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.

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.

No. Just No.

This handy-dandy helmet is for children, but not while they are riding bikes, or horses, or rocket ships.  No, it is for your toddlers as they learn to walk.

The description states:

Help to protect your child from head injuries with this wear-all Thudguard protective foam helmet and reduce parental anxiety as your child discovers the world around them.

And now for the low low price of $42.95, peace of mind can be YOURS.

(I am ashamed to say I am both repelled and allured by this product.  I admit that, had I known about them, I might have considered procuring one of these for my Gee, when he was young.  I was crazily worried about his shunt.  But I am 100% sure I wouldn't have gone through with it.)

My Girl

She's been giving me (and her teacher) fits lately, but I do love her so completely.  She is quick-tempered and prone to dramatic overreaction, but she is also compassionate, kind, funny, smart, and a lot of fun.

I'm glad she's mine.

Christmas Shopping, or my Grinch-y post for the season

I am almost done with Christmas shopping, hooray!  I need to buy a new scripture case for Zee (the one we gave him for his baptism is too small), and a few extended family gifts need to be selected and obtained, but for the kids, I am DONE.

And I did 90% of it from home, online.  I love Amazon.  (Swoon.)

Of course, I need to wrap all of it now.  It's all sitting in boxes in the corner of my room--fortunately my children aren't particularly snoopy.  (I imagine that this year is the last year I can get away with hiding things in plain sight.)

But do you know what the problem with finishing your Christmas shopping early?

Fickle children.

Last year it was the Pillow Pet.  Two days before Christmas, my children were watching television and one of those dreadful commercials came on.  "It's a pillow!  It's a pet!  It's a Pillow Pet!"  And the clambering began:  "Ooooh, Momma, I want Santa to bring me one of those!"  "I want a Pillow Pet for Christmas!"  "Pillow Pet Pillow Pet PillowPetPillowPet!"

I had to put my foot down and tell them that Santa was not bringing them expensive, overhyped pillows for Christmas.  There was sadness, at least until the next shiny thing distracted them.

And of course they were perfectly happy come Christmas morning, with the gifts they received.

This year it is Gee who is giving me fits.  He has decided he wants a camera, like Zee got for his birthday.  Nevermind he hasn't so much as mentioned a camera until three days ago.  No, a camera is what he has his little heart set on for Christmas morning.

The problem is I already bought his birthday and Christmas presents.  I even ordered a special rescue helicopter Duplo Lego set from the Lego company in Europe, for heaven's sake.  (Okay, they probably have a warehouse here in the United States.)  I have no intention of buying a digital camera for my almost-five-year-old boy who can't keep track of his free Burger King toy from day to day.

So now I need to break it to him that Santa won't be bringing him a camera for Christmas.  The thing is, I know that he will love the gifts I got for him.  I want him to be prepared so he won't be disappointed Christmas morning.

Wow.  Parenthood is full of sometimes unexpected pitfalls.  Good thing those kids are so darn cute.

That's not fair!

Today, my six-year-old Em was whining saying, "That's NOT FAIR!"  This was in response to my denial of her request to have a cookie, after eating Halloween candy without limits all day long.  I gave my stock response of "Life's not fair, get used to it."  My mother, who is visiting, had a different response.

"Em, do you know what I told all my children when they said that to me?" Grandma asked. "I told them to write down all the things in life that were fair, so that I would know."

Em's eyes lit up.  "Okay!" she said as she ran off to find a pen.

Grandma looked at me.  "I never had a kid actually take me up on that suggestion, though."

A few minutes later, Em returned with a carefully written list of Fair/Not Fair.  On it were four items:

• Fair:  Playing outside
• Not Fair:  Not playing outside
• Fair:  Painting
• Not Fair:  Not painting

So, basically, things are fair when she gets to play outside and/or paint.  And when she is denied these activities, life is not fair.

Glad we got that cleared up.

Broken Record

"Close the door!"  At least twelve times a day in the spring, summer, and autumn.

"Be quiet!"  Going on twenty times since 8pm alone.

"Eat at the table!"  Five times per breakfast and lunch.  (Not dinner, strangely enough.)

"Please tell your [sibling, cousin] you are sorry."  Nineteen times a day.

