Pathos

I drove up to Sandy tonight to drop Em off at her cousin's slumber party, and while I was there my sister Telima and I decided to go out for an hour or so.  We window-shopped and had frozen yogurt, and had a marvelous time.

When I got home at 10pm, I found this waiting for me on my bed.  

Here's the writing a little closer, so you can read it.

I especially love the little teary sad faces.  Oh, that boy of mine! I love him tons and tons.

*The elaborate figure is a "boss", as in the final battle of a level on a video game.  This is what Gee draws, all the time.  I love them. Sometimes they are spiky, sometimes they are volcanoes, too, but always they have a little man in their head, who controls the "boss", like a robot.  It's awesome.

Labor Day

As much fun as it is to hang out with these adorable sillies, there is something very satisfying about bedtime.  It's been a looooooong holiday weekend.  I'm ready to get back to our routine.

(Pictures taken at Gee's kindergarten graduation last spring.)

Eight is Exhausting

My brother and his bride escaped this weekend down to St George, and their three kiddos are staying with us.  My children are ecstatic, except when they've all had a little too much togetherness, and then, naturally, there is wailing and possibly gnashing of teeth.

(Question: Do you ever gnash anything other than teeth?)

All eight are bathed and in their beds, and I've got a raging headache. That sounds about right.

Tooth Fairy Trauma

Well, this is a new one.

Gee finally lost his first "real" tooth. (He's had teeth removed at the dentist, but never one that fell out on its own.) There, obviously, has been much excitement surrounding this event.  Last night, he carefully placed his tooth under his pillow and (eventually) fell asleep.

Unfortunately, the tooth fairy is growing forgetful in her old(er) age, and when Gee woke up this morning, the tooth was still under his pillow, and, worse still, NO MONEY!!

Or so it seemed. When notified of this tragic event, the clever momma told him to wait a minute, and she would help him look. She then "went to the bathroom", but really found a crumpled dollar bill on her dresser. Hiding the money in her hand, Momma went into Gee's bedroom and rummaged around his bed.

"Oh, look! I found this money off the side of your bed! It must have fallen off. And I bet the tooth fairy left your tooth here for you to keep." Whew! Problem solved, right?

Not so fast.

Gee seemed satisfied for a couple of minutes, but then doubts started to creep in. Not doubts about the authenticity of the tooth fairy, oh no.  Doubts about the money. In short order, he was steadfastly convinced that the dollar bill was his, from "before", and he had somehow hidden it in his bed "a couple of months ago". The tooth fairy HADN'T come, and this dollar didn't count!

All my arguments to the contrary didn't sway him ("You spent your other dollar at the pool, remember? You didn't 'hide' your money, it's in your bank!), and he got so angry and frustrated with me that there were tears.

Sigh.

I had two options:  I could tell him the truth about everything, or I could simply agree with him.  If I thought for one minute that he was trying to scam me, I wouldn't give in. But he is genuinely convinced that the money was his, prior to this morning.

So the tooth fairy will make another visit tonight, and deliver two quarters or some such.  Maybe this makes me a bad mom, maybe not, but I honestly don't really care.  I'm not quite ready to burst the bubble of early childhood.

Three Years Old



Reminding myself why I don't want to sell this adorable sweet girl to the gypsies.

To Do List (For the Budding Spymaster)

Created by 8-year-old Em

Discovered by Momma

First Day of School, 2013

The boys went off together at 8am, and it was awesome to watch Zee help Gee.  Em goes to school at 9:15, and for once, she was up without needing prodding.  (I shall savor this rare event.  My little night-owl would sleep until 11 am if she could.  Not unlike her mother.)

Hebs and Yummy are especially needy this morning, probably because they are missing their sibs.  Next year, Yummy will be the only one home for at least part of the day.  And then the year after that, Yummy will be in kindergarten--my one year of all five in the same school.

It seems unreal that, in two years, all my children will be in school.  Whoa.

Phyllida, Philander, and Phineas

This was the best picture of the bunch.  It's hard to take pictures through a slightly messy window!

Remember Phillip and Phoebe, the sweet pheasant couple that lived here before us?  We got to meet three of their babies today, in most unusual circumstances.

This morning, Em bursts into my room, trembling with excitement.

"Mom!  Mom!  There are three baby birds in my window well!  Come see, come see!!"

I hopped out of bed and hurried over to the girls' room.  Sitting on Em's bed, which is next to the window, are Gee, Hebs, and Yummy.  (Zee was already at school, and Daddy comes home tonight.)  When the kids see me, they start up their own clamor.

