Music, Mayhem, Motherhood

Homeschool Halftime Report

2012-01-26T22:30:00.001-07:00

Somewhere in the past week or two, (or three, who knows? I can't keep track of the laundry, let alone my school semesters,) we passed the halfway mark of the year. I almost wish that I would have known when it was, because we would have had a major celebration.

Not only have we survived the first half of our first year homeschooling with everyone alive but:

1) We all still like each other.

2) The girls are actually learning things.

AND

3) I'm not going insane like I was worried I would. At least not all the time.

These are all causes for big party, don't ya think?!

The Good:
The girls are actually learning. I see progress nearly every day. One of my biggest concerns when we decided to bring them home was their lack of writing skills. I'm not exaggerating when I say that at the beginning of this school year, Abby and Ashlynn could barely write coherent sentences. Their spelling was atrocious, grammar was non-existent, and requiring them to write anything resulted in their reacting exactly like they would if I was pulling their teeth out with pliers. Thankfully,this is the area where I'm seeing the most improvement. While their papers and writing assignments still need coaching and editing, I'm seeing much more understanding of basic writing conventions. We do spelling and vocabulary on a near-daily basis, and grammar exercises come around often as well. Their actual writing assignments are something we don't do as often, mostly because it requires so much time and energy to research, write, and then edit and their writings, but I'm determined to do better in that regard. Today, Abby is happily editing her recently-written paper on Belgium to use more transition words, and Ashlynn is brimming with facts about monkeys that she learned preparing her report.

Math is more of a struggle for my girls, but we're plugging along. We've had our fair share of tears from both the girls regarding multiplication tables, long division, fractions and the like, but they're coming fewer and further between so I count that as a success. A few months ago, after multiple days in a row of tears and frustration from Ashlynn over subtraction, she quietly told me that this was something that she never understood. No one had ever taught it to her. I asked her if she ever told her teacher last year that she didn't understand. She nodded, then added, "She told me she wasn't going to help me because I should already know it." Sigh. That's one of the reasons I'm so grateful to be at home with them- if there's something they're not understanding, they're certainly NOT afraid to express that fact to me. Often loudly, occasionally with tears and/or foot stomps.

As for history and science, we're taking that as it comes. We've read some "American Girl" books and talked about the setting and historical events. The girls devour all sections of the newspaper every day which has prompted some very interesting discussions. ("Mom, what does convicted mean?") We've been a little lax in formal history lessons, but are catching up. Lessons for the past few days have covered the three branches of government, the constitution, and the French revolution. I have to confess to cracking up every time one of the girls pronounced "judicial" as "judicle" (rhyming with "cuticle.")

We are fairly organized and follow a loose routine. Morning is for breakfast, chores, and the majority of our school time. At the beginning of the year, we used mornings to practice, but as Ian has gotten older, and busier, and decided to take one nap a day instead of two, it dawned on us that if we were going to learn anything at all, it had to be done while the walking human tornado was safely asleep. After lunch is practicing, and wrapping up loose ends, and by the time it's 3:00, we're done for the day so I can start teaching, or running to other lessons or rehearsals.

We're also seeing lots of exciting things as far as music development in both the girls. Their practicing happens five days a week consistently: Abby for about two hours, and Ashlynn for close to one. Abby is a week away from being finished with Suzuki Violin Book 6, and Ashlynn is nearly finished with piano level 2, and just wrote a long, complicated composition for the upcoming piano festival. This is one of the things I'm most enjoying about having the girls home. We rarely, if ever, fight about practicing anymore. It's just something they do. It's not rushed or shortened because of school commitments, and I have more time to help both of them. Although I confess that "helping" sometimes means shouting suggestions or corrections up or down the stairs.

The girls are happy. While we definitely have our days, I think that they are satisfied here at home. I don't know that they would admit it, but I think they like being at home and having the flexibility and the individual attention from me. I overheard Ashlynn telling her sister last week that "I had a nightmare that I had to back to school!" and I counted that as a sign that something we're doing is working.

The Hard
So I'm realizing that the above paragraphs make our life sound fairly idyllic. Let me assure you, it's not all sunshine, rainbows, and lollipops every day. Far from it. There is a lot of hard. I'd be flat out lying if I told you I didn't frequently wish to send the girls to school for a day so that I could find a few minutes of downtime. It's difficult to be on duty as both the mom and the teacher all day every day.

The most difficult part is balance. How do I manage to mother four kids, educate two, and keep Baby Ian, who is determined to climb on everything in sight, alive? We've had many mornings of chaos where the girls are begging me for help with spelling and vocabulary, Max is throwing his toys around the house, delighting in the noise, and Ian has dissolved in a hysterical puddle of baby goo because he has decided that 5:00 am is morning and is so tired that he can't be awake one more second. (How I gave birth to morning people, I'll never know.) Many times, it feels like triage: who needs me the most right now?