"I love you."  Hopefully more times than the sum of the others.  

Patience and Love and Clorox Bleach

I don't mind telling you the last couple of days have been hard.  I mean, I ran out of my favorite lemonade yesterday afternoon and couldn't go to the store until almost eight o'clock that night!

It was really touch and go for a while there, but I pulled through.

Seriously, though, as David and his kids get ready to move up to their new apartment in a couple of weeks, the changes and uncertainty have been difficult on my nephews and niece.  Since the divorce, they have been living first with Grandma and then with us.  Now they are going to be "on their own", and it's hard on their emotions. I think the divorce feels more real to them.  None of us quite know what to expect yet--will they go to daycare after school?  Will they have a sitter at their new home?  How will they get to school?  What will their new ward be like?  What will their new school be like?

If I get nervous just thinking about it, I can't imagine what it is like to be them right now.

My own children have started to pick up on it as well.  More tears, more impatience, more squabbling.

So, I'm trying to parent with a lot of love and patience this week.  I don't know what else to do.

And Hebs spent a lovely couple of minutes in the bathroom, dropping various items (like bath toys and soap) into the toilet.  (Seriously.  None of my other kids even thought about...well, you know the drill by now.)

Ready, set... (Part II)

My little girl is growing up.  (Way too fast, I must say!)

She started pulling herself to stand Memorial Day weekend.  Less than a month later, she was standing independently.  She's a little prairie dog, crawling around like a little puppy, and then popping up in the middle of the room to survey all she can see.

In the last two weeks (the middle of July), she's started to cruise around furniture with purpose.  Always with a smug, proud little smile on her face, she'll maneuver around whatever toys or other obstacles are on the floor.  As I type this, she's free-standing in front of my computer, trying to get a little typing in between my thoughts.

She is so close to walking, it wouldn't surprise me at all if it officially happens in the next week or so.  Before her first birthday, in about two weeks.  (Incidentally, she would be my earliest walker by far.  Zee and Em were both 14-15 months, Gee was 2.5 years, and Hebs was 17 months.)

And it's not just walking--oh, no!  She jabbers all the time, in her own sweet little language.  On Tuesday, July 19, I picked her up after saying "Ready, set..." and she surprised me by calling out "GOH!"  The kids get such a kick out of it, too--they'll try to get her to say it repeatedly, and she usually obliges.

What a fabulous first word!!!

(And the same first word as her brother, Hebs.  I guess it is a popular phrase in our home.)

It's a little bittersweet, how fast this first year has gone by, but mostly it is just wonderful.  We love our little Yummy, and adore having her part of our family.

Fourth Child Syndrome

He does things none of my other children have even dreamed of doing...or, if they did dream of doing them, they quite prudently decided not to push their luck.  All of my children, for example, played in the toilet once.  But only once, and then never again.  Ditto with drawing on walls--they did it once, maybe twice, and then never again.

Not so with my fourth.

Hebs is interested in the bathroom--we've lost more full rolls of toilet paper to the sink or toilet than I can count. He is excessively fascinated with the toilet itself--or perhaps it is just water that is fascinating?  I don't know--and yesterday, he spent a happy few minutes, until discovery, dipping a washcloth in and out of the toilet bowl. 

Today's little adventure occurred when I was downstairs taking care of the baby.  When I came upstairs less than 20 minutes after leaving, I found some creative artwork.  On the formica countertops.  In black, permanent Sharpie. 

It's a darn good thing Hebs was downstairs at the moment of discovery, because there would have been yelling. And I'm trying to cut back on that.

Amazingly--and here's a pro tip for you, free of charge--five minutes of scrubbing with 409 and a Magic Eraser removed the scribbles without a trace.  Keep in mind, the marker was less than twenty minutes old, but still.  Astounding.

(Magic Erasers.  Is there anything they can't do?)

However.  Hebs is such a sunshiney little boy, with such love and enthusiasm, one can't help just adoring him and loving him to pieces.  His hugs are breathtaking, his smiles are infectious, and his love knows no bounds.  I'm grateful that he's in my home, even if that home is a little more ragged in his presence.

(For most of my friends, their exuberant, mischievous child is the third.  Mine is the fourth, probably because my Gee is a cautious soul.)  

