me that it's not so, that all moms can relate to my reality. Well, last night I was feeling pretty tired and didn't accomplish as much as I wanted but I just felt so spent. It's not lack of sleep, I just feel like the noise and busy-ness of my house sucks the life right out of me by the end of the day. I thought about it today, when I was feeling refreshed.

I was remembering a marathon I watched a long time ago. (I don't remember if it was the Olympics or what - I was a young girl.) It was a women's race. This runner was coming into the arena/track to run her final lap and finish the race. She was so exhausted that she became disoriented and for lack of a better word, loopy. Her coaches/teammates were desperate for her to finish but they could not touch her so they gathered around her, trying to use their voices to communicate what direction she needed to go to cross the finish line. After looking to me like a crazy person off their meds, she finally crossed the finish line and immediately collapsed.

This is often how I feel at the end of the day.

Like I've been running a marathon which has stripped me of all my physical and emotional energy. I no longer care what I look like, who is watching me, or how much sticky is on my person. I just cross the finish line and collapse. I am delirious and make no sense. I am in need of someone who can lead me to bed. Forget the victory lap, I'll use my extra time to sleep, thank you very much.

And this is how I often feel on a normal day. Doing the normal daily grind. Even without the "Dog eats dirty diaper and smears it on the rug" or "Wind blows through van and begins to litter the entire parking lot with mom-van trash" headlines of my life. (These things happened to me today. Aaah!) But somehow the spectacular is in the daily grind. It's on mile 17. Somewhere in the middle of all this running someone makes a memory. Gives a hug. Loves each other. And feeling like I have no brain cells left is worth it somehow. So to all the moms out there in the trenches, keep on running. Wipe a nose better than you ever have before. Read a book with commitment. And for heaven's sake, if you have a dog, keep your poopy diapers far away from them!

The Black Garbage Bag

I truly try to follow through when I say I'm going to do something. If I tell someone I'll call them, or let them borrow something, or promise something, I try to do it. But one thing I often fail to do is follow through with the terribly threatening punishments I announce to my children.

Like, "If you don't _________, I'm going to _______." Fill in the blanks yourself.

Sometimes I forget. I will send someone to their bed for a talking-to and forget they're there until much later. Usually I remember what I'm supposed to talk to them about but the moment has definitely passed.

But usually I don't follow through because, I admit it, the children are winning much of the time. I know if I really do take away such and such because they didn't do this or that, then the crying and wailing that will ensue requires of me a whole new set of procedures to deal with the new problem. Thus, I am giving them extra chances just to preserve my sanity and my ear drums.

I want to be one of those moms who is not affected by their pleas, yet also I do not want to be remembered as a big breasted Scandinavian nanny who is expressionless and six feet tall with a big ugly mole on her face. I'm going more for the Mary Poppins singing all the time and making cleaning a game persona. And love. I want to love them.

But a few days ago I had hit my limit and decided to see what would happen if I actually followed through with one of my empty threats. It was clean up time. And of course, no one was cleaning up. They sit on their bed, fiddle with a dirty sock, get distracted, leave the room for way longer than necessary to "go potty" while I work circles around them and try all the Barney tactics. "Clean up, clean up..." and "Who can make a basket with these toys?" and "Wow! Good job!" You know, all the things you try to muster up when really you are just wondering how they got so darn lazy. Anyway, I told them that if they didn't get busy I was going to get a black garbage bag and put everything on the floor in it.

The threat: THE BLACK GARBAGE BAG

The immediate response was "No! Don't do that!" but no actual cleaning to show me why I shouldn't do this. I gave them five minutes. They cleaned up for about 30 seconds. (This was mostly directed at my 3.5 and 5.5 year old.) I decided it was time. I got the bag, while saying loudly, "I'm getting the bag!" (I was actually enjoying myself and on a small power trip at this point.) I dramatically opened it up with a big swoosh through the air and loud plastic noise. I walked into the room, and put about 2 items in the bag and the crying and wailing began.

It was not the kind of crying I expected though. It was as if these children had been separated from an appendage. I expected anger and frustration when instead I got huge tears, hurt feelings, pain and suffering. These are the same toys, mind you, that they throw on the floor, step on, take outside and leave in the elements, draw on, you name it. Yet when they went into the black garbage bag it was as if my children were losing a piece of their soul.

