First Teeth

Here they are, the babe's first teeth. The first sprang out on July 4th, the second a week or two later. Do you see them? They are too cute. She's just like her sister, who also got her first teeth at 8 months. The boys were 6 months. Don't ask me how I remembered that. I just did. I have never been great at writing these things down, so if I happen to forget the first-sip-of-juice-from-a-sippy-cup day or the first-trip-to-the-doctor-for-a-diaper-rash day, please forgive me.

On another note, we had a fabulous lesson today in Relief Society. We have a new teacher who is fantastic and she taught on this general conference talk. It was fun to talk about everyones' favorite hymns, and realize how many great ones there really are. Some of mine are:

• Joseph Smith's First Prayer
• Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief
• Did you Think To Pray
• God Be With You Til We Meet Again
• How Firm A Foundation
• I Stand All Amazed
• We Thank Thee O God For A Prophet
• The Spirit of God
• Praise To The Man

Some of these, I just like the tune. Some it's the words. It was fun to remember how my own parents used to try to teach us the church songs during FHE. I clearly remember poster boards were used. I also remember that we were all pretty much tone deaf. And now my own family sings songs for FHE and guess what, we're pretty bad. But at least we have a piano to drown us out.

Do we get a lot of haircuts or what?

Here she is. And here is my Giant S.
Here she is fake laughing. Note the missing teeth. And the Giant S. Wait, is that piece of hair too long on the right?
Nope, just on the wrong side of the part. I curse cowlicks. *@##*! cowlicks, you can go to @#**#!. I shall interpret for you, "Stinking cowlicks, you can go to h-e-double hockey sticks."

Here we have her trying her best to be serious. And a Giant S. Why do I have a Giant S? Not sure yet. But cute, no? Especially against my fabulous orange wall.
Here is her look of surprise. Isn't her hair cute how it curves under a bit? Unfortunately I will have to do that, as her now short hair likes to go all funky on me, especially the underneath stuff.
What a doll.
So we just cut off most of the princess' hair. Can I just tell you, whew! I don't know why I waited all summer to do this. It would've saved us many hours spent crying (her) and dethatching (me) if we had just chopped it at the beginning of June. I felt a tiny bit guilty when the stylist told us that if we just went a few inches shorter, we could donate to locks of love, and I declined. I, a.) didn't want her hair that short, and b.) didn't want to wait for it to grow for another month. Does that make me a bad person? Please, don't answer that. I don't necessarily want to know.

And by the way, that last post about the teeshirts is what happens when I try to rush through a short little essay on why I love my new shirt and I get interrupted 8000 times.
Short attention span, your name is MelOny.

T Shirts and Hineys

Am I really going to post again? You lucky dawg.

This is my new favorite shirt. Note the green color. I want you to know I was THIS close to buying white, because that's what I do. I buy white t-shirts. I like white t-shirts. They make me look tan. They look crisp and clean, yet casual enough for jeans or well, who am I kidding, jeans. I like jeans as well. In fact, I probably own about 30 pairs of jeans, or did before I cleaned out my closets and stuffed them in my parents garage, so now I'm down to about 15, of which 2 I wear. Why only 2? Because only 2 look good on me, and I can't bear to throw away a perfectly good 13 pair of jeans. I even have some jeans from high school that are so thrashed that it would be indecent for me to wear them in public, unless of course I put a pair of biker short spandex underneath them like I did in the 7th grade. Remember that? Yes, I was that kind of girl. The kind who would purposefully cut off a pair of brand new stonewashed jeans and proceed to cut holes in them in order for the spandex to show through. Can you say, classy?

Anyhoo, back to tshirts. Or is it t-shirts.? Or t shirts, tee shirts, or tee pee shirts, or shirts you wear when you tee pee the neighbors which by the way I never did. Who am I kidding, I was that kind of girl too.

Right t-shirts. So this adorable little shirt is available at the only store I shop at. Not that I wouldn't like to shop at other stores, it's just that I am usually toting 4 small children everywhere I go so a place that sells you a soda pop and a bag of popcorn for $1 is a place I frequent. And because they have amazing stuff on clearance I never knew I needed. You know, my dearest professor/pizza man used to work here back when we met so it's a bit nostalgic to remember him in the red and tan walking up and down the toy and seasonal department all important and stuff. Those were the days, back when we got a 10% discount on all the necessities of life, like shampoo, diapers, Ansel Adams wall pictures. Man, I wish I still had those. I would use the frames for something.

