Days 2017

Days 2017

Wednesday, May 19, 2010


I've realized that some of my least favorite words to hear from my children are not, "I'm hungry", but the infinitely worse, "I'm STILL hungry." The timing of when these words are what make them so aggravating. No one ever says, "I'm STILL hungry" when they are actually sitting at my heavily laden table. Oh no. "I'm STILL hungry" only comes after I've urged them for the sixth time to finish their breakfast, and have cleaned up the dishes, put all the food away, and want to take a shower. But the worst is when "I'm STILL hungry" happens after they've just eaten an entire granola bar, or banana, or yogurt (after the first "I'm STILL hungry"), and their "STILL hungry" eyes are pointedly examining the leftover birthday cake. Tough beans, kiddos. Have as many graham crackers as that little belly can hold. One day man will not live on snacks alone in this house. Sigh.
Cooper has been extra funny lately. I have been avoiding writing about his potty training progress, because who wants to read about that, but I will mention that it has been very slow progress. He knows how to do everything but has no desire to actually stop playing or doing whatever he is doing and take a skip to the loo. We've tried stickers. We've tried candy. We've tried better candy. We've tried prizes. We've tried underwear. Now we are just living in the overnight pullups and trying to maintain some consistent habits. I was worried that maybe I've somehow subconsciously made him think that he just can't do it...that I'm too disapproving or something. I think I've been pretty positive about the whole thing with him, but you never know. I just don't want him sitting in a shrink's chair someday, "It all started with the pullups and having to do a chore every time I had an accident..." I guess moms will feel guilty about just about anything, but he sure helped me feel better the other night. We were sitting around the dinner table and having a rare quiet moment where everyone is actually eating their food. (I guess it was "Dasagna" night.) Cooper takes a deep breath, partially stands up in his chair, raises his fist and yells out into the blue, "WHO'S A BIG WINNER? MEEE!"
I guess I have nothing to worry about. That kid is loaded with confidence.
He had a good birthday. Here are some fun pictures, including the big-lipped reluctance over being sung to. He loves the birthday song, and was even singing it to himself when he woke up, but there's something about the pressure of the candles and having everyone looking at him and singing his name that just rubs him the wrong way every year. He finally agreed to let Boston blow out the candles. The party blowers were a bigger hit, and he loved the gifts. Oh, other than the new sheet set. He dumped them out of the gift bag, took one sneer at the plastic, rectangular shaped brick they were packaged in, and declared them (in a rather disdainful voice for someone who still wears Pullups), "diapers."
Boston had an eventful day at the store yesterday. Macy is recently out of her carrier car seat and was having her first ride in the front of the shopping cart. Cooper was in the basket taking care of the groceries for me, and Boston was walking along side. He is usually pretty good at the store because he knows if he is bad he has to ride in the cart as well. And that is for babies. So, I wasn't paying too much attention to the cart while I was reaching for the buttermilk at WalMart. You know how there is that nice, wide aisle along the dairy cases? Well, Boston has an eye for opportunity like no other. Unfortunately, it had been raining buckets as we went into the store and I made the mistake of running like a banshee with the cart and children. Example, example, example. Guess who felt the need for speed? Son of Maverick, I turned around and my cart with my babies in it was careening down the aisle. I yelled out, "Boston!" He kind of turned and looked at me, and in the same moment I felt his panic as he realized he was too little to stop the heavy cart (or to see where he was going, for that matter) and I saw the look of incredulity, anger and fear all at once in the face of the bespectacled little old lady he rammed head on. Broken hips and law suits flashed before my eyes. Luckily, she had been standing next to the tall case of day-old pastries, and that took the brunt of the crash. It still bumped her pretty good, though. Both of my tinies started screaming and Boston was pale as a sheet. I checked the lady out, who declared she was fine (I hope she wasn't lying...), apologized profusely, made Boston apologize profusely to the woman (who was kind enough to accept his apology with a hug instead of beating his mother over the head with her purse), and all of us tried to calm the crying babies. Boston had to ride in the cart after that, not too-long because I was trying to get out of there as quickly as possible before she got our names and addresses! We had a nice little talk about the steps of Repentance before anyone was allowed to get out of the car. I guess the blessing of the whole incident was that he was in an extremely teachable mood for the rest of the day, and I hope I used that to my full advantage. I love the little Janice Kapp Perry song, and we sang that together. "What does it repent? It means you're sorry that you did it and you promise that you'll quit it and you'll never ever do that thing again."