Bedlamites

Bedtimes are really hard around here, right now--with so many kids packed into the rooms, and the sheer excitement of cousins! sleeping! with us! ALL THE TIME! It's like a slumber party, all the time, every night.

You can guess how that works out. The girls, in particular, haven't been to sleep before 10pm since David and the kids arrived. (Luckily, the girls also are more likely to sleep in. At least that way I don't have two grumpy girlies every day.)

Last night, we sent everyone downstairs to get ready for bed. When I came down five minutes later, complete chaos reigned. Children were jumping off the bunk bed into piles of blankets and pillows. Gleeful chasing was occurring. Amazingly enough, no one was crying or angry with each other, although usually it's only a matter of time before that happens.

Sometimes it's hard to remember to just let the kids be kids--even if that means it gets really loud sometimes. They are such great children--everyone is adjusting well, sharing and helping each other out. So I guess we can put up with a little craziness.

Just not at 9:30pm. Sigh.

June Snow (Sort of)

Yesterday, I called my sister to wish her a happy birthday. With a zillion kids around, it is hard to find a quiet place to hold a telephone conversation, and so I went outside and sat under our lollipop tree. Although I was visited by four children during the course of our thirty minute call, it was much less hectic than it could have been.

However, while I was outside, Hebs was busy inside. Unbeknown to Uncle David, Hebs found a box of baby rice cereal flakes, and enjoyed the marvelous sensation of indoor snow. When I walked into the kitchen to see the previously full box laying empty upon the glittering drifts, I did the only things a mom can do in this situation: I yelled Hebs' full name, and then took a picture of both the mess, and the (strangely unrepentant, incredibly adorable, completely lovable) boy.

And then I made him help me clean up.

Painting Insanity

Know what the definition of insanity is? (No, not the one about doing the same thing and expecting different results.) It's doing a painting project with seven kids, average age 5.7 years, and one tired adult.

Our theme this week is painting, and so I bought little 99-cent wooden plaques from Wal-Mart for each child. I also bought stencils and those funny foam paint brushes. A bunch of old T-shirts, six garbage sacks covering the table, paper plates and cups all around, and we were ready to begin.

What a crazy forty minutes followed! I went from child to child, pouring paint, using paper towels, mopping spills. We taped the stencils on the plaques, and discovered that if you used too much water, the stencils didn't work. We learned that you can help your two-year-old paint his initial, but you can't stop him (or his four-year-old brother) from painting right back over it. Gee's painting is called, "A Covered G", because, well, there was an orange "G" on a yellow background, but now there's just an orange blob with a few other colors mixed in for good measure.

I stopped myself from trying to "help" too much--not that I had time to control anything but the location of the chaos. Each child is so proud of their creation. And I think it might have been a success. (Exhausting, but good.)

Clockwise from the strange brownish one at the top left: Hebs, Zee, Yum-Yum (I did that one to show them an example), Sky, Em, Eff (he made his for his big brother, sweetheart that he is!), Gee, and the middle one is Lala's.

Aspiring to become

How often have you heard that women are nurturing? Compassionate? Spiritually in tune? Patient? Sweet? It's a pretty common theme, especially in the church. We hear it from general authorities, local authorities, our own Relief Society teachers. And it is nice to hear, sometimes. But occasionally I worry that these remarks have the opposite effect than that which is intended.

In the book NutureShock, the authors cite research studying the effect of praise on fifth grade students. In a nutshell, the children who were told they were "smart" were less likely to work hard and tackle difficult subjects, while the children who were told they were "hard workers" were more willing to try harder tasks. Apparently, the "smart" children considered their intelligence innate, while the "hard worker" children considered their (equal) intelligence something they could improve.

If you are told that women, as a gender, are patient, kind, loving, and spiritually superior, and you are feeling anything but those things, it can be pretty disheartening. And putting the emphasis on what women are rather than what they can become is extremely limiting. If you aren't already those things, what's the point of even trying? If these talents are supposed to be innate, then obviously you are a failure.

The opposite is also true. Once you start focusing on what you can become, the only limits are the ones you place upon yourself. If I want to become more nurturing, more maternal, more loving-patient-kind-sweet, Christlike--I can. I just have to work harder. And the Lord will help me, because this is what he wants me to become.

