The Fantastic Four

The kids got a 30 second timer from a kids meal at Chick-Fil-A. So at dinner last night Jimmy challenged us all to be completely quiet for 30 seconds. We failed. Multiple times. It wasn't the same person every time, but we just couldn't make it. I am convinced that the only time we could be quiet for 30 seconds in a row is when we're all sleeping.

I have also been thinking about the Boxcar children. There were four of them, two boys and two girls, just like my kids. Jimmy, being a realtor, has access to many vacant homes. I was thinking that we could just leave the kids here, in my rectangular "boxcar" home, if you will, and Jimmy and I could become squatters at various nice homes in Tallahassee. I really think the kids could make it now. We could drop off some groceries every now and then. Maybe some new underwear. And they could last for a while. The boxcar children even moved past mere survival on to solving local mysteries.

I am only joking of course, but one sometimes considers it when you enter the kitchen and your children are "making grape juice" by crushing sticky grapes all over the place. But "don't worry mom, we're eating the skin too, we're not wasting it." I'm glad you're so resourceful, kids.

I have also been thinking about the baby and kid items that every parent wishes they sold in stores but would never be patented because they're potentially dangerous. Like, the elastic band that goes around your baby's face to keep the pacifier in. Or, which I've been in need of lately, the fence you can attach to your bunk beds to make them into huge cages so your kids are completely contained at night. Or a shock collar for screaming. If I could find a way to get some of these on the black market, I could make millions.

Anyway, here are my fantastic four. Capable of all kinds of feats of strength, yelling, mischief, happiness, and love. They are the best.

First week of school

Lots going on around here...I started home schooling so I'm extra spent and a little crazy in the head. Trying to get everything around here on a regular disciplined schedule, (insert "yeah right" face) I exercised twice this week with a workout video. (Insert "it was lots of fun" face.) The first time it was pregnancy yoga. Yoga schmoga, but I figure maybe it will make me a little stronger when labor comes around. I have struggled all week with the image of the video instructor in my mind. She was pregnant too, but could not have been any skinnier or wearing tighter pants. Saying things like, "Look down at your toes...I know it's getting harder and harder to see them" and "If you're feeling light headed at all, please stop and rest." As I've thought about this woman, even though I'm sure she's a nice person, I just want to punch her right in the gut. And I'm pregnant too, so I'd know how to make it hurt real good.

The little ones try to participate with me and say things like, "Isn't that hurting your baby?" as I bend over to face the dog. Yes, kids. But not physically. I'm just scarring her emotionally from the womb as I deep breathe her into inner core strength at a ridiculously young age.

I also did a stupid thing and perused some blog (I never look at blogs much) written by a home school mom who likes art and interior decor and such. This was extremely depressing for me. How do these people have time for constant home rearranging and blogging about it? They must have lots of money and hours with a babysitter. Right? Please don't tell me the children sit quietly in a corner all day reading classical literature and emerge every three to four hours for a high-fiber organic snack. Because this almost makes me want to vomit. But nothing can really make me want to do that. It did inspire me to a little more creativity so it was worth it I guess.

Anyway, my first week of home school in reality was full of crying and fun and amazement and frustration and wide eyes and love. And I'm tired. And I stopped when I felt light headed. And I didn't ignore anyone to refurnish a piece of furniture ("on a budget" which from what I saw meant "with lots of money") and write an elaborate blog about it. I fed, clothed, loved, disciplined, and tried to educate these little munchkins. And as always, they ended up educating me.

A perfect fifth

Today I had my big huge ultrasound where they check out everything on the baby in detail. She (confirmed a girl!) looks great and I ended up having to bring Libby, Cash, and Penelope with me. They did great and all earned an ice cream treat when we got home. I was so proud of them for sitting reasonably still and also proud of my little one for cooperating and being in all the right positions to get everything measured and checked out. I feel so blessed to have seen all the right spinal connections, facial bones, 20 digits, heart stuff, etc. She waved at us really great...holding up those five fingers--she knows her place! The kids each got a copy of that picture. Penelope was looking at the picture on the way home and I heard her say, "I'm going to be so proud!" Me too, Penelope!

2, 4, 6, 8

It's summer again and so the ages of my kids have lined up to be 2 years apart. I dreamed of this 3 1/2 month stint of time when I was pregnant with Penelope and realized that at this point, summer of 2010, I could use the cheer "Two, Four, Six, Eight, who do we appreciate?" and be talking about my kids and their ages. It has happened. When you're me, these things make you feel happy. Now I'm messing it all up with a child who will be three years behind next summer instead of only two. How dare I! Just kidding. I'm grateful for the extra space.