And that's the other hard part. I am one person. There are four of them. And someone constantly needs something. Sometimes that need involves crying, whining, or throwing reusable glass milk jugs down the stairs and laughing hysterically when it shatters into a million tiny pieces all over the basement floor, just to get my attention. There are frequently times where Ashlynn needs help with a math problem, Ian is climbing on the table, Abby has an urgent question about her violin etude that just can't wait, Mom, and Max is screaming because he just pinched his finger in the cabinet door while he was slamming his Woody doll in it. (Don't ask. I don't understand it either.) I am plagued many many days with epic guilt, worried that I am shortchanging all of my children simultaneously.

I really and truly have days where I fantasize about sending them to school. Just for a day or two. And it's not because of them necessarily, it's all the chaos combined, and because there are some days (weeks?) where all I want to do is ignore everything and curl up under my covers with my kindle, a jar of nutella, and a spoon. Did I tell you that Ian's teething? Molars? All at once and that because of that he doesn't believe in sleeping at night? So mornings are painful, some afternoons I have to prop my eyes open with toothpicks, and there are many days that I'm powered by Diet Coke and the sheer force of will. This week I decided that there needs to be a substitute hotline for homeschooling moms.

The truth of it is, I don't know what I'm doing. We take it a day at a time. And I'm not joking about the keeping Ian alive part. That kid is determined to climb on top of anything that stands still long enough, and then of course promptly falls off. That is when he's not emptying shampoo bottles, throwing onions like baseballs, emptying drawers, dishwashers, baskets of toys, and making his sisters crazy. I'm amazed we haven't had to rush to the ER for a set of stitches or a broken arm.

And my house. Oh, my house. It will never recover. We clean up in the morning, we clean up at night. But if you're coming at any other time, be prepared to dodge toys of every shape and size, the bagful of math manipulatives that gets dumped on the kitchen floor every morning, half the contents of the pantry that will be scattered all over the main floor of the house, and of course the three baskets of clean laundry that Ian has conveniently unfolded and tried to shoot baskets with. And because Max is still new at the potty training thing, he will most likely be half naked and climbing in the laundry basket full of freshly washed clothes. Don't say I didn't warn you.

One of the first things people always ask me when they find out I'm homeschooling is how long we're going to do it. It's nearly inevitable that I'll hear a lecture about how important it is for my children to be properly "socialized" (and I'll write another post about that sometime later on), or how if they don't go to public high school they'll hate me the rest of their life for robbing them of that opportunity. Public high school? Excuse me? I have a fourth and a third grader. I need to get them doing long division before I can contemplate (and worry about) the wonders of drivers ed, junior prom, and Friday night football games.

So are we going to be doing this next year? I don't know. Maybe? Probably? Ask me again after we've survived February, (Oh how I hate the dreariness of February!) and tried to homeschool and move at the same time. But for now, despite the craziness, I'm mostly sure we're on the right track.

Battle of the Sexes

2012-01-25T11:10:00.000-07:00

I have quite a few friends with families of all boys. That is as foreign to me as my family with two of each is to them. Often I hear, "I just can't imagine what it would be like to have girls. We only have boy toys."

Well friends,this is what it is like.

The boys got several tractors as presents for Christmas. They are, apparently, the perfect size for the Barbies.

The other day, Abby came downstairs, obviously pouting.

"Max is playing with the tractor I wanted to play with!" I had to giggle and remind her that the tractors did actually belong to Max.

The other main difference? Max and Ian crash the tractors into everything. When the girls are playing with them, the tractors have distinct names, personalities, and call everyone "sweetie."

Oh, and the pink sparky Barbie horse? Max has all but taken ownership of it, insisting that it's Bullseye from "Toy Story."

Potty Talk (Don't say I didn't warn you...)

2012-01-18T21:35:00.000-07:00

Potty Training.

The two words destined to strike fear into mothers everywhere.

Especially this mother.

It's one of my least favorite things about parenting. Next to "Is your baby sleeping through the night yet?" (No, thank you, they never do, much to my exhausted chagrin,) "Is your child potty trained?" is my least favorite question.

It's another one of those undeniable milestones like walking, talking, and tying shoes. But I happen to have kids who can run, skip, and carry on an entire conversation with you before they express any desire to control their bodily functions. Usually, I'm fine with this. Let them progress at their own rate, I say. However, I can't deny a certain sheepishness that comes up when surrounded by toddlers much younger and much more potty trained than mine.