Okay, so tee shirts. Notice how long this baby is. My dearest will be so happy that my pearly whites will no longer available for all to see. You see, this shirt comes waaaaaay down, almost past my buttocks. He won't have to pull my pants up for me when I wear this lovely. Nope, I can put on my lowest lowriders when to go with this shirt. Not that I own a pair of lowriders, because I hate the feeling of crack peeking out, even if it is covered by a tshirt. Okay, so I own 1 pair of lowriders. Okay 2, but I hardly ever wear them. Of course that's because they haven't fit in years. Once I lose this baby weight, they go into the rotation.

And back to tshirts. Note the tiny pocket. How cute is that? Just in case you have a tiny.....umm.....tiny something to put in a tiny pocket, this shirt would be perfect. Did you notice that tiny rhymes with hiney. Let's all pretend I have a tiny hiney, shall we?

So this is what I like today. Go buy yourself one. Or be like me and buy two.

Did I mention they are on sale this week for $6? What a steal. I'm going to get me some more tomorrow. I keep thinking about the white one...

My uniform

I need an apron.

I haven't decided which kind of apron. Do I go for a full frontal, or just the little skirt variety? Hmmmm...

I really liked this apron my sister in law Liz posted about. Very stylish. It's no longer available on Etsy, though.

I don't know where to find an apron. Do they sell them at Target? Because I hardly ever go anywhere besides Target. I mean, I have 4 kids, come on.

I know I could find one online. But I've never been much of an online shopper. It stems back 5 years ago to some online maternity clothing purchases. Oh. the. horror.

Why do I need an apron?

Because good moms have and wear aprons.

I haven't actually seen any of my friends wear them, but I remember my mom did. It was red with little flowers and an eyelet lace border. It came up around the neck and tied in the back.

Aprons might've gone out of style the same time being a stay at home mom did, but I'm not sure. I can guess somewhere along the line someone assumed that the only women who wore aprons were those stuck in the kitchen. I'm sure there was a big rally with picket signs that had aprons with giant slashes through them. I can guess that all the women brought their aprons and had an apron-burning, you know, to symbolize freedom from oppression. And then the aprons were gone.

I received an apron as a wedding gift. It was hideously ugly, as I recall. I wore it once, and I wasn't cooking in the kitchen at the time. It didn't make all 7 of our moves.

So now I am in need of one. I need an apron to take my job seriously. It'll be my business suit and my bluetooth, my uniform. I'll get ready in the morning, put on my apron and start my job as "mother to my children". If I'm wearing the apron, I'm sure I'll find time to cook dinner instead of heading out to Grandmas. With the apron, I'll scrub my kitchen floors and finally put away the laundry pile. I'll be able to take this job I have a little more seriously, because you can't sit around and do nothing while wearing an apron. I will be the epitome of motherhood.

I told my friend this. I tell her everything every morning at 5am, sometimes 4:30. She quips back,"But are you going to make it? Because that's what a good mom would do."

I need a pattern for an apron.

The Foohlar Genes Kick In

I could not have been more proud. ( Is it okay to be proud? I have a friend that doesn't like that word, something to do with pride being bad and the Nephites and utter destruction. I'll take my chances and use it. Proud. I cannot imagine another word for this feeling.)

Chance loves swimming. Always has. We have some fantabulous pictures of him at about 18 months swimming underwater like on the cover of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" only he's got swim trunks on. He's never had any fear or hesitation around water. So when one of our friends suggested swim team this year, we thought that it would be perfect for him.