______________________________________

(This was the basic gist of my Relief Society lesson today.)

For once

Today I did not serve as a warning to others.

Let me explain: On the days when my children are running amok, I find comfort in telling myself that I am serving as a warning to other. I imagine a large arrow with a sign, floating above my head: This is what happens when you have many small children in a very few years.

It comes in handy at church. A lot.

However, every once in a blue moon, my children conspire to behave themselves when we are out and about. And life is good. Today was one of those days.

Zee has been complaining about blurry eyes, so we went to the eye doctor at Wal-Mart today. (It's early for him to need glasses, but you never know. Especially with two blind-as-bats parents.)

(Digression: Did you know that rhinos are really near-sighted? They will charge just about anything, because they don't know if it is dangerous or not. The things you learn from watching "Wild Kratts" on PBS.)

Anyway, all five children came to the doctor appointment. And all five of them behaved beautifully. It was amazing.

We spent a good hour in the vision center, what with filling out paperwork and exams and waiting for eye dilation and such. Em, Gee, and Hebs took turns pushing Yum-Yum around in her stroller while Zee and I were in the exam room. They were appropriately quiet and very good.

When we were done, we celebrated not having to buy glasses (Zee is just fine) by buying sandals and shoes for nearly everyone in the family. And they were so good that we got compliments from two different random people.

(Another digression: I was willing to buy Gee some $5 sandals if he made a fuss about not getting any, but he demurred. "I already have new DAFOs (his leg braces) and new shoes, Momma!" That was a relief, considering the DAFOs cost us $250 (and that's only 10%, our insurance covers the rest), and the special shoes to cover the DAFOs cost $70.)

And then they all fell asleep in the car on the way to get Daddy, so Bradley and I could talk without interruption all the way home.

It was a good day.

Advertising and Peer Pressure Really Work

So...we're trying to let the kids manage their own money. (Within reason, as they have to be in kindergarten before they can spend without permission, and they have to pay tithing.) To that end, once they realized they had enough money from Grandma Peter's Christmas presents, we all trooped over to Macey's to buy (generic) Pillow Pets.

They are THRILLED. Each got to hand the cashier their money, each got their change back. (And then dropped it all over the floor of the store. Sigh.) Hopefully this is a good choice for them. We'll see--it is astonishingly hard for me to let them do this. I guess I'm more of a control freak then I realized.

Frazzled

Before having kids I didn't understand how deeply affecting a baby's cry is, how it completely frazzles a mother's brain, and in a way that seems to bypass gender equity. When my baby is crying I can't deal with my keys not fitting easily in a lock, my misplaced water bottle, or a sticky stroller brake, and I sure as **** can't deal well with Bea throwing rocks. Even in the short space between my children's infancies I forgot how hard it is to breathe when my baby is crying. And I'm assuming that if I forgot then the mothers glaring at me as I packed up my freakshow at the creek also forgot. And I'm assuming that all those sweet folks who long for baby kisses have forgotten or never were the primary caretaker to two kids so young.--from Jjust Kidding

I found this passage to be profoundly true. When Yum-Yum (or any of my children when they were infants) cries, my whole focus narrows. Even if I do my best to ignore it, I'm frazzled.

Her cries don't seem to trouble her father in the same way. Nor do I feel the same way when my sister's baby cries, or a friend's child. I think mothers are hard-wired to feel this way. I imagine it is a good thing, although it is hard to believe that at 3:30 am.

Read the whole thing, as they say. (Caution, some language.)

Blessed Sabbath Lightshow

When I was in high school, I noticed something interesting about days on which I overslept. Because early morning seminary started at 6:15 am, and it took about 25 minutes to get from our house to the church, I would usually wake up around 5:00 am. Every so often, however, I would oversleep, and wake up at 5:30, or 5:40, or even (gasp) almost 6:00. Obviously, this would make for a frantic five or ten minutes. But then, magically, once I was in the car headed for seminary, the day was usually an amazing day. Maybe it was because the day didn't have anywhere to go but up.