Abby was by far the hardest. Nothing we could say or do would convince her to use the potty. Being a naive first time mom, I decided that I knew best, and she was going to use the toilet because she was three, and it was time. Uh huh. The problem was, I didn't consult Abby about this plan. I tried everything all those parenting books tell you to try: sitting her on the potty at regular intervals, rewards, sticker charts, and finally, just putting her in underwear and letting her have accidents because eventually she'll decide that she doesn't like the feeling of being wet and decide to go on her own. Nope, nope, and nope. She screamed when I sat her on the potty, never actually did anything on the potty so the stickers and rewards were moot, and started hiding her accidents just to avoid using the bathroom. So I gave up. Despite the fact that I could carry on an entire conversation with my 3 year old, ("Abby, do you need to go potty?" "No thanks, Mom, I'm fine. I don't need to go potty today.") I put her back in diapers and didn't think about it, talk about it, and tried not to be concerned that I would have the only kindergartner needing me to come change a diaper at recess, or to think about how much money having two in diapers for years on end was costing us. Six or so months later, she decided she was ready, then it was done nearly overnight. No more diapers, pull ups, accidents, or even bedwetting.

Six months after that, Ashlynn was potty trained as well. It was like buy one get one free.

And then there was Max. Another three year old with no interest or intention of making potty training easy. After my experience with Abby, I knew it would be better for all of us if I waited for him to be ready. I felt even more strongly about it because it's Max, and he's had so many things done to his body without his knowledge or consent.

Then it was Christmas break, I had two weeks without violin lessons, and as sometimes happens when I have unstructured time on my hands, I decided it was time. My husband laughed at me because Max had no concept of what a toilet was even for. I laughed back and decided that by the end of Christmas break, Max would at least be more aware.

And guess what? After a very funny trip to Wal-Mart to buy very tiny tighty-whities, (anyone know why little boy underwear is so much more expensive than little girl underwear?) a few days with nothing but accidents, a few times where I told him to pull up his "panties" on accident, a couple of pairs of underwear thrown away because they were just too far gone, and a week or two with a tiny potty in our front room, I hereby declare that Max is officially potty trained. With the exception of a nighttime pull-up (which I don't see us being able to go without anytime soon) we have been diaper and accident free for more than a week!

And he's so stinkin' cute about it. There's nothing quite as sweet as when he runs up to me and asks "Can I go pee in the potty now, Mom?" Yes, please.

Maybe in six months, Ian will train as well. A girl can dream, can't she?

Mama said there'd be days like this

2012-01-10T21:16:00.000-07:00

Everybody has "those days." Those days you know are going to be trouble before you even get out of bed in the morning. Today was one of those days. Highlights included:

~Waking up at 3:45 am realizing that not only was my baby nursing, he was also talking. And patting my face obsessively. He did not go back to sleep until somewhere just before 6 am. My alarm went off at 6:15 for my first violin lesson of the day.

~Finding bite marks in my bar of soap this morning. I'm not even going to ask which of my vampire children is now eating soap.

~Abby pounding on the bathroom door this morning as I was getting dressed to announce that Ian was bleeding and I needed to come out "Right now, Mom!" Turned out Ian's finger had a little scratch.

~Teaching a violin student and having her mother ask how I felt about doing all our lessons via Skype in February. They travel a lot during February, she explained to me. When I asked her if she was going anywhere fun, she told me they like to spend the entire month in Hawaii. I was distracted for the remainder of her lesson imagining spending all of February in Maui.

~My baby learning how to climb on the kitchen table. I've never had a dare devil baby. I'm not excited about having one now. It started with him using the step stool to climb. Then we pushed the stool under the table to he couldn't climb on it. Undeterred, he learned to pull the stool out from under the table. Then we decided to move the stool on top of the table when someone's bum wasn't on it. It took Ian mere minutes today to figure out how to scale the kitchen chairs. He only looks sweet and innocent.

~My husband calling and letting me know that his business trip was being extended. Yup. He was supposed to come home tonight. Now we won't see him until Saturday morning. You know the supportive wife gig? I'm not so good at it.

~My real estate agent stopping by, picking up paperwork, and letting us know that we have another offer on the house. Wait. I don't think I mentioned that we put the house on the market. We did. Our first offer came in 3 hours after it was listed, and we now have a second offer for $5k more. Neither potential buyer has even come to look. I don't know about you, but getting two offers in less than a week with no showing is a pretty good deal. If only we were selling it for anywhere close to what we owe on it... Sigh. Regardless, I am glad to be on the path. Can't wait for the day that the boys actually have a bedroom of their own and I have a kitchen big enough to turn around in without tripping over one of my many small (and not so small) children.

~Realizing, as I'm trying to help both girls with their math, fill out health insurance paperwork, change Max's clothes after he had an accident, and keep Ian from dancing on the dishwasher door, why newborn babies just shut down when they are overstimulated.

~Getting this picture text from my husband and trying not to die of jealousy.