Looking out the window, I see one...two...three baby birds.  They have spiky feathers (pin feathers?), with just a few downy-er looking ones.  Peering up to the sky, I can just make out an adult bird head bobbing anxiously around.  Knowing absolutely nothing about birds, I have no idea what kind of chicks they are, but one thing is clear:  Although they take turns frantically flapping their wings, the highest any of them get is about three inches off the ground.

Our window wells on that side of the house are six feet deep.

Trying to calm the kids down, I let Em take some pictures, and then send her and Gee off to get ready for school.  "Don't worry," says I.  "I will figure out a way to get the baby birdies back to their mommy."  How, I've only got the foggiest of ideas.  It has to do with calling Animal Control, the animal shelter, or, as last resort, my friend S.B.Z. who works for Hogle Zoo up in SLC.

The animal shelter doesn't open until 9, and we have fifteen minutes till then.  Firmly telling the kids to stay inside, I crept out to see if I could tell what kind of bird Anxious Momma was.  I didn't want to scare her away, so I started on the other side of the house and tiptoed around the fenceline.

It was Phoebe, the female pheasant.  She was nervously pacing around the window well, looking down every so often.  Phillip was over in the park, lingering on the edge of our property.

I went over to Mema's to ask if I should wait, or try to help out in some way.  She agreed with me that waiting fifteen minutes wasn't unreasonable, and--of course--came down to Em's room to see the birdies.

Getting a distracted Em ready for school and out the door was a job in itself, but I convinced her that the babies would be just fine, and I would tell her ALL about it once she got home from school.  Shooing Em and Gee out the front door, and cautioning them to be quiet and quick about getting over to the park, I went back to the phones.

Finally I was able to reach the animal shelter.  They recommended I call the police to ask for Animal Control, and gave me the number.  The nice woman at dispatch took down my information, and promise to send someone out.

 Hebs, Yummy, and I sat in the front room to wait for the police officers.  Hebs noticed that Phoebe was over in the front (rather than the side) of the house, herding at least five-six other little chicks across the street.  The little birds scurried across the street, but Phoebe stood, irresolute, in the middle of the yard.  I swear, her head was turning first to the other chicks in the weeds of the empty lot across the street, and then it would swivel back to the house where her three babies were trapped.  It about broke my heart.

Fortunately, just then, a police SUV pulled up.  Hooray!  Phoebe ran across the street to her other babies.  The police officer (I neglected to get his name) hopped out, we talked for a moment, and then he pulled some long poles with grabbers on the ends.  I walked him over to the window well.

"Whoa!" he said.  "That's a deep window well.  These won't work.  Let's see, do you have a five gallon bucket around?"

I sure did. (We've been using them to pick up trash, rocks, and to mix paint in.  Handy things.)  He picked one up and climbed down into the window well, very gently.

The three little chicks all ran to hide under the fairy garden I made for Em's birthday.  (It's propped up a little so she can see it from her bed.)  This actually worked to our advantage, because he blocked one end of the garden, and put the bucket at the other end.  Hebs and Yummy watched the whole time from Em's bed. While he was doing this, another police car shows up, and another policeman came over to see if help was needed.  (It wasn't, but he got in a little gentle ribbing to his "bird rescuer" buddy.)

In very short order, one...then two...then three baby pheasants were scooped up, hoisted out, and gently dumped out.  Two of them ran in the direction of Mom, and the third (perhaps slightly slow? just kidding) headed for the spare 'oom window well.  Fortunately, he avoided it, and ran to the weeds in the backyard.  I'm pretty sure that Phoebe and Phillip rounded up their wayward chicks eventually, because I saw Phoebe's head pop out of the weeds when we got the first chick out.

I profusely thanked the police officers, who both allowed that it was a nice change from their usual work.  It was a nice change from our usual morning routine, as well!

Two (adults) against Two (years old)

Today Mema and I were at the store with an angelic six-year-old Gee, a sweetheart of a four-year-old Hebs, and a very cranky, slightly feverish, tempestuous two-year-old Yummy.

It was the two grown-up moms against my very opinionated girlie.

We lost.

Trip cut short, we dashed for home before another temper tantrum.  We'll try again tomorrow.

If we get our courage back.

Sweet Little Tender Mercies

Our van has been giving us a bit of trouble since Saturday.  When you move to shift it out of park, sometimes it gets stuck.  Twisting the steering wheel doesn't unlock it, nor does lifting on the brake.  Turning it on and off only works sometimes, and sometimes pumping the brake works.  We never know what to expect.  The upshot is, we need to take it to the mechanic.

But we haven't yet, and today I was at Costco with Hebs and Yummy.  We had finished our shopping with twenty minutes to spare before Gee got out of kindergarten.  Plenty of time...so I thought.