It was hard for me not to laugh. But I kept it up. "I'm sorry, now that they're in the bag, you can't have them back for a week." They cleaned everything else up very quickly, while sniffling and whimpering. Lesson learned: Following through on your threats can actually be entertaining. And they really began to pick up their things after that. Even Jackson, who was just hanging out in his room, sat crying on his bed because I was putting his sister's toys in a big black garbage bag. Oh, the emotions. It was totally worth it.

I will sing songs. I'll get out a spoonful of sugar. I'll ride a carousel in the park with my children and dance with penguins. But when necessary, I will not be afraid to get out the big black garbage bag and make good on my threats. Because every once in a while the mean terrible nanny must rear her ugly head and remind these children who wears the ugly mole in this family.

Sweet Pea

"Where the heck is my pickle fork? I can't keep anything nice with you kids around here."

My college room mate had these cool party napkins with this quote on them. (Only it didn't say "heck" but I'm trying to censor the blog for obvious reasons...) We of course thought it was really funny with it's retro picture and the whole nine yards but I can truly relate to it now. Today I woke to the sound of breaking glass. I truly can't keep anything nice around here.

With the addition of the dog to our J train last summer, my home has gone from "can look somewhat like the residence of a white trash hoarder" on occasion to "can look somewhat like the residence of a white trash hoarder and smells like a dog". The dog doesn't really smell all that often, but when she does I fear becoming one of those homes that you want to hold your nose when you walk in. I'm pretty paranoid about it. I would not mind bathing the dog, except that it would involve getting wet and the children getting wet, which in my mind becomes something that eats up approximately 90 minutes of my day. (Oh, and the dog has chewed through the hose so it becomes even more difficult...) So I leave the dog bathing to Jimmy. And when he doesn't do it, I take her outside and dump baking soda on her. We should NOT be pet owners.

So in an attempt to make the house smell a little better, I bought one of those plug in air fresheners...the wall flowers. I fought masking the smell, but I figured maybe these people whose homes I go to that smell good...maybe they're masking something and I'm just assuming their house is clean and fragrant and that they've got it all together. They could have a bird cage full of poop in the back for all I know. So bring on the wall flower.

It works pretty good until your 2 year old unplugs it from the wall, and your 8 year old, trying to be helpful, plugs it back in upside down. It slowly drips into your basket of Christmas books and into your husband's bible, which had fallen off the chair and into the basket of books. I smelled something strong and just thought the thing was doing it's job. When really, it was just $ down the drain. Or into the books.

Now, every week when we sit in church my husband opens his Bible, which has now truly become a fragrant offering, and wafts the pages in my direction, and the "sweet pea" smell goes up my nostrils it reminds me that I really can't keep anything nice. And the saturated pages also remind me that I have been given a gift. The gift of lack of control. Pretty much everything I do gets undone. Anything I try to control becomes a loose cannon. And nothing makes your life more exciting and fun. You could never do a scientific experiment in my home because to start an experiment, you need a "control". There is none of that here. We are a runaway train full of dirty kids, dust, missing pickle forks, love, laughter, and the strong scent of a fragrance thingy gone bad. All aboard!

There's no place like home

I have been meaning to take a picture of the status of these figurines for quite some time. It is pretty funny but also quite morbid if you think about it too hard so I just avoid the whole situation. I love the figures and, when they're not headless, it fits our family perfectly. I just need to buy super glue and glue them together but I find that that one simple task isn't really simple at all. I mean, first of all, I have to actually remember that I need super glue when I am at the store. Or remember to put it on a list. And then find my list if I actually make one. Plus, people are getting hurt and falling down for real around here and that just seems to take priority. And the thought of getting out super glue seems to me to spell more disaster. Even if I do it when they're asleep. Somehow, they would find it and either glue themselves to each other or inhale it until they pass out. I mean, I already keep sharpies around. Sharpies and super glue? I can't even imagine. I know, excuses, excuses. Fix the decapitated family members already, Julie!

So what made me think of these figures today? When this happened:


Penelope had used the drawers as stairs (not her idea) and climbed to the top and brought the dresser down with her. Libby used Jackson's standby, "DANGER, DANGER, DOUBLE DANGER!" which he doesn't really say anymore and I knew she would only use it in true danger (I love my literal little girl) so I went to see what was wrong. Penelope sat crying on the floor next to the dresser. I scooped her up and asked what hurt. She held out her finger which appeared to be fine. Whew. I felt quite a bit of relief. The only visible injury appeared to be done to Raggedy Andy who lie underneath the dresser with his red striped socks sticking out very much like the Wicked Witch of the East. So this whole scene just made me think of my figurines and made me thankful for such supernatural protection against falling houses. I mean, dressers.