~Stopping my last violin lesson of the day early because I could hear my two boys upstairs shrieking. At the top of their lungs. For ten minutes straight. It sounded like the end of the world. I promised my sweet teenage violin student that I would give her and Vivaldi her extra ten minutes at her next lesson. Then I sang hymns to myself for the next hour, praying all the while for the strength to make it to bedtime.

~And then, wonder of wonders, putting both very tired boys to bed at 7, curling up in my chair with my blanket, the space heater, the girls playing upstairs very quietly and "Anne of Green Gables" on my Kindle. I felt like drinking up the quiet. Forty five minutes later, I felt renewed enough to be a mom again.

"Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"

Amen, Anne Shirley. So glad I get to try again tomorrow.

A girl could get used to this

2012-01-06T22:51:00.000-07:00

I don't love winter. I hate being cold, I despise needing (and losing) boots, hats, gloves coats and snowpants in every size, and I especially loathe snowpacked canyon drives to and from violin lessons. This becomes rather problematic when I live in a town that had snow on Memorial Day last year.

Except this year. January 6. Practically springtime, don't ya know?

We've had little to no measurable snowfall, no need to bust out the snow tires and chains, and no building of snowmen, much to my kids' chagrin.

But from my perspective, there's nothing wrong with a trip to the park with the kids on a sunny January afternoon.

I just hope Mother Nature doesn't decide to dump snow on us clear through June as payback.

Another Obligatory Christmas Post

2012-01-03T22:14:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't be a mommy blogger if I didn't blast everyone with a whole bunch of Christmas pictures right? And despite the fact that we took the tree down and de-Christmased everything on December 26th, (Hey, when you have a toddler tornado hanging around, a Christmas tree becomes a deadly weapon!) I haven't managed to put together a coherent blog thought since then.

Then all of a sudden, it's 2012. Wow. How did that happen?

Anyway, Christmas was wonderful. It really was. It was loud, noisy, messy, happy, giggling, magical chaos.

We rode the train to Temple Square on Christmas Eve night. Forget the lights, the train was everyone's favorite part!

The lights were stunning.

We especially loved the new nativity set placed in the reflecting pool.

It was very effective wearing the kids out. You can't really tell in this picture, but Max was falling asleep sitting on the top of the stroller. (You also can't really appreciate the magnitude of the tantrum Ashlynn was throwing because her feet hurt, and horror of horrors, I made her wear jeans!)

Santa arrived right on time, and the tree was piled with presents.

No, Ian didn't get an iPhone for Christmas. He was just way more interested in it and the package wrappings than in the presents themselves.

Max was beside himself with excitement when he opened up a "Woody" doll from "Toy Story."

Since Christmas was on Sunday, we scrambled into new Christmas clothes and headed to our meeting. That was undoubtedly, the most crazy part of the entire day. We should learn that just because it's Christmas doesn't mean we're going to get to church without at least a few major and minor meltdowns. (We should also learn not to take pictures in front of a window...)

My mom sewed and entire wardrobe full of doll clothes for the girls' dolls, Emma and Katie, including matching nightgown sets.

Uncle Kevin is always willing to be the entertainment committee.

Once we returned home, we enjoyed dinner with Grandma and Grandpa, played with Uncle Kevin, and opened more presents. We collapsed into bed early, satisfied and grateful. Not to mention exhausted.

So what else have we been doing with our break? Sleeping in. Taking naps. NOT teaching violin lessons. (We also haven't been very diligent about practicing our instruments... Shhh!) We've played games, gone swimming, eaten lots of junk food, read a whole bunch of books, (Yay for a new Kindle!) and stayed up way too late.

Needless to say, my 6:30 am violin lesson came very early this morning. However, my children, despite their protests, seem glad to be back in a routine.

Oh, and about those pesky New Year's Resolutions? I've been reading lots of blogs with lots of brilliant resolutions and themes for the new year. I even have one friend who is training for a half marathon. Even more shocking, I have one giving up Diet Coke. Me? I'm all about making resolutions I know I can keep. Here goes:

1- Keep everyone alive. All year.

2- No overnight hospitalizations. (I know better than to say no hospital trips. But not being inpatient is a worthy goal, I think.)
3- Change less diapers.

4- Teach Ian to play piano so we can proceed with his career as a child prodigy. That kid needs to start earning his keep anyway.

So this is Christmas

2011-12-24T13:35:00.000-07:00

As a kid growing up, Christmas was absolutely magical. As my kids get older and I watch them wriggle with excitement like puppies, I remember how hard it was to wait until Christmas day Our house was always decorated to the nines, our doorbell would ring nightly with neighbors bringing homemade gifts, and wrapped presents would magically appear under the tree. We spent hours arranging, stacking, rearranging and restacking presents under the tree, comparing, shaking, counting, and in general making my mom crazy. The door to her sewing room was frequently shut, although she would measure us several times during the season, always telling us to "Be quiet and don't ask any questions." With six kids running around, my parents decided to have us draw names among the siblings on or around Thanksgiving. The idea was not only to buy a gift for that person, but to spend the whole season of Christmas doing acts of anonymous service for that person. December was always spent sneaking around making someone's bed, leaving treats on pillows, and trying to figure out who drew your name.