Last summer I did a 1, 3, 5, 7 catch up on everyone...so here's this year's...

2- Penelope
Penelope (whom I call Pip and Nel Nel as well as Penelope) is growing into a beautiful girl and has left babyhood with all the grace and poise of a normal toddler. Translation: Sometimes she poops her pants and gets food all over herself even though she's not a "baby" anymore. Yet she also does so many grown up kid things like bargaining how many books we read and dressing herself in uncoordinated outfits. (She gets that one from Jimmy.) She has her finger on the pulse of the house just as much as I do and covers her ears when someone close to her is too loud. This is what I want to do, and really, I'm not sure why I don't just do what she does. When Cash whines or screams really loud just cover my ears and stare at him blankly. It seems to work for Penelope. There really isn't enough keyboard in the world to describe her wonderful and precious antics. Some of my favorites are when she bosses us all around. Things like, "Jackson, play with me!!" or "No, not that one, I need my bow blanket!" I also get personal enjoyment when she is not wearing underwear. I mean, how many more months will her booty be so darn cute and she even has a little bit of a tan line! I just can't resist it. Am I a weird mom if I like to stare at my daughter and her naked rear? It is just too much. Okay. I have three more kids. Must move on. I love you Penelope!

4- Cash $
I place the dollar sign because this is pretty much how Cash and Jackson and Libby have come to write his name. I use abbreviations in dry erase marker on the kitchen counter tile and have the kids place their cup for the day there. Jackson- Jax Libby- Lib Cash- $ and Penelope- Pip. So Cash has come to expect a $ after his name. It's pretty funny. Cash is quite a handful these days but makes up for it in spades by telling me multiple times a day things like, "I love you mommy and I want to love you forever." Or I might ask him to do something and he'll say, "Yes, Mommy, I will do it because I love you." I'm not making this up. He has become quite the lover. A few months ago he told me he was going to give me "a prince kiss" and so I leaned over for it only to have him grab my face and turn his head to the side, place his lips on mine and hold them there for quite a few seconds. The head turned to the side just about did me in. He also tells me that I "fell from the sky" for daddy. As if I was a dream from heaven. Yes, Cash, let's spread that one around! He really is a sweetheart. He always wants to help me cook and he is a really hard worker. If I give him a shop vac and stick him in the van he won't stop until he gets every last piece of dirt. I have to pry it out of his hands. Love the hard worker in you, Cash.

6- Libby
Oh, God bless the child who is so much like yourself. I feel like I have an ally in Libby. We want the world to work in a certain way and when it doesn't we get frustrated. I feel her pain when circumstances thwart her plans. Welcome to my life, Libby. I am always telling her we have to be flexible. But I feel her pain when things she is pretending or working on get undone. She takes it in stride, though. She constantly amazes me with her productivity. The amount of drawings and writings she has made make me jealous. If only I could be so productive creatively. I would be growing by leaps and bounds artistically! And Libby is. Her writing and drawing are always bringing Jimmy and I to each other quietly saying, "Did you see this?" And we are so proud of her. She is quiet but always listening and processing it all. She does wonderful things like work puzzles with Penelope or Cash or reads to them. Often I call out her name because I haven't seen her in a while. I just want to make sure she's still on the premises. She is, usually sitting at the school table drawing or pretending with toys. She is getting big! Quite a little girl. You are special, my sweet Elizabeth June!

8- Jackson
Jackson is extraordinary. This week was my birthday and he asked very quietly if he could take me out, stating that he was paying. He took me to see a movie, and then afterward quietly asked me if I was hungry. It was SO heart warming for me! What a little dater! I would go on a date with him any time. We saw "Ramona and Beezus" and he brought his copy (which used to be mine) of the book into the movie in case we needed to refer to it. As we left we bought big 25¢ gumballs and I did my best to chew it but only made it to the parking lot. He kept at it and enjoyed it for a while, acting silly with his mouth so full. I think God gave me a really smart mom who knows young kids and used to always say, "I think it's important to answer a child's questions honestly and fully" because He knew I was going to have a kid like Jackson. He is constantly saying, "Mom, I have a question." and I have started responding, "Of course you do." I will forever and ever and ever answer your questions, Jackson. This is my job and I love it and I love you!

That's it. I wanted to add pictures but I'm too tired! I'll add some soon. 2, 4, 6, 8, I really really really appreciate my kids. I sometimes feel like I'm living in a dream world where the blessings just don't stop. It is amazing and unbelievable at times. All I ever wanted was a house full of kids. I wasn't fully aware that it would translate to a house full of crazy, but hey, you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have...it's getting late...

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.