Our Adventure

I seriously need to record what we've done over the last week so I don't forget but I've felt too intimidated by all the events and I fear a blog that is so long no one will ever finish reading it.

And even longer will be my take on the whole experience. But I will try.

We borrowed my parents pop up camper and hauled it down to Jimmy's parents house in Brandon, set it up in their side yard, and "camped" in it for 5 days. We were visiting because Jimmy's brother Gary and family are there, plus Gary's wife Sharon's sister and her two kids were there, so there was limited space in the house. We thought it would be a good test to take the pop up camper there, to see if we could hack it at a real camp site some day. I think we passed the test, but we sure don't want to try it again any time soon.

Jimmy kept telling me it would be an adventure. I begged to go on a different day when Sharon's sister was almost gone and there would be no need for a pop up. No, it will be an adventure. I begged to drive my mini-van behind him in the pick-up truck so we wouldn't all have to cram in the extended cab truck and be so close to each other. No, it will be an adventure. So I kept reminding him of this adventure.

When Jackson woke up screaming the first morning at 5 a.m. and woke everyone up I said, "It's an adventure!" When an alarm in the pop up went off on the second morning and pierced our ears until Jimmy ventured all the way to the garage to retrieve a screw driver to fix it, I said, "It's an adventure!" On the third night, when we were freezing and sleeping in 40 degrees, totally unprepared for such weather I said, "It's an adventure!" On the fourth night, we crammed into the house. Still an adventure, but at least under normal temperatures.

So this is what I kept thinking. Under regular "non-adventurous" circumstances, my patience is put to the test every hour. I can barely hold it together sometimes on normal days. So being able to remain sane and just plain nice to those around me was a huge test under these "adventurous" circumstances. Because really, to me, now an "adventure" means, let's do everything we can to make our lives much more complicated and busy, let's be loud, let's encroach upon everyone's personal space, let's get sleep deprived, let's cram ourselves into tight spaces, and let's do all this with a dog. Add some cold temperatures and an allergy attack and hey, "It's an adventure!"

So the whole thing for me culminated in the ride from Brandon back to my parent's house to return the pop up. We were all crammed in the cab of the truck and travelling at nap time. (Nap time is slowly becoming meaningless for me since I only have one child who naps. This is currently one of the saddest parts of my existence, but that's another topic.) I was desperate for everyone to be quiet so that Penelope could sleep and I could catch a few minutes of sleep myself. I knew I had reached the end of my adventure when I turned around and said in some monstrous (but quiet) voice, "If you do not stop talking and be quiet some sort of fire is going to shoot out of my face!" I knew I had reached my limit. We arrived at my parents house and I grabbed my bag and headed straight for the shower. Because sometimes, the adventure is over and you just have to wash it all down the drain.

We really did have fun visiting with family and each other. We took the kids to Disney World on free "volunteer" tickets. We got to see friends we haven't seen in two years. So it was totally worth the "adventurous" circumstances. But Jimmy has said more than once he's not going anywhere for a long time. And I all but kissed my bed when I got into it last night. And the kids actually didn't awake before 7 a.m. this morning. Glorious sleep! I'll consider it hibernation in preparation for the next adventure!

"I wub you"

Lately lots of things seem to threaten the state of my mental health...potty training, sand in my sheets, inches of rain that have turned my backyard into a bog and my house into a sandbox...but luckily all these stressors are all washed away by the beauty and wonder of my family. Someone is always saying something you wish you could put in a bottle and save for a day when you're feeling blue. A couple weeks ago Penelope and I were sitting next to each other at dinner. I have a bench on one side of the table and we were sharing it. She stands up most of the time to reach her food better. Thus, she is at the same level as me. She kept leaning on me and putting her arm around me, sliming me with dinner goo and crumbs. I was trying to take it like a mom but your personal space while you're eating is pretty important when you're me. Just as I was about to reach the level of annoyed she put her arm around me and said, "I wub (love) you." Is there a greater reward than this? I haven't found one on earth. I hope my children grow up and remember how much I love them, not how stressed I can get at times. These stressors really pale in comparison to how things could be. I could not just have sand in my sheets, I could have no sheets at all. I could have a dirt floor instead of dirt on my floor. But I have even more. I have people who love me, and really, this gift is enough to fuel me to overcome whatever stress threatens my sanity. The stress actually keeps me sane. It makes me appreciate those around me that, though they may cause my stress, help me get through the day. This is getting really cheesy. Like, I'm rolling my eyes at myself.