On Christmas Eve, we all loaded into the big red van and made the trip to visit the Grandmas. When we were younger, my Grandma Call hosted a yearly Christmas party on Christmas Eve. While it was incredibly important for my grandma to have all her children and grandchildren together, it was torturous for us to mingle and make conversations with relatives that we only saw once a year. The cheek pinching and the "Now, who do you belong to again?" was inevitable, as was the chili with optional noodles that Grandma cooked. Once the excitement died down, we trekked to see my other grandma, where we badgered her with questions about why she didn't have a real Christmas tree, and wound up her ceramic music boxes so that "Oh Holy Night" and "Silver Bells" were playing simultaneously. Once my grandparents had opened their presents, (usually a Peppridge Farm food basket for Grandpa and a book for Grandma) we bounced off the walls until Mom and Dad loaded us back into the van. It wasn't until we were all quite a bit older that we realized that my mom had been stashing presents at Grandma's, and that they loaded the present in the back of the van on Christmas Eve, covered them with blankets and hoped that we didn't see anything.

Once we got home, we opened the one present from our brother or sister, and got sent to bed for the torturous night long wait. One year, my brothers convinced me to set my alarm for 4 am so we could go see our presents. My brother set my alarm wrong, and it went off at 1 am, 2 am, 3 am, etc all night long. My parents used to yell at us that no one was allowed out of their rooms until 6am. I don't know if that ever happened.Santa presents were left unwrapped, arranged carefully in piles with our stocking on top. Bikes, trikes, stereos, all made frequent appearances. After we tore through, opened and examined all our Santa gifts, we put our loot away, had breakfast and then it was "Christmas torture:" every room in the house had to be clean and vacuumed, and we all had to be dressed with our rooms immaculate before we could open presents under the tree. Now, I like a clean room as much as the next person, but I still think that was a little over the top.

As a teenager, my Christmases were filled with music and performances. As a senior, I was in seven performing groups, and I think I counted 21 performance in 13 days. I carried 3-4 uniforms in my car at all times, and vividly remember changing from my Jordan Youth Symphony Uniform (tuxedo shirt, black skirt, red bow tie and cummerbund, (yes, we were stylin', shut up!)) into my Madrigals uniform (black one piece pantsuit with a black embroidered jacket) while stopped at a stoplight in downtown Salt Lake City. It was a crazy busy time, but I was exhausted and exhilarated by the constant performing.

Ashylnn decorating the tree, 2008

Tom and I have had twelve Christmases together. Some have been leaner than others, but there's always been love, excitement, and joy.

Christmas, 2008

I smiled today when I realized two out of the last three Christmases we've had a brand new baby to celebrate with us.

Baby Max in the Christmas stocking

Ian, Christmas 2010, overflowing with excitement

I'm particularly excited about Christmas this year. Not only have I been an online shopping ninja, but I've very excited about the gifts we've secured for everyone. I can't wait to see the kids opening their presents tomorrow, and that anticipation has had me smiling for a month! We've baked cookies, cut out snowflakes, delivered neighbor gifts, and attended several of Abby's Christmas performances. I missed playing Christmas music on my violin so much that I volunteered Abby and me to play a musical number in church last week. We've bought and wrapped presents, and the tree is stocked.

Abby, Abravenel Hall, 2011

My kids today are as excited as I've ever seen them. Abby in particular has so much nervous anticipation flowing through her body that she can't sit still. And here's the funny thing: I remember feeling like that. I remember driving my mom crazy on Christmas Eve asking if we could "Just open one present, please, please, please?" and having her banish me out of the kitchen so she could get things done.

I wonder sometimes if we've done enough. Baked enough, sung enough Christmas songs, read enough scriptures. Have we focused enough on service, love, and what Christmas is really about? Will my kids be able to look back and say their childhood Christmases were magic? I hope so, because I'm fully planning on tomorrow being magical.

The Twelve Days of Christmas- Mom Style

2011-12-16T16:34:00.000-07:00

So is everyone else tired of being bombarded with ads advertising everything from plastic surgery to plastic toys as the perfect Christmas gifts for you? The other day, I heard that ridiculous "Twelve Days of Christmas" song and realized that what I want for Christmas has nothing to do with cashmere sweaters, drummers drumming or gold rings. So here, for the benefit of my girls, my husband, and anyone else who is wondering what I want for Christmas, is my Christmas list...