Except for the meets. You know, the competition against other swimmers and the clock. Yeah, he had a hard time with that. He would go out and swim, but he knew he wasn't fast. And he seemed to be nonchalant about any ribbon he received, you know, like he didn't care. Being his mother, I could see through that. But he went, and he swam, and he seemed to be having fun, and that, my dears, is all that matters

So we haven't had any meets for a few weeks now. Last Saturday was the first in a while. It was at a high school that had two pools, one for the younger swimmers, one for the older. So our princess was in one, he in the other. We sat and chatted it up with our friends while we waited for their turns. Uncle Richard had shown up by now. They swam. Same as always, backstroke isn't really their strong stroke. Breast stroke was next. Uncle Richard says, hey isn't that Chance on the blocks? Umm yeah. The gun goes off and he goes. And he's fast. I mean really fast. He's right next to the leader, as you can see in the top picture, he's the guy on top. I remember looking at my husband in amazement. When did he get so fast? Look at him go! Go, Chance, SWIM! I yell as I follow him down the side of the pool, snapping pictures.

And he got second. He was beaming. It was fantastic.

In reporting this to my friend who taboos the proud word, she seemed amused. What? I ask. Apparently this whole competition thing is something she expects from us Foohlars. Apparently it is not surprising that one of my children would kick it at the end of a race. Apparently it's in our genes. Along with the losing things, freckles, and size 10 feet.

What's in your genes?

How to clean up an oil spill:101

Do you know what to do if, let's say, 5 quarts of oil spills all over your clean garage floor, onto the expensive stroller, and covers your shoes and clothes? Let me tell you.

First, you'll want to break the hose out, but Don't! That is a bad idea because then you would have oil and water everywhere it wasn't already. No, a better idea would be to grab those newspapers you've been recycling for cub scouts and spread them out all over the oil to try and contain it. The oil won't want to be absorbed, though, so you're going to need lots of newspapers and pretty much just scoop the oil up and dump it into the trash can. Do this while your wife wakes up from her very short nap to try to clean the stroller. She breaks out the Palmolive, of which you probably only have a few drops left, and the hose. After that doesn't work, she'll try the Simple Green, which will help, but again you won't have much of that left either. So she'll go inside to grab her handy Queen of Clean book while you are still scooping up oil, don't worry, you'll be doing this for a while.

When your wife comes back, she'll have the Spot Shot carpet cleaner spray, because that's what the Queen says to use. And again, she'll only have the tester bottles that came with the housewarming basket the builder left. But it's enough to put a dent into the oil seeping into the fabric of that ridiculously expensive, and let's face it, hardly ever used because your baby likes to be held, stroller. Then she'll realize that the fabric padding comes off! Of course! So she unvelcros, unbuttons, unscrews, until all the oil soaked fabric is removed. She'll take it inside, and stick it in the washer with a ton of detergent and a silent prayer.

At this point, you've pretty much gotten up most of the oil off the floor and all you have left is the thick oily film. But you can't worry about that because you are needed to go deliver pizzas to the hungry and needy people of Power Ranch. So you'll go upstairs, strip off the oil soaked clothes and ask your wife to do her best because you really like that tattered orange shirt you've had for close to 9 years now. She'll sigh and agree, but she might've muttered something under her breath about throwing it out when you weren't looking.

Off to the grind you'll go, leaving behind your wife and 4 small children to finish up the job. Hmmmm....the Queen doesn't say anything about an oily film. And let's face it, your wife has no cleaning supplies left. She'll do a google search and find that what she really needs to do is sprinkle salt all over the film to absorb it, and she can then just sweep it up. So she grabs all the salt in the house and goes to town shaking it all over the garage. She starts to sweep and notices that the salt is working! She'll be so excited, until she realizes she's just used all the salt in the house. Dang. The google search did say flour would work as well, and lucky lucky lucky for her she has a #10 can of flour. More than enough! So she takes the flour out to the garage and sprinkles, spreads, pours it all out. It works too, hooray! Wait, she'll say, are those ants? Oh no! The ants think she's just spread out a buffet. And if the ants think so, so will all the other bugs in the neighborhood. She sweeps and sweeps and sweeps. Wow, she'll say, flour is really hard to get off the floor. Then she remembers the shop vac. Of course! And she'll vacuum the garage. And vacuum. And vacuum. Wow, she'll say, vacuuming the flour off the garage floor is hard work. But finally she'll be done. Looks great! Wait, oh man, she'll still be able to feel the oily film! And if she can feel it, shoes can pick it up, take it inside, and track it all over her carpets, and we all know how she feels about her carpets. Dang. So she'll pack up the children and off to the store they'll go. Never mind that it's close to 6pm and no one's eaten dinner, there's no time for that! Cleaning supplies are needed, and some salt, and while we're there let's pick up a mango and some Diet Pepsi and avocados and yogurt and apples and wait, why'd we go to the store? Right, cleaning supplies.