It wasn't until I went to shift into reverse that I remember that this might be a problem.  The gear shift wouldn't work.  I tried everything that we had tried this weekend, but with no success.  The minutes ticked by.  Trying everything again, I called Bradley at work for advice.  He had none beyond what I was already doing. 

It was now twelve minutes until kindergarten got out.  Mema is at my sister's today, helping her, so I couldn't call and ask Grandma to pick up Gee.  I'm finally getting to know people in the ward, though, and thankfully I knew of at least one mom who could pick up Gee with her son.  Before I gave her a call, though, I decided to try one last thing (although it probably should have been my first effort):  Pray.

I told Hebs (who was confused as to why I wasn't going anywhere) that we were going to pray to Heavenly Father to help us.  He asked, "What good will that do?"

Oy.  Clearly there are some theological gaps in his current understanding.

I explained that we should always ask God for help.  Sometimes He will answer our prayers the way we want, sometimes not, but we should always ask.  I then asked if Hebs would pray with me.  He agree to close his eyes, but didn't want to fold his arms.  Fair enough.

As soon as my short prayer was over, I tried to move the gear shift.  It immediately moved smoothly into reverse.

On the way home--and we weren't late picking Gee up--Hebs and I had a nice conversation about how the Lord loves to bless us.  It's hard to know how much a four-year-old can understand, but I'm grateful to the Lord for getting us moving again, and teaching my Hebs a good little lesson in the process.

Yummy, asleep

My two-year-old Yummy has eschewed formal naps for the last nine months.  If I tried to put her down for a nap in the afternoon, she would a) scream like a banshee until she threw up, or b) scream like a banshee until she fell asleep, and then wake up like a little demon and stay up until 10:30 pm.  After several months of this,  I gave up.

This doesn't mean she doesn't take naps.  They are just naps on her own terms, and they happen about twice/three times a week.  For example, if we get into the car for any length of time in the afternoon, she's asleep.  Sometimes she'll curl up on my bed and take a brief nap.  But more often, I will find her in odd places, sleeping, around five in the evening.  (Last night she fell asleep on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.  Didn't get a picture, sadly.)

(Of course, ninety percent of the time she still wakes up a little demon.  I'm told I was the same until...well, adulthood.  What can I say? She comes by it naturally.)

Here she is, asleep in the rolling chair, last October.

This was sometime last summer.  The book, in case you were wondering, is "Victims", by Richard E. Turley. It's about the Mark Hofmann forgeries.  Light reading.

And this is from the other day.  My favorite touch, besides the pretty pretty princess dress?  The remote control in her hand.

Third Grade Craziness

This last week has been a little crazy for my third grader.  And, therefore, for his mom.

A week ago last Friday was his opportunity to do "Traveling Tales."  Each third grader is given the chance to write a story (fiction or non-fiction), illustrate it, and then read it to the entire third grade in the little auditorium in the library.  Because we weren't around for the beginning of the year, I didn't have a clue what this was, but apparently--as he told me the day of--I was invited.

Telima and kids had come over that afternoon, and Telima--six weeks after having baby S. (don't have a nickname for her yet.  Hmmmmm.  We have Kay, Jay, Bay, and...SJ?  We'll see)--anyway, Telima was taking a nap.  Mema was getting Jay, Kay and Lala from school, so I had Bay and six-week-old SJ, Hebs, Gee, and YumYum.  We trooped over to the school, made to to the library, listened to Zee's tale (about his family, so cute), and then trooped home.  It took all of twenty-five minutes, and the kids were marvelously well-behaved.  Whew.

Then on Tuesday of last week, it was Zee's turn to do his music class performance.  He had to create a coat of arms for himself, and then present the coat of arms and perform something for his class.  After gently navigating him away from playing the piano (he can only play "Hot Cross Buns", and was going to incorporate some random "the piano isn't working" skit that sounded kinda long and weird), we landed on playing "Hot Cross Buns", but on the recorder.  This was sufficiently different and just hard enough for him (practicing only for one day) to be a great solution.  He loved being able to play on the recorder, and felt rather proud of his efforts.

I wasn't able to make it to this performance, though, because I had my first Primary Presidency meeting at the same time.  I wasn't worried about that, though, because I knew that the next day, Wednesday, was...

...The Third Grade Field Trip!  And I was a chaperon.  We left bright and early on a bus, and drove up to Sandy to the Living Planet Aquarium.  Zee's partner was his good friend C, and we sat on the last seat of the bus and had a grand old time.

Our bus arrived about ten minutes before the other bus, and the kids were climbing the walls.  They were so hyper and excited...it was very crazy.  Zee's class is full of personality and a few troubles, but mostly sweet kids.