This is all a round-about way of saying I woke up late this morning. Bradley has early morning meetings, and we generally meet him at the church. So when I woke up at 8:00 am, and had five children to feed and dress (not to mention getting myself ready) by 8:30--well, there was some serious frantic scrambling. But we did it, and made it up to the church by 8:40. Not bad, and there was no maternal yelling, either. Score!

And it was an amazing day.

Church was fantastic: My children were (relatively) well behaved, the lessons and talks were marvelous, and choir practice was great. Zee gave a wonderful (and funny) talk about Joseph Smith in Senior Primary. The afternoon was relaxing (no nap, though), the children adorable and fun. Bradley read church books to me while I lounged on the couch. Dinner was simple and yummy, and the kids actually ate and appreciated it (for once).

But I think my favorite part was right before bedtime.

We got ready for bed about fifteen minutes early. I pulled out my old laser pointer, put in batteries in it, and gave the kids each a little flashlight of their own. Then we went into the boys' room, turned off the light, and laid down on the floor.

The kids were entranced with the laser pointer. I made the light fixture glow an eerie red, I "drew" letters and shapes on the ceiling, and I pointed in different corners and had them follow me with their flashlights. We sang songs ("Teach Me to Walk in the Light", "Twinkle, Twinkle", "I am Like a Star", and "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam") and kept the beat with our lights. Everyone got a (careful) turn playing with the laser on the ceiling. We ended by shoving the flashlights into our mouths and lighting up our faces. (And then looking in the mirror and giggling madly.)

"Light Camp" was what Gee decided our adventure was called, and it was so much fun. Seriously. The kids were involved and engaged the whole time (even Yum-Yum, who laid on her back next to me the whole time and barely made a peep, so fascinated was she), and nobody fought or annoyed one another. (That's a rare enough occurrence that it bears mentioning!)

What a marvelous day!

Chores, Work, and Money

We're starting something new in our family right now, and I'm really kind of excited about it.

Lately, I've been impressed with the importance of teaching my children how to deal with money. I've seen what happens when people don't grasp the importance of money management, and it's really sad. It can tear families apart, make life so much harder, and really eat away at your self-worth. Bradley and I have created a plan to start to teach our children about money and work.

Everyone in our family has certain chores that must be done on a daily basis. For the kids, these chores include picking up after themselves, clearing their dishes after dinner, putting clean clothes away, etc. These are "personal" chores, and the children don't get paid for them.

They can, however, get paid for doing my chores. We made a list of twelve "paying" chores:

1. Clean up toys with which the younger kids played
2. Help with the dishes after dinner (clearing and wiping the table, putting the chairs in place)
3. Vacuum the kitchen floor with the dustbuster
4. Vacuum the dining room floor (especially under the table) with the dustbuster
5. Pick up trash in the yard
6. Help with one load of laundry
7. Find all the dishes in the house and put in the kitchen
8. Make your own bed
9. Unload the dishwasher
10. Empty room garbage cans
11. Help clean one bathroom
12. Wipe down walls of one room, including baseboards

For each of these chores, the child can get 25 cents. Not every chore will be available everyday, and they will have to check with me before starting a chore if they expect to get paid for it.

And (this is my very favorite part), the flip side of the plan. If they don't complete one of their personal chores, after I have given them fair warning, and I have to do it, then they have to pay me 25 cents. (For some reason, this delights me beyond all that is logical.)

I picked up $40 worth of quarters at the bank today, and, using baby food jars, we made little banks for each child. Every time they do a chore, they get 25 cents in their jar. Once a week, we will split up the money in their jars for tithing, saving, and spending.

When I told the children about the opportunities they will have for earning money, their faces lit right up. If they had been a cartoon, their eyes would have been dollar signs. Remember the pillow pet? It's on all their lists. (Also: donuts, computer games.)

This is going to be FUN. (I hope.)

It's a Pillow! It's a Pet!

(I put this on Facebook, but it was too funny not to put here, too.)

Zee: "Please, Momma, I want a pillow pet. Everyone else has one!"
Me: "Everyone else had a Cabbage Patch Kid, too."
Zee: "What?"
Me: "Nevermind, dear."

(It's true, I never had a Cabbage Patch Kid, and I survived. And I'm having a hard time even thinking about spending $19.95 (plus shipping and handling!) on a pillow OR stuffed animal. Per child. Yikes.)