Monday, May 10, 2010

A Mom in pants

I need to remind myself that I don't always have to post pictures in order to write on my blog. I tend to put it off because I can only do pics on Mark's computer and I hate going in his home office because the kids all follow me in there and tend to destroy things or try to play with the shredder or topple his stacks of who-knows-what's-actually-important papers all over the floor.
We haven't really been up to much of anything. Our family has had runny noses and coughing 'til you gag for what feels like weeks. Oh wait, it HAS been weeks. I finally gave up on Leslie ever getting better and started just sending her to school with a dose of Dayquil and pocketfuls of cough drops and gum. I hope her teacher doesn't hate me, but Leslie assures me that all of the kids in class are coughing. And maybe she is getting a teeny bit better every day, but I'm the only one who wakes up when she coughs in the night, so it seems like she's been sick forever. It was driving me crazy how she could cough and cough and cough without getting herself a drink of water or popping a new cough drop, but I've noticed lately when I creep into her room at night to help and to see why she isn't trying to calm herself, she has learned how to cough continuously while sound asleep. She always was a heavy sleeper. So I've taken to waking her up and handing her a water bottle. Too bad you aren't allowed to give them Nyquil until they're 12. Lucky for Mark and I, however, that we are legal age. We finally are feeling better and have stopped downing that stuff. For a few nights there, we were feeling like a couple of gentiles at happy hour.
So it was a real treat for Mother's Day for me to be able to go to church. The entire time. Mark stayed home with the remaining sickies so I could enjoy my day. I also consumed large amounts of chocolate and got to read and yak on the phone while someone else did the dishes, and got lots of hugs and cuddles. Perfect.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the people that came before us. I've been reading/studying a massive textbook called The Source about professional genealogy because I felt like I wanted to pick up some new researching skills and go beyond what I've ever done before. It's been extremely interesting in an embarrassingly nerdy way. Poor Mark. He must think I'm such an egghead when I start spouting off at the dinner table (in the lulls in conversation between the whining for more ketchup or refusals to eat vegetables) about the dusty subjects I'm picking up. Did he realize when we married that someday I'd be sprawled on the carpet of my baby's bedroom, alternately playing shape-blocks and peekaboo to the right and furiously taking notes to the left on a 50-page section called "Land and Tax Records" with such subtitles as "Public-Domain States", "Division of Common Lands", and "Drawing Plat Maps". FOR FUN!!!
My life staggers me. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Anyway, beyond my crazy reading habits, I've been thinking about these forbears of mine. They were so very, well, Yankee. I bet they were tough as nails and worked their fingers to the bone. I'm reading another book right now (yes, in addition to my textbook) about Emma Hale Smith and how rough her life was, and I just got to wondering: what would these women would think of me? Of my friends? Of my culture, my people? Would they be ashamed that I only clean the toy room once a week (if it's lucky), and that I don't sweep the floor every morning even when it needs it? Would they be horrified that it's okay to be naked in the movies, especially if you're a blue alien on Pandora? (I'm guessing yes on that one. If I was, they would be too.) Would they run screaming from the room at the language and the ease in which so many people take the Lord's name, to the point that they can even abbreviate it on their text messaging? I wear pants! I wear makeup and frown at my wrinkles in the mirror too much! I read novels and eat chocolate, and at the same time! I know they would be glad at the modern conveniences, the medicine, the level of education that we've risen to, that we can shower every day, but those are all things that we have. What about the things that we are?
Seriously, I'm struggling to feel good about we as a people and a world, have changed. One thing I do know, though, is that I am as much of a mother as they were. I don't think they could possibly love their husbands or children more than I love mine. I think that never changes. I also need to remind myself that these women belong to me, and I belong to them. I know/knew both of my Grandmothers very well. They knew a different time than I live in now, and they still love me like crazy, even with our differences, which are actually very few. We really are great friends. I'm probably more like these strong, earlier women than I realize, and I need to forgive myself the differences and use these women as inspirations and examples.