Literally climbing the walls

Once inside, we split off into our groups.  I only had Zee and C in my group, and they were both easy to manage.  The Aquarium was playing host to at least one (and possibly two) other school groups, so it was crowded.  Zee and C. would look at a display, briefly scan the information, and then run off to the next one, all practically before I even located the fish/reptile/mammal in question.

(I apparently am also a bit of an aquarium snob.  I've been to the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach, CA, and the Downtown Aquarium in Denver, and both were so amazing!  This aquarium, in an old supermarket building in Sandy, is...little.  Disappointing.  And a bit depressing.  I mean, the octopus was in a tank only half again as big as he was.  He looked sort of squashed in there.)

Anyway!  After we were done aquarium-ing, we went to a park, ate lunch, and then came home.  Whew.  What a day.

But wait!  The week wasn't over yet.  On Friday was the Third Grade Wax Museum.  The third graders had been researching and writing reports about historical figures for the last six weeks, and the culmination of the event was the Wax Museum.  Each student dressed up as his/her subject, made a posterboard with pertinent facts and pictures, and memorized a little speech about the subject.  Standing perfectly still (ha!), they waited in the gym until someone walked up to them and "pushed" the "talk" button.  The student would then give the little speech, pretending to be the subject, and then freeze again.

It was awesome!  Zee was Teddy Roosevelt, and his costume was my scout shirt (the right color), a mustache (made of cardstock), his Harry Potter glasses, and a firm, aggressive stance.  It was hilarious.

Teddy

There were numerous Abe Lincolns, several Helen Kellers, more Pocahontases than I would have expected, three Martin Luther King Jr., and a range of other figures from Cleopatra to the Duchess of Cambridge, Kate.

I'm sure the teachers were exhausted by the end of the Museum, but there was still more to do that day--the Multiplication Ice Cream Party.  I ran off to the store to get the ice cream, but luckily for me, I didn't have to stay and help with the actual party.  What a day!

And what a week!  Both Zee and I are happy it is over.

Pie Five!

My brother-in-law and sister-in-law (the G's) have recently entered the fast-food franchise business.  Not McDonalds, Burger King, Subway, or any of those standard fast-food businesses, but they own five (?) Dickey's BBQ stores in Utah.

(The food there is awfully delicious.  Especially the mashed potatoes.  And the ribs.  And the chicken.  Oh, and Zee adores the mac'n'cheese, although Gee turns his nose up at it because it is not Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in the Blue Box. Such is my six-year-old's palate.)

But this post isn't about Dickey's BBQ.  This post is about something even nearer and dearer to my heart (and my children's hearts) than BBQ.

This post is about PIZZA.

Tomorrow is the Grand Opening of the first Pie Five Pizza restaurant in Utah (3158 East 6200 South Holladay, UT). (And it is the first franchised Pie Five anywhere, I believe. The only other place they are open is in Texas, where the company started.)  What is Pie Five, you ask?  It's a pizza shop that's kinda like Subway, in that all the ingredients are laid out for you behind glass.  You decide what type of crust you want, what sauce, what toppings, and they make your personal sized pizza right before your eyes.  Then, they pop it into this special oven, and five minutes later your pizza is piping hot, just as you like it.  They also have salads in bread bowls, and dessert pizzas as well.

Today was the "Friends and Family" day, where the restaurant staff have a dry run of all their tasks, and friends and family get to eat for free. So we trooped up there this afternoon to support our family and have a little pizza.

My kids thought they were in heaven.  Zee and Em, in particular, found a lot of joy in ordering their VERY. OWN. PIZZAS.  And putting whatever they wanted on it.  (Both wanted regular marinara sauce, regular mozzarella cheese, and pepperoni.  They like to live on the EDGE, people.)  Zee even went back and ordered another pizza for himself, without asking his dad or me.  In his defense, he logically did ask Aunt M., who owns the place.

I had the thin artisan crust, with alfredo sauce, mozzarella, chicken slices, artichokes, mushrooms, and spinach.  It was really, really good.  The perfect size for one person, even if you are hungry--I had one slice leftover.  Bradley had salad in a bread bowl, and he really liked it as well.

Not only did my kids get to order their own pizzas, and get free drinks (which we rarely indulge in), but they got to tour the back kitchen with Aunt M, and...this was the cherry on top...they got to be on LIVE TV.

You see, ABC Channel Four Utah was there, filming the live weather broadcast from the Pie Five store, and talking up the Grand Opening tomorrow.  Throughout the four and five o'clock news, the anchors would periodically check in with the weatherman Jim Kosek, and he would do little two minutes snippets on the weather, along with some longer interviews.  In between, Mr. Kosek and the camera man were just hanging around, chatting with people and (of course) eating pizza.