After they return, put away the groceries, and feed the baby, she'll go back out to the garage. She's bought a bottle of Simple Green spray. She sprays and wipes. It's like magic, the oil is gone! So she'll continue to do this, spray and wipe, spray and wipe, spray and wipe. Wow, she'll say, this is taking a really long time. But the garage floor has never looked better. Finally she'll be done.

At this point she'll look at the stroller fabric she's washed 3 times now and sees that it still has oil on it. She Spot Shots it with the new bottle she just bought and starts the washer again, hoping the oil won't ruin the washing machine, but secretly hoping it will and she can get a new one that doesn't have a funky odor to it.

She cleans up the mess she's made from cleaning up, throws the hose on the side of the house, chats up the neighbor about the pesky HOA, and hears her kids crying. Dang. Timeouts are doled out and she's left with rugs to wash, because they were right inside the doorways that oil soaked feet went in, shoes to degrease, and dinner to make. Okay, cereal for dinner for those who haven't already fallen asleep whilst in timeouts. She takes the stroller padding out of the washer and puts the rugs in. She fills the sink with detergent and shoes.

And that, my friends is what you do when 5 quarts of oil spills all over your garage floor.

What? You want to know how 5 quarts of oil spilt? A spry 9 year old tried to pull a Jack. No, not a Jack in the Box, a Jack like

Jack be nimble

Jack be quick,

Jack jump over a bucket full of oil.

Only this particular 9 year old caught his foot on the bucket and he fell down like Jack and Jill. But don't worry, no crowns were broken. Yet. Besides, what mother doesn't like to spend 6 hours cleaning up one ginormous mess?

Daughters and Hiding Places

I love my daughters. Of course, you say, they are your daughters. But I think it is unfathomable to quite understand the phenomenoa of having a daughter until you have a tiny one placed into your arms. It is surreal.

This is my not-so-tiny-anymore baby of mine. She is adorable. She is beautiful. She looks so much like a Foohlar, from the big browns to the rosy cheeks. My other daughter was created in the image of her father. She is quite beautiful as well, with her lovely blonde locks and her bright blues.

I love that they are beautiful in their own seperate ways. But I mostly love that they have these personalities that are gorgeous. The determination, the kindness, the love they have for me. It will be fun, and at the same time, heartwrenching to watch them grow into young women, I hope and pray they will be strong. I cherish the thought of seeing them as mothers to their own daughters, children of an eternal family.

I mostly can't wait for the day my princess calls to complain that her daughter, my granddaughter, has once again lost her (shoes, glasses, gift card to Jamba Juice). Ahhhhh, yes, I'll say. Losing things. I know all about that. (I believe it's genetic, passed down through generations, just like freckles and size 10 feet.)

I'll say, "Why don't you look in her brother's room on top of his action hero helicopter landing pad? Or perhaps in her sister's closet, underneath the shoes, back behind everything?"

Because those would be the most likely places Your Daughter would put things.

Haircut

My sweet baby, whom I always refer to as my baby even though he is no longer my baby, has new hair. He has always had old hair, the hair we let grow and then cut, just a little though and not too much. A few weekends ago, right before church, I'd had it with the strands in his eyes and took a number 4 to his head. Wow. It's official. He is grown up. Can't you tell?

Next month we'll be sending him off to school, through crocodile tears and gut-wrenching pleas(my own of course). Pretty soon he'll be an adolescent, breaking girls hearts (besides my own of course). We'll send him off on a mission, he'll come back married with 3 kids and I'll still be standing in the bathroom, holding tufts of his beautiful, soft, straight brown hair, regretting that thing I did when I cut off his hair. I changed him from my baby into a man with one fell swoop of the clippers.

This is a pin cushion...

Sweet darling baby, your face is not a pin cushion. Please don't pick up handfuls of pins from the cushion and try to eat them. It is a very bad idea, as you have learned. Please tell your mommy to get off the computer and pick the pin cushion up off the floor. Pin cushions don't belong on the floor, they belong up high on a shelf away from tiny little hands.

For your enjoyment....

Emme took this picture, which I love. Aren't I freckly? Don't I have a major vein running along my neck?
Here the darling Claire is, yes she has learned to pull herself up.
But she's not super sturdy on her feet...
And she gets real sad when she falls.
Another Emme picture. Do us all a favor and don't zoom in on my toes. Do you like the K'nex robot? Emme made that. It took about a week but she did it all by herself. She is the most determined kid I know.
In my own determination for a new leaf to be turned over, I am going to post more, with more pictures of things I love for you all to oooohhh and ahhhhh over. Aren't you lucky?

When upon life's billows,

Ahhhhh.....

Life is good. Because I'm no longer the raging beast I was last week, I've decided to take a moment to count my blessings. So here goes, in no particular order:

• A husband who loves me, who even though we aren't what you would call a 'romantic-lovey dovey until you want to hit them-couple', still finds ways to make me happy, like cleaning the downstairs while I take a nap
• Children who are fun to play in the pool with, and who like to cuddle while watching fireworks
• A baby who smiles all the time and loves to be held
• A beautiful home that doesn't take too long to clean
• A car whose air conditioning works great
• A healthy body that endures the pain I put it through
• Nursing bosoms
• Parents who make me cookies and let me swim in their pool
• Sisters who invite me over to eat yummy breakfasts
• Brothers who invite me over to eat yummy dinners
• Friends who let me vent so that I don't hang onto the little things that bug me
• A warm and cozy bed right underneath the AC vent
• Enough money in my wallet to buy some groceries
• Pay day today!
• Awesome inlaws, (you know which ones you are)

This of course is just a random list of things off the top of my head. I was having one of those days last week when life didn't look quite as peachy. I was sure that my troubles far outweighed any supposed blessings. It was in one of those moments when I just wanted to scream at the world,

"life isn't fair!"

when my princess started practicing the piano. Her song for the week was "Count Your Many Blessings". Hmmmm. Right. I forgot. Thanks for reminding me.

Are you tempest tossed?

I can send her over. She's pretty good.

Don't give up the ghost

Dear Sissoo Trees,

It seems as if you've all been having a hard time lately. I hope it's nothing I've done.

I can imagine how you must feel. This is your first summer away from the nursery. You all probably miss the misting and the shade and the constant nurturing that you received while in your developing years. Life must have been blissful.

But now here you are, planted in the hard hot earth. No shade anywhere in sight. All alone.
I've done my best to make sure you get the correct amount of water. It's so hard to figure that out, what's too much, what's not enough. (The jacarandas out front had similar issues last year. We finally have figured them out, but the frost pretty much destroyed their trunks. Be grateful you didn't have to endure that. Perhaps in a few years they will be back to their old selves.) Your previous caretaker insisted that you liked to be dried out before you were watered. I tried that, and you got pretty upset. You turned all yellow and brown, wilted, and your little leaves fell to the ground. So I've upped the watering. Your leaves look much greener now, and I'm assuming you are happier.

You don't even have to tell me about the dog. I know, I know. He keeps digging around your roots, ripping off your precious little branches. I've done my best to scold him into submission, but I can't guarantee his obedience. He considers the backyard his territory, and anything in it free game. We're working on him, so please have patience. He's really a good dog!

If you can just get through this initial summer, I think you'll enjoy it here. We're planting copious amounts of grass soon, which will cool down the yard immensely. The autumn here is beautiful and winter glorious. No snow, just an occasional frost, which we promise we will try to protect you from.

We can't wait to sit in the shade of your branches, and watch the glistening of your leaves. Please hang on. Don't be like that natal plum, which gave up before he was even planted. I know you can make it.

Here's to many years together,

Mom

Summer Fun

So I haven't posted in a while...

What have I been doing, you ask?

Hmmmm....

...Let's see, the kids are out of school...

...I know we're busy doing stuff...