The Twelve Days of Christmas- Mom Style

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

A full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Five vacations planned. (And paid for!)

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Six vacuumed rooms,

Five vacations planned. (And paid for!)

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Seven gourmet meals,

Six vacuumed rooms,

Five vacations planned. (And paid for!)

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Eight girls' nights out,

Seven gourmet meals,

Six vacuumed rooms,

Five vacations planned. (And paid for!)

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Nine days with no fighting,

Eight girls' nights out,

Seven gourmet meals,

Six vacuumed rooms,

Five vacations planned. (And paid for!)

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Ten pedicured toes,

Nine days without whining,

Eight girls' nights out,

Seven gourmet meals,

Six vacuumed rooms,

Five vacations planned. (And paid for!)

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Eleven full body massages,

Ten pedicured toes,

Nine days without bickering,

Eight girls' nights out,

Seven gourmet meals,

Six vacuumed rooms,

Five vacations planned. (And paid for!)

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Twelve months of housecleaning,

Eleven full body massages,

Ten pedicured toes,

Nine days without crying,

Eight girls' nights out,

Seven gourmet meals,

Six vacuumed rooms,

Five vacations planned. (And paid for!)

Four happy children,

Three bars of chocolate,

Two potty trained toddlers,

And a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

So friends, what's on your list? And really, I know it's a big list. I'd settle for the sleep...

Mush Brain

2011-12-11T21:22:00.000-07:00

My brain has turned to mush.

I've been the single parent on call for seven full days. We've done Christmas concerts, violin and piano lessons, school every day. Yesterday, I took all four kids on multiple errands, including the bank, the outlet malls, and the evil store ending in -Mart. We wrapped presents, and as of yesterday, the blessed Christmas shopping is done.

We even went to the ward Christmas party. Ian was less than enthusiastic about the fat man in the red suit.

Today though, was a mess. We've officially entered the stage with Ian where you get dressed up to walk the halls for 3 hours. Problem was, I had three other kids in the mix. The highlight of sacrament meeting came when Ian slipped off the bench when he was trying to escape and opened up a cut behind his ear. We came home from church, had soup from a can and watched a movie.

I'm done with single mom duty. Done. Don't know how actual single moms do it.

I keep reminding myself that my husband will be home Tuesday. Then I want to be the one to run off to Europe.

Monday mind dump

2011-12-05T21:13:00.000-07:00

In the wee, frozen hours of this Monday morning, I took my dear sweet husband to the airport to board the first of several planes bound for Europe. Nope, not kidding. I know he is at least visiting Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Helsinki, Finland, and Rome. Yup. Rome at Christmas. Jealous, me? Of course not.

If you've hung around this blog for any length of time, (and why wouldn't you? The writing has been so incredibly riveting lately, especially the part where I just don't write for weeks on end...) you know that my husband's international travel habits and I don't get along so well. He's been international 3 times, and 2 out of those 3 times, someone has ended up in the ER, or gotten stitches, or a combination of the 2. I'm thinking tomorrow, I'll make a trip to the store for bubble wrap, duct tape, children's ibuprofen, and extra Diet Coke. That should keep us for eight days, right?

But here's some good news: my Christmas shopping for my kids is done. Thank you Amazon and your brilliant 2-day free shipping. A good portion of the non-Santa gifts are wrapped and under the tree as well, which as any 8 year old can tell you, is pure and complete torture! And also on the Christmas front, the tree has only tipped over once so far. I think that's a record.

People keep asking me if we're going to homeschool next year. While I'd be lying if I didn't say that the thought of kicking the girls out the door at 8:35 to go to school sounds like a good idea at least two mornings a week, we're also starting to find our groove. I don't know what will happen next year. I can barely remember what day it is, and that's on a good day. But, I do know that for the first time, my girls are starting to write cohesive, coherent paragraphs and papers. This is new, and I am proud. And, Ashlynn only throws a fit about division once a week now, so we're definitely making progress.

My baby still does not sleep through the night. Not even close. I have attempted night weaning twice, and it has failed miserably both times. Someday, I will sleep again.

Most of the time, I really love my job as a violin teacher, I do. But I'm really ready for Christmas break to roll it's way around here. Is that bad? Mostly, I want to not teach lessons at 6:15 am for at least a week or two. And I wouldn't mind having an afternoon or two to lounge around in my pajamas, read a novel, and eat Nutella out of the jar with a spoon. Perhaps I should inform my children of my plans.

Speaking of, how is it that I have gone my whole life without buying a jar of Nutella until now? I will have to buy extra for the next 30+ years to make up for it.

Birthday Baby

2011-11-23T21:25:00.000-07:00

It doesn't seem possible. A year ago in a hospital room during a blinding snowstorm, we met Ian for the first time.

Now, he's a walking, talking, tornado of a toddler who's celebrating his first birthday today.