During one of those intervals, Gee started talking to Mr. Kosek and the cameraman, and basically thoroughly charmed them.  He showed them how he can whistle and hum at the same time (we call it the alien spacecraft), and talked about his new DAFOs (leg braces).  So when it was time for one of the little snippet updates, Mr. Kosek hunched down next to Gee and included him in the live shot, even letting Gee whistle and hum on camera.  Zee got in on it as well, talking about his delicious pizza.  They were both so thrilled, you'd have thought they'd won Oscars or something.  Gee, especially, has decided that he wants to be "on all the televisions all the time."  Heh heh.

Hebs missed out on all this, and was quite disappointed.  So, unbeknownst to me, Zee went up to Mr. Kosek and asked if, during one of the next snippets, Hebs could be on TV, too.  Mr. Kosek was wonderfully kind, and sure enough, let Hebs be on live TV for a couple of seconds to talk about his pizza.  (I have no idea what Hebs said, because I wasn't close enough to hear.  It was awfully cute looking, though.)

Now, because these are just the little snippets, they aren't recorded on the website (at least not anywhere I could find), but we did get to watch them as they happened, on the big TV on the wall in restaurant.  And my boys were so proud and excited and happy about it.  Gee and Zee can't want to tell their classmates about it tomorrow.

(You might wonder where Em was in all this.  Lurking in the background, so she was on TV as well, but she didn't care at all if she was "interviewed" or anything.  I wouldn't have thought that it would be that way, but that sweet girl constantly surprises me!  And naturally two-year-old Yum didn't notice or care.  She just danced around the room the whole time.)

We had a great evening up there in Holladay, and we are so grateful to the G's for inviting us!  And if you are ever in that area--right at the mouth of the Cottonwood Canyons--you should definitely stop in for a pizza.

(Do you think I need one of those blogger-disclosures about this?  I wasn't asked to write about Pie Five, but I did get free pizza.  But the opinions are my own.  And I still think you should go have some--it's really good.)

Telephony

I have a total love-hate relationship with the telephone.

I love that I can chat with far-flung (and not so far-flung) friends and family, without anyone else listening in (except J. Edgar Hoover, naturally), and at my convenience.

I love that I can arrange business transactions from Lindon to Salt Lake to St George (and farther) from the comfort of my home.

I hate waiting for return phone calls, because I never know what the home situation will be when the call comes.

 And today the phone would NOT STOP RINGING.

I shouldn't (really, I shouldn't) complain.  Almost every call was someone returning one of my calls, mostly from yesterday.  I tried to get through a huge list of tasks yesterday, but apparently it was still Spring Break for most people, because most of my calls ended with messages to voice mail.

These return calls should not be a problem. (Yay!  People getting back to me, to answer my questions or help me out!)  However.  My 2.5 year old Yum-Yum has decided the phone is her best friend.  Whenever I am on it, she longs to talk.  She ardently desires to talk.  She NEEDS to talk.

This is fine when I am chatting with my sister or mother-in-law, but not so much when I am trying to get a quote for radon mitigation.

When I tell her "No", she reacts in one of two ways:  1) Collapsing on the ground in furious, screaming tears; or 2) Running three steps away, and then collapsing on the ground in furious, screaming tears.

What was that you say?  I should walk away from her, and let her have her temper tantrum alone?  Oh, my Yummy is far too clever for that.  She immediately hops up (still screaming and scolding), and follows me around, latching onto my legs if I am not fast enough to get away.  It's probably an amusing sight, mom running away from angry toddler.  Except, you know, when you're the mom and it's the city offices on the line and you're trying to explain the issue with not knowing exactly where your property ends and the park begins...and no one can hear a thing but Yummy screaming "NO!!!  I WANT A TALK!!!!!"

So.  That was my day today.

I talked to two sisters, one mother-in-law, one realtor, one headstone-cleaning lady, one Santa Clara cemetery official, one Lindon city official, one radon mitigation person, one plumber, one doctor, and a partridge in a pear tree.

I could be wrong about that last one, though.  It's hard to know, given the adorably exasperating little girl screaming in my ear.

Back with a Bang (aka Hebs' Adventure)

We had just finished FHE and family prayers Monday night when it happened.  I was in the laundry room when I heard a scream of pain and Zee calling "9-1-1!  Emergency, Momma!"  (He wasn't telling me to call 911, that's just his way of telling me something is wrong.  Charming, yes?  Heh heh heh.)  I turned around to see Hebs (4 years old) on the floor next to the smaller leather couch, clearly having fallen off the arm of it, with his left arm fully extended to catch himself.