...I just can't remember what it is...

...Something about swimming...

...And eating lunches with Aunties and Grandpa...

...And playing Twister...

...And hide and go seek...

...And eating ice cream...

...And lots and lots of swimming...

...We need to invest in a pool...

What else is there to do during an Arizona summer?

This is a picture of what happens to my dearies when we spend hours in the pool. You can't tell but it's still light outside. Yes you heard me, Light Out Side. I believe it was 7:45pm. And they all crashed. What a wonderful sight. Kiddies so exhausted from summer fun that even the idea of staying awake long enough to get upstairs is dismissed as the couch beckons to them to lie in it's cushieness.

I almost don't even mind carrying them up the stairs to their beds. But then I remember that they are much too big for that, whew!, when did they get so stinking heavy? But don't worry, I hold their hands as I lead them to their bedrooms and safely tuck a blanket around their moppy haired heads, because summer is much too short to spend worrying about how their hair looks. In fact, I would almost say that my princess is about to sport dreadlocks. That's what happens when her hair spends most of the day in that funky stage between not really wet but not quite dry. You can't tell in this picture because she, like me, sleeps with a pillow over her head. But I digress...

So this summer has consisted of going from one pool to another, whether it's swim lessons or swim team or just hanging out at Grandma's. My dears are so incredibly tan it's as if we dipped them in chocolate. Even the babe is sporting some color, although we are so careful to slather up the SPF 500 on her brand new skin. Her cheeks are rosy, like her mom's. But it's Chance that has freckled up. I think it's an age thing, he didn't use to.

And so we live, day in and day out. I'm sure there are other things we've been doing, but nothing of real importance. Just reveling in the now.

I'll try to be better about posting, as if you haven't heard that before.

If I can only pull myself away from life...

What time is it? Like I know...

Schedule, schmedule.
This summer has turned us upside down with things to do that were not previously taken into account. Like, swim meets, which last 4 hours at least once a week in the blazing hot sun to watch your child spend all of 2 minutes in the pool.

And fun swim time, because we can't count the practicing that occurs first thing in the morning. That's more like work, although I would kill to get that kind of time and coaching in the pool. Do they have swim teams for grown ups? I would totally join.

And of course feeding baby time, which is like a revolving door nowadays. It seems like as soon as I'm done nursing, she is eating baby food. And then is back to nursing. And then baby food. all. day. long. I pray it's just a growth spurt.

There's also the trips to grandma's house that take up entire days. Those weren't scheduled in either, but are a necessity when grandma needs help with some drapes and I have nothing planned for dinner. It also gives me a good reason to stop in at the QT for a large soda pop filled with the softest, crunchiest ice I've seen. Besides Sonics' of course, Kristy.

And then there's all the driving time I've been doing getting from one place to the next. How do you schedule in driving time? Would that be categorized as rest time, because the kids all get to fall asleep, or chore time, because that's what it feels like to me.

Those five things basically sum up what I've been doing this entire week. That's it. I've accomplished hardly anything else. The dishes are getting done, although not in a timely manner. We try to pick up the downstairs before we leave for our many errands. And I make sure to shower, although sometimes it's not until very late in the day.

I couldn't even stick with a schedule for one week. I don't understand people who can. How do they do it? Am I really that disorganized? Or is my life to CHAOTIC!, (aka. Britney Spears and Kevin Federline's home movie) (thanks Megan for pointing that one out for me). Perhaps I am a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. Perhaps I'm just not ever going to be that organized and I just need to stop trying. Perhaps I should take a page from the book of Courtney and relish in the spontaneity of summer.

Looks like that's where I'm headed anyways, I might as well enjoy it.

Addendum

I need to add an addendum to my most recent post. This is not me bragging about my child or myself, just an introspection into how our psyches are similar. We are both competitive, to a fault actually. I shudder to think how this will affect her as she grows. What happens when she actually isn't good at something? Will she quit everything, throw in the towel? Will it shatter her self esteem?
I recall trying out for volleyball my freshman year of high school. I had just moved to a 5A school in the suburbs of Phoenix, coming from a small town in Ohio. I had been pretty good on my jr.high teams, and expected nothing short of making at least the freshman team, if not JV. I didn't make either. My new school was state champions that year. All the girls on the team had been in club ball for years. I was devastated, so much so that I gave up sports altogether. I decided, I knew, I wasn't good enough, without ever trying again.
That's what happened when I was suddenly faced with my own mediocrity, having always been nearing greatness. And I fear the same for my own children. I don't want them to think for a second that just because they have some disappointment, nothing is worth doing anymore. I need to somehow instill in them that it's okay to not be good at something, as long as they've tried their best and given their all. That lesson took me almost 20 years to learn.

Don't worry, she's not drowning

I have a competitive child. A child who wants to be great, no, the best at everything. A child who gets straight A's always. A child who hates to lose, always to the point of tears if she does (as if you didn't already know whom I was referring to). This is going to get her very far in life, as she will try and try and try until she can master a skill.
Take piano for example. She just started playing 2 months ago. She's had a total of 7 lessons. She practices many times during the day, without ever being asked. And she can now play almost her entire first book. Along with "I am a Child of God", right hand only. I don't force her to practice, she just wants to. She told me that once she's done learning the piano, she wants to learn other instruments. As if there is a certain stopping point she'll get to where she will play perfectly. And she's not kidding.
Softball, another example. She started off the season throwing like a girl, swinging like a girl, skipping to first base like a girl (I know she's a girl, but come on!). As she saw where she wanted to be as far as skills go, she stepped it up. And she consistently got good hits, threw hard, and started practicing underhanded fast-pitching, even though she won't be doing that for another year at least. She wants to be ahead of the game.
So swim team is starting next week. I took the two older kids down to try the team out, to see if it would be something they were interested in. My eldest took to it, tried his best, and wasn't half bad. My daughter looked like she was drowning the whole time. The freestyle stroke has never been something we've really practiced. She had to hold onto the wall many times to catch her breath because she wasn't breathing right. She belly flops when she dives in.
And yet, I can almost guarantee that in a few weeks, she'll be 10 times better at it. She wants desperately to do well, especially if her brother is. She can't wait for the meets. Sometimes I wonder where she gets this from.

Oh, right.

So I'll be running St.George this year. I'm hoping for a finish time of around 4:15, although I really want a 4:00. My last marathon was a 4:30 two years ago. Training started this week. I can't wait.

Schedule

So school is out for the kids and summer school just started for the professor. Which means I'm a single parent at home Monday through Thursday with all four, for the next 8 weeks. My dearest leaves at 6am and comes home at 11pm. Monday through Thursday. 8 weeks. Man, what am I going to do with them?

This is the first year I decided to implement a summer schedule. It basically goes like this:

5am-I get up
6am-I wake up kids for family time before Mike leaves
Kids eat breakfast and do chores
9am-Recess(That's what the kids want to call it, but it just means play time)
10am-Quiet time, reading time, nap time for the babe
11am-Lunch
12pm-Fun time(This is when we will go do fun stuff, like the science center, library, swim in people's pools, anything that involves staying cool)
3pm-TV time, friend time, and nap time(for me, that is)
5pm-dinner
6pm-Recess again
7pm-Baths
8pm-Quiet time, reading time
9pm-Bed

So I told my sister and her husband about this, and my sister says, to her dearest, "That sounds like something your mom would do," and I don't think she meant it as a compliment. I thought about that, and since she has no kids, yet, I shrugged it off. See when you don't have kids who wake up at the crack of dawn, turn on the tv, and don't move for 14 hours, you don't understand the need for some basic structure. Because if I were to, say, turn off the tv and tell them to do something else, I would get a backlash of, "There's nothing to do," "I'm so bored," "He's teasing me," and a million other phrases that grate on the sanity I'm clinging to. Hence, the schedule. Now, do we live or die by the schedule? Of course not. I can be flexible. What I think is funny is that my kids love knowing what's going to happen and when it's happening.

Yesterday my children came into my bedroom, on Memorial Day, around 6:15am.

"Mom, mom, are you up?"
Umm...no. Why?
"Come on Mom, get up, we're hungry and you said we can't eat until after family time."
"Geez guys, it's a holiday, the schedule doesn't start until tomorrow!"
"Thanks Mom."