So on to something else. A week or two ago I dropped a yogurt cup at Publix and it opened and spilled everywhere. I said under my breath, "What the crap!" and immediately regretted it. But you move on. A couple days later Libby spilled her drink and Cash said, "Libby, what the crap!" and then, after I told him we don't say that, proceeded to remind me that I said it at Publix when I dropped the yogurt. How does he remember these things yet he runs around naked and can't remember to go put on a pair of underwear when I ask him to? What the crap?! Just didn't want to forget that one. I love my Cashy-Boy. He's going to be 4 in April! Everyone is growing up around here and it's freaking me out. But I take it one day at a time.

And one more thing, the kids are really enjoying the swing set and have played out there a lot for the last 3 days since it's been up. They swing and sing at the top of their lungs and eat lunch out there and just have fun in general. The dog lays around out there and watches them and I feel a little bit like Bella (the dog) is like the nurse dog in Peter Pan. Like, I need to get her a little barrel that goes around her neck and I can fill it with snacks and baby wipes and maybe a first aid kit? I could probably have the house to myself for a few hours at least! If only I could get the dog to teach Math and Language...but I'm pretty sure the only subjects she could teach are eating poop, rolling around in poop, and knocking over the neighbors trash. Not really subjects I want my children to excel in, so I guess I'll have to teach them myself. One day at a time.

We got a swingset.

New swingset!

The Alley's got a new swingset. See more on Facebook.



Jimmy

Band-aids and Library Monsters

Well, we are back into the swing of things. I've determined that vacation is like ripping off a band-aid. You're feeling a little bruised and beat up. You need a band-aid. Aka, vacation. Yet eventually you have to take the band-aid off. And you cringe a little. Then, you just rip it off. Then, you scream in horror at the pain that ensues. This is how it is when you get back from vacation. A little shock and surprise at how much it burns to be back to the daily grind.

Ironically, I couldn't wait to be back anyway. You want the band-aid off and even though it hurts, your bruises have healed and you're ready to accumulate whatever life may throw you next. This is why people go on vacation. To get away from daily life, get totally exhausted and over stimulated. So they appreciate daily life. I used to collect band-aids.

Speaking of ripping off a band-aid, I took apart Penelope's crib a couple days after we got back. It was time. She had been crawling out of her crib a lot. Anyway, it was weird and sad and different but I just had to do it. Wah, wah, Julie. Back to real life. Just do it quickly. Rip it off fast and it won't hurt, right? Not really. It hurt a little!

And on the way to the library today I had one of those Mom moments where everything seems to go your way. It was a moment of genius if I do say so myself. I was excited to get books with them but at the same time was somewhat dreading taking all four of my children to the library by myself, since they usually exceed the decibel level by 200%, according to my standards. So as we pull into the parking lot I felt inspired.

"Guys, remember you have to be really quiet in the library, so if you're having trouble, just pretend there's a monster who lives in the library, and you have to be really quiet or you'll wake him up."

And then I really got going.

"And if you wake him up, he'll come out and start eating all the books, and we don't want him to eat all the books, because then there won't be any books for us to check out! Okay?"

The older two enjoyed playing the game and the younger ones bought it hook, line, and sinker. Score! Cash, whom I believed was born without the ability to whisper, talked in a whisper the entire time and at one point came up to me and asked me where the monster lived in the library. I brilliantly answered (in a whisper of course), "You can't see him, but don't worry, he won't come out because you're being really quiet!" Penelope stood playing in the water fountain (someone usually does this but at least this time she was doing it silently) and turned to ask me, "Mom, where's the monster?" She's only 2 and a couple months...she's smart, that one.

They were still talking about it in the bathtub tonight. I've always taught my kids that Santa and the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are not real. Yet today I crossed over when I allowed my 3.5 year old to believe in a monster that lives behind the library. What have I become?

One more thing. Just because. Our dog is having trouble getting back to normal too. She is breaking all kinds of rules like lying on the rug and such. Tonight she went into the laundry room to drink from the toilet (she doesn't do this often, only when she's really thirsty because we haven't put enough water out or something) and I listened to her drink for a long time, thinking she must be thirsty. Yes, you know what's coming. I said, "Jimmy, please tell me there's not pee or poop in there." And of course, there was. Number one. So gross. I'm just sitting here staring at her lying totally content trying not to think about what's in her stomach. A monster who eats books, a dog who drinks pee...I'm in really good company these days. At least I don't need a band-aid! I'm ready to be home for a while. It's a good place to be.