As soon as I saw him, I thought to myself, "Here's our second broken bone!"  I'm not sure why I thought that -- heaven knows he falls and tumbles and twists and turns enough in one day to make this little tumble no big deal -- but whether it was mother's intuition, inspiration, or the Spirit, in that instant I knew he'd broken his arm.

I scooped him up and loved and hushed him, and he eventually calmed down.  Now, Keryn, I thought, don't overreact. He's just fine, and he'll fall asleep and be just fine in the morning.  I helped him get ready for bed, and he wasn't freaking out when I gently touched his arm.  I made him bend his wrist one way and the other, and it clearly hurt, but it also wasn't causing him to break out into fresh tears.  I put him into bed next to Gee, and he fell asleep in minutes.

I decided that I had been wrong about a possible fracture, and knew that, if it was still hurting in the morning, I would take him down to our doctor in Spanish Fork.  Just in case.

Of course, we didn't get to wait that long.  Hebs woke up just an hour later, at nine-thirty, crying in pain.  We made a little bed for him in our room, on the floor so his arm wouldn't get bumped, and I went to get him some ibuprofen for the pain.  But by the time I got back downstairs, he was asleep again.  I left the medicine nearby, and tried to go to sleep myself.

About an hour after that, my poor boy woke up crying and just could not stop.  Even after we gave him some medicine, he was inconsolable.  Daddy helped him get his pants and shoes on while I got dressed.  By now, of course, at almost eleven, it was too late to go to any InstaCares, so it was to the American Fork Hospital ER we went.  (I've been to the ER five times in my whole life, I think.  Once with Mandy after her grand mal seizure, once with Kristy when she had a bad reaction or bronchitis, once for myself with mono, and twice with my Hebs.  Golly, I love that kiddo.)

The medicine started to finally kick in as we drove, which was a relief for both of us.  The ER had been very busy before we arrived, and became quite busy after we were triaged, but when we walked in, there was no waiting.  Whew!  We did have to wait for a bed to be cleaned up, and they were (politely) eager for us to be seen and fixed and OUT so they could put someone else in our space.  That was just fine for us!

When we got to our bed, my Hebs was shaking and shivering, probably as a reaction to the pain.  He said he was so cold, though it was warm in the ER.  The nurse brought him a warmed blanket, and that perked him right up.  He was funny, tired and a little punch drunk, but so sweet and talkative.  He charmed everyone in that place!  After about ten minutes, it was time for three X-rays (he was so brave!  Standing there, all by himself, almost not tall enough to put his arm in the right place, while the tech and I stood behind the (presumably lead) partition), and then back to the bed (and blanket) to wait for the doctor.

By now I was feeling a little foolish.  I wasn't sure if I had been overreacting, and I was just waiting for the doctor to come in and tell me that everything looked just fine.  It's a lovely feeling, you know, to wish your kid actually DID break a bone, just so you don't look like an idiot.  But, no, that was not the case.  The doctor informed us that Hebs had indeed fractured his radius bone, right next to the wrist, in what is known as a buckle fracture.  It is a pretty common fracture, in kids especially, when they throw out their arm to break a fall.  (As he did.)  Fortunately, it is well-placed to heal quickly, and didn't need any complicated casting or (horrors) surgery.

We had another wait, which wasn't long but seemed that way, seeing as it was now 12:15 and I was exhausted.  A poor gentleman was placed in the room next to us in so much pain that I practically cried, and desperately hoped that Hebs would stay oblivious to it.  (He did.)  This gentleman was born in 1921 (you can't help but overhear through the curtain), and had just been released from the hospital that morning following gallbladder and appendix removals.  He didn't seem to have anyone with him, and it made me feel so sad that he was all alone and in so much pain.  I hope that his family was driving as fast as was safe, and got there to be by Grandpa's side right after we left.

Finally, the nurses had a chance to come in and splint Hebs' arm with an Ace bandage and some cool material that hardens, when they add water and air, into the correct shape.  I was given the normal instructions (don't unwrap it unless his arm swells, check for circulation, ice it through the bandage, keep it dry, and see your doctor on Thursday or Friday for a cast), and we were released!  Hooray!

We got home at about 12:45ish, I think, and settled Hebs on the little bed on our floor.  He slept really well, considering.  It probably felt so good to have the arm all cosy-wrapped and braced.  The pain was really manageable, too; better than when he broke his leg.  He only needed children's motrin a couple of times a day for the first two days, and then just once on the third day.