See, they like a schedule.

Friday

Starting this Friday, we are officially going to be getting paid a regular paycheck for the entire summer. For the first time since the professor finished grad school. Let us break out the Hallelujah chorus.
There were those many summers of being in school and being broke, but those don't count because everyone is broke all year long when they're in school. Except for, of course, during financial aid distribution day, which happened twice a year. Those were good days.
Then after graduation and getting a real job teaching, we were on a nine month pay schedule. Which was great for nine months, and absolutely sucky for three. Whose idea was it to not pay people for three months out of the year? Like bills would just stop coming, we wouldn't have to eat those months? Perhaps it was assumed we would save a percentage of the paycheck in anticipation of the summer. Sure that looks good on paper, but realistic, not so much.
We switched over to the twelve month pay schedule after a while, which just meant a very large check, with a huge amount of taxes taken out, at the beginning of the summer. It was like a game to see if we could actually make it last to July. August? Yeah right.
Am I telling you this to make you feel sorry for teachers everywhere? Sort of. (If you know a teacher, send them a grocery store or gas gift card in August, they'll be forever grateful.) But mainly it's because I'm celebrating the end of an era.
Last year was the first that we could sign up for real year round pay. The same paycheck would be coming every two weeks, 26 times a year. Sweet.
Friday will be the first time this will really affect us.
Usually there would be no paycheck on Friday.
Not this Friday.
I love you Friday.

Silly boys

You all are in for a treat. Two posts, one day.

So I'm feeling very whateverish about this blogging thing. I go through phases of loving it and loathing it. It really is just coming up with interesting things to say that gets me all riled up. Anyways...

The boys are gone, it's just the three of us girls for the weekend. What to do, what to do...don't worry, the princess has made a list. Planned for today was crafts, dinner out, and wearing matching pajama bottoms. Check, check, and check. We got to sit and talk while we ate dinner and she told me about the boy who gave her his necklace to borrow. Hmmm...who is this Jacob and why a.) is he wearing a silver star necklace to school, and b.) did he give it to you to wear home and c.) would you consider said Jacob your boyfriend?
Oh they're just friends, she says. Don't worry mom, she's going to give it back tomorrow, she says. Right.
I'm just wondering if my tiny little princess, who suddenly appears no older than my tiny baby, would tell me if she did have a boyfriend. Would I tell my mom? Sorry mom, but probably not. So how do I handle this?
I decide that if I make it a big deal, it will be a big deal. And we don't want any big deals. So I shrug it off to silly boys, she laughs, we finish dinner. The end.
I am so screwed.

All About Me

Not super great at this posting thing. But I know you guys are wondering about me. So if I had to choose 10 quirky things about me, they would be:

1. I can crack my neck just by turning my head. It's a pretty impressive talent.

2. I love to run races just so I can feel the thrill of passing people. Especially if it's someone I know. Not super sportsman like of me, sure. But it's my competative nature.

3. I keep losing my two smallest right toenails. They keep falling off, especially after a long run. I'm not sure why. It's pretty crazy to have no toenails, especially when you wear flip flops all the time.

4. I take a nap almost every day. Sometimes twice a day. Let's face it, whenever I get the chance to close my eyes. Sometimes I set the microwave timer to wake me up so I won't forget to get the kids from school. Lazy? Yes I am.

5. I love to wake up and drink a Diet Dr. Pepper at 4:30am. It's how I start the day.

6. I have celiac disease which means no wheat, barley, or rye to eat. I am a gluten free girl. Or at least try to be.

7. I have not been, um, endowed, but I have no desire to change them. I hate pain and quite frankly would look very silly.

8. I have this thing about sleeping with the lights on. My husband hates it. He will usually get up after I've gone to sleep and turn off all the lights, which bugs me because if I have to get up in the middle of the night, I hate not being able to see anything. So now he leaves the kids' bathroom light on, which isn't very bright but better than nothing.

9. I love to read books but don't do it that often because if I start to read something, I cannot put it down until I'm done. I will literally sit and read for hours and hours.

10. I found my first grey hair when I was 19. It's been all downhill since.

I am quirky. A little.