He's brought a sense of completeness and balance to our family. When we met him for the first time, it wasn't so much a "I'm so glad to meet you!" as it was "Oh, I'm so glad you're here. We've been waiting for you!"

He's adored by his sisters, and tolerated by Max, who gets annoyed when Ian follows him around wanting to do everything he does.

His favorite foods are undoubtedly breastmilk, bananas, pretzels, and anything sweet he can con someone into giving him. He loves wrestling and will often try to tackle Max just to instigate a wrestling match. He's a Mommy's boy through and through, at least for now.

He has the most adorable dimples and a smile that melts me. Every single time.

He doesn't sleep much at night. But we're working on that. He has the world's loudest shriek and we wish there was a way to work on that.

He folds his arms whenever we say a prayer, and waves his arms like a conductor anytime he hears music. He also tries to sing along, which never fails to make everyone around him smile.

He doesn't realize he's supposed to be the baby. He started walking when he was just barely 9 months, and said his first words shortly after. He hates his high chair, and almost always refuses to drink out of a sippy cup in favor of whatever we're drinking instead.

He wasn't at all planned. It took me a long time to get used to the idea that he was coming. But now, sweet Ian, we don't know what we would do without you. So fun that we get to do your party during Thanksgiving tomorrow. So fitting. Happy Birthday Little Buddy!

When the going gets tough, the tough write poetry

2011-11-21T22:21:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to nightwean the baby. The thinking is, he's almost a year old and should be able to last the night without nursing 47 times. I tend to be a bit less than pleasant when I've been woken up multiple times all night long for a year solid. But since I'm not a cry-it-out mom, I've been trying for something more gentle. I think it will work eventually, but let's just say I didn't know it was possible to be more tired than I already was.

We commenced our adventures in homeschooling this morning with poetry. Abby and Ashlynn were supposed to be reading and then writing their own poetry. So they started reading their poems, outloud. Each trying to out do the other when it came to loudness. It was then that I declared that they were to read all poems to themselves. Then the writing commenced. They were grouchy, I was grouchy and sleep deprived. I was wondering if I could send them to public school just for a day or two. So then, I texted a friend, complaining, venting. Bless her, she wrote me back in rhyme. And so for most of the rest of the day, our messages were in couplet form. Credits to Morgan in red.

Grammar, poetry, sentences, you stink.
Working on English is a waste of ink.

My sister, my brothers, they're driving me crazy.
I wish I could just watch TV and be lazy.

Haiku isn't hard.
Sometimes it doesn't make sense.
Refrigerator.

Pulling out wipes is lots of fun.
This making of messes is never done.

Speaking in rhymes is ever so amusing.
Except for my girls, it is confusing.

Tell them it's easy and really a gas!
They just have to focus, they'll get it, en masse!

Now the time has come for me to shower.
When I am done, I shall smell like a flower.

Showers lovely.
They keep me from being fugly.
(I think this one was my favorite of the whole day!)

The word "fugly" gets you extra credit.
I laughed really hard when I read it.

Ian and Max are both super snotty.
They wipe boogers on me so I can feel like a hottie.

Why must they always wipe it on Mom?
A tiny little booger bomb?
(I never said it was going to be uplifting poetry!)

And then we switched to limmericks:

There once was a mom who was tired,
Because all her kids were so wired.
She tied them up tight,
And turned out the light,
And said "If you don't go to sleep, you're all fired."

Lest you think that today was all about bad texted poetry, we did actually something. This is Ashlynn's masterpiece of the poetry unit so far, written while studying Shel Silverstein and hyperbole.

Isn't she cute? She had a piano recital tonight and was amazing! Musical and a writer! I'll keep this one...

Stinky Boy

by Ashlynn Smith

There once was a boy who would not take a bath.

He hated using soap as much as doing math.

He smelled like stinky fries and rotten eggs.

He had beetles crawling up and down his legs.

He never changed his clothes and it made his skin turn black.

He nearly gave his mom a great big heart attack.

But one stormy day he got caught out in the rain.

It washed the boy all clean, and he didn't even complain.

So there you have it. Stacy, Morgan, and Ashlynn. Poet Laureates. We're excited about our upcoming book tour.

You've had a birthday

2011-11-15T22:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Max, our tiny baby turned three. How this is possible, I don't know.

Max is our miracle baby. His birth was a result of years of longing, praying, and planning, and I still look back on those wonder-filled moments and days after his birth with fondness and love. Max has gone through more trials and surgeries and sheer crap than most people do in their lifetime, and you'd never know it to look at him.

So here, in no particular order, are Max facts.

Age: 3 (Although he still says 2!)

Hair: Blond, curly and crazy.

Favorite Toy: Without question, his Woody doll from "Toy Story." We've had this particular doll since the original "Toy Story" came out, but Max has loved it the best. He carries it with him everywhere, sleeps with it, and wo be unto us if we can't find him come bedtime. A few days ago, Max had hidden Woody away in one of the girls' purses causing much chaos, weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth when bedtime came around and we couldn't find him. He even woke up at 2 am crying "Woody! I need my Woody! Find my Woody, please!" We may need to buy another one, just to have on standby.

Favorite Article of Clothing: A ratty worn red cowboy hat. He found it at a neighbor's house when he went over to play, and wouldn't give it back. We ended up buying a replacement hat for the neighbor boy. And other than that, see above. Except we won't let him sleep with it on or wear it to church. Mean parents, we are.

Favorite Food: Broccoli. Peas. Carrots. All things vegetables. He's the only kid I've ever known that will not only eat his vegetables first, but usually will ignore everything else on his plate in favor of the green things. Not that he hasn't been known to climb on up the counter and sneak a while bunch of cookies at once.

Favorite Movie: It's a tie between "Toy Story" (1,2,or 3, he's not picky) and "Tangled." He can recite entire scenes of "Tangled" at will, which just proves that he belongs to me and will fit right in when it comes to spewing obscure movie lines at dinner.

Likes: Basketball, football, baseball, anything that involves a ball. Playing outside, shadowing his sisters, dancing and singing at music class, Elmo, Sesame Street, playing xbox, jumping on Daddy, (and Mom if Dad isn't around,) and all things iPhone.

Dislikes: Baby brother getting in his space, bedtime, hair brushing, teeth brushing, other people actually having the nerve to take "Max's phone!"

Not at All Interested In: Potty Training. I asked him today when he was going to use the potty. His answer: "Not today. Birthday." When I reminded him he just had a birthday, he replied, "No go potty Mama." Sigh.

Sweet Max. There isn't a day that goes by where he doesn't make us laugh and have us counting our blessings that he's ours. Happy Birthday, Buddy. And for the love, will you stop growing up so fast already?

Balance, or the lack thereof

2011-11-08T21:57:00.000-07:00

This mom thing, it's kicking my butt.

You know, there are some moments where I feel like I have everything under control. Like my girls might actually be learning things and my toddlers might survive another week without major bloodshed.

But they are mere moments. Blips on the screen.

Lately it seems like those moments, the good ones where I actually feel like a competent human being, are ever so quickly usurped by crying children. Or bleeding children. Or children with fevers, babies who shriek loudly for no apparent reason, children who stomp their feet and throw giant tantrums because they don't want to pratice their musical instrument, or children who don't belong to me but who need me to teach them a violin lesson.

I feel most days as if I'm walking a tightrope, balancing all the different parts and pieces of me, all the people who depend on me or expect things from me, and all my duties and responsibilities.

I wonder, most days, if it is really possible to balance everything. To give every part of my life, every person who is important to me, and every responsibility that is mine equal and appropriate amounts of love and TLC. I don't think it is. Or I at least hope it isn't, because if it is, I'm failing miserably.

It just seems that if we're having a wonderful school day with my girls, that my house will inevitably look like a bomb exploded. If I'm paying bills and answering emails and trying to do all those adult things that keep my household functioning and running, babies will cry, or siblings will argue or the phone will ring or the dinner will burn, or someone (or multiple someones) will be crying. And some days, if I attempt to do anything at all, the baby will shriek his ear piercing shriek at the top of his lungs for no reason, and I will have no choice but to hold him, and nurse him, and chase him around the house chanting "Run, run, run, I'm going to get you!" just to get him to laugh and stop screaming for one blessed minute.

I am well aware that I chose this. All of it. The violin teaching, the homeschooling, the parenting. I am working towards loving my choice.

But damn if it isn't hard. When the baby cuts his finger, is bleeding everywhere and we can't decide if he need stitches or not, when the kids are all yelling at each other and I've been teaching all day and am exhausted because of the boys waking up at an unholy hour due to the *&%$ time change, when the two year old throws a toy and breaks a plate, and Dad is leaving on church business while 3 out of 4 kids are crying, it's hard not to throw in the towel and run away screaming.

So I'm going to bed, friends. And I'm going to try again tomorrow. For balance, for serenity, for less yelling, more laughing, less chaos and more sleep.

Learn Something New Everyday

2011-10-29T22:27:00.000-06:00

We've been doing lots of learning round these parts. And I'm not talking just long division type learning either, although there's been plenty of that too.

For example, I've learned that an 11 month old can run a 103 degree fever for five days before the doctors get worried.

I've also learned that one of Max's brand new ear tubes is likely making it's way out of position, causing a pediatrician to once again say, "I've never seen this before." I have not yet learned whether there is a warranty on ear tubes. Doubtful.

I've relearned that mouth injuries bleed. A lot.

I'm