We saw our doctor on Friday, and Hebs picked out a stylish green cast for himself.  It's a short cast--just below the elbow--and he'll have it for four weeks.  We've already decorated it with glitter glue and jewel stickers (which promptly fell off), and so it is quite the sight.  Fortunately for all concerned (especially me!), it does not hinder him from playing his favorite addiction, Lego Pirates of the Caribbean.  Oh, and he is my only leftie, so of course he broke his left arm.  Heh heh.  At least he's not in school yet.

While I was sleeping

I've been battling this virus for a couple of days now, and yesterday I was actually feeling worse than I had the previous day.  I was miserably counting the minutes until my big kids came home from school.  

Zee, almost nine, is big enough to keep tabs on the younger kids while I nap.  I don't expect too much from them--just keep everyone alive, no juggling knives or lit matches--and we don't do it too often.  (The state my house is left in after such a nap is scary to behold.  It really better be worth it.)

I love that my kids are big enough for this!  My Zee is so responsible and gentle with his younger siblings.  Em is growing so compassionate as well.  I put Yummy down for a nap at the same time I went downstairs to sleep, but she wasn't really impressed with that idea.  Em begged me for the chance to stay with Yum-Yum and rub her back until she fell asleep.  I agreed, and went to my bed.  Not ten minutes later, Yummy was sound asleep and Em was tip-toeing back upstairs.  Stuff like this makes my heart just sing.

I slept for four solid hours--it was 7:15pm and Bradley had been home for an hour before I woke up.  Zee kept the kids happy and not bothering me (and not technically destroying the house; after all, it's still standing!) for three hours.  And what a difference it made for me--I feel nearly normal today.  Still tired, still a little shaky, but the horrible headache and sore throat are gone.

Zee even answered texts from my mother!  I found these on my phone this morning:

Mema:  Can I come do laundry tomorrow?
Me, except really Zee:  It is [Zee]
Zee:  yes mom is a sleep
Mema:  Hi how are you?
Zee:  Good
Mema:  Good maybe she will feel better when she wakes up
Zee:  Bi
Mema:  I love you.  Bye.

I don't know why I find that incredibly adorable, but I really do.  He's such a good kid, and a keeper.

So it turns out they need me...

Last night at about nine, I realized that the slightly-runny nose and barely-there tightness in my throat -- that I had been ignoring for the last several hours -- were not, in fact, going to go away.  Instead, they were getting worse and my head was starting to ache.  So I did what all reasonable people do:  I drank two large glasses of raspberry lemonade and went to bed.

Of course, I woke up feeling pretty miserable.  My family went off to church and a family event without me, and even while they were home, they were under strict orders to let me sleep.  This has been agonizingly hard for them.

So now it is 6:35 in the evening on Sunday, and Bradley up at the stake center helping take down chairs.

And four of my five children are currently laying in my bed, each trying to have my attention and/or touch me in some way.

Awwww.  I think they missed me.

Muddy Mothering

My life isn't as crazy some people think it must be, with five young kids running around.  We're used to it, after all.  We have routine, expectations, and (most of all) the memory of summer 2011 when we had eight young kids running around.  Five isn't that big of a deal, is all I'm saying.

But every so often, my life gets really, really intense for an hour or so.

Like today.

I've been trying to pack a few things everyday, in anticipation for our move this winter, and today I was packing up part of my craft closet.  (Oh, okay, that was my objective, but then I started looking at my beads and jewelry things and was struck by inspiration and sat down and made a new necklace for myself.  If you must know.)  Point is, I was concentrating on something messy.

We had the loveliest rainstorm this afternoon, and Em went out to play in it.  (What can I say?  She's my daughter!)  She begged me to let her younger siblings come with her, and after many promises of Keeping An Eye On Them and Watching Out and Being Responsible, I said yes.  Zee wasn't interested in being out in the rain, so the four youngest trouped out.

I became immersed in my beadwork again, and as long as I could hear all of them from the open window at my back, I wasn't worried.

I should have been.

Eventually, Hebs came back inside.  Zee made a sound of amazement, and I looked up to behold...this:

I shooed him back outside immediately.

This is what baby sister looked like.  (Gee and Em, while very messy, weren't as impressively covered.)

Standing in the pouring rain, there was little I could do but take pictures and laugh.  I stripped the two littles and hosed them off.  (They did not appreciate this.)  I hosed off Em's feet, and made her and Gee leave their shoes outside.  Herding everyone inside and downstairs, I ran a warm bath and plopped the littles in it.  While scrubbing them down--oh, the MUD that ran off their heads.  I had to wash their hair for ages to get it off, and then I had to rewash their little bodies--I directed the two bigger kids to take off their muddy clothes.  While I was washing a screaming Hebs' hair (he hates it on a good day, and this wasn't that day), a completely unclothed Em and mostly naked Gee ran around, chasing each other in the hallway.

After getting the two littles out, drying them off, and putting pajamas on them ("I don't care if it's not bedtime, this is what you're wearing so STOP WHINING PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF LITTLE GREEN APPLES."), I rinsed out the bath (grimy, gritty, gross!) and ran another bath for the older two.  While I was helping Em with her looooong thick hair, Yummy somehow got into the zillions of hair ties and strewed them all over the hallway.  Exasperated, I scolded her and she, of course, burst into tears.

Sigh.

Eventually, we cleaned the hair ties up, got everyone out of the bath and the bath rinsed off again (I'll need to really scrub it tomorrow, but I just couldn't face it), everyone's sweet clean faces kissed and smooched, and I went back upstairs to my beading.

It had been an entire hour of non-stop movement.  I felt like I had run a marathon.  Whew.

But these are the times I want to remember.  I do love these muddy, messy, sweet, fabulous kiddos.

Consolation Prizes

It's always a dicey thing, to balance between letting Gee participate in various activities, and knowing that there are just going to be some activities he physically CAN'T participate in.*

One thing he can't do right now is be separated from Mom or Dad for more than a couple of hours at a time.  Emotionally he's all good, but physically--there are certain tasks that have to be completed at least three times a day, and usually more like four or five.

And this means that he can't participate in Uncle Tyler's annual "Torture Camp"--an overnight trip with the local boys in the family that allows them to shoot each other with water cannons, hike and play and camp and basically go feral for 24 hours.  He's old enough (you have to be entering kindergarten in the fall), but he just can't go.  We thought maybe he'd be able to, but logistics being what they are, it just doesn't work.

I was very worried about telling Gee this disappointing news.  Fortunately, I was inspired to lead the conversation off with a consolation prize--a trip to Payson Pool, just him and me and Hebs!  Then I told him he couldn't go to Torture Camp.  He was momentarily sad, but not necessarily for the reason I was expecting.  "Do I still get to go to the pool?" he asked, his sweet little forehead crinkling up.

Once reassured on that topic, he was sunshine and happiness.  "I'm not going to Torture Camp, it's too far away this year.  But I AM going to the pool!" he tells anyone who asks (and many who don't).

I'm really grateful that he's still the age where a trip to the local pool can erase the disappointed of a missed activity.  I know that won't always be the case.

*(Which is why the "Think Beyond the Label" billboards irk me so much.  The purpose of the group is worthy--to encourage businesses to hire people with disabilities--but their tagline, "Labels get in the way, disabilities rarely do" just rubs me the wrong way.  Hello, whatever you label it, disabilities DO get in the way.  That's just a fact of life.  Don't be stupid; you aren't convincing anyone any differently.)

Runaway Hurricane

Hebs is (one of) my strong-willed child(ren).  He is so loving, so enthusiastic, and so happy, as well as so stubborn, so determined, and so willful.  It's a great combination, because although I frequently become exasperated by his behavior, he wins me over with his kisses, loves, and awesome help.  (Seriously.  It's amazing what his little three-year-old hands can clean.  He, honestly, is a big helper.)

Last night after dinner the kids and I played outside before bed.  (Bradley has a head cold, so he was resting downstairs.)  Zee and Em were riding their bikes around the block while the littles and I hung out in the yard.  At one point, Hebs asked if he could go with Zee; I told him no.  When I next looked up, a minute later, Hebs was gone.

I hurried around the corner, Yum Yum following as fast as her chubby legs would carry her.  Several houses away, Hebs was blithely accompanying Zee.  I shouted for him to come back.

Zee stopped, told Hebs to go back to Momma, and then sped away on his race with Em.  Hovering indecisively, Hebs looked from me, to Zee, to me...and started after Zee.  He wasn't running--yet--but he was moving pretty fast.

We played a little game of chase for a few minutes, with me sternly counting and Hebs nervously laughing and defiantly staying ahead of me.  Finally, I called to a neighbor who had just arrived home.  "Ben!"  I shouted.  "Will you grab Hebs for me?"

As the six-foot-plus tall Ben headed for Hebs, the little munchkin decided that he'd stop playing games and ran back to me.  I picked him up, thanked Ben, took Yum Yum's hand, and headed back.  Hebs got a little lecture on the way home, and was unceremoniously put to bed 45 minutes early.  (It had been one of those days.)

Sigh.  He's adorable, and he's mischievous.  I just have to figure out how to channel all that energy into good instead of preschooler-style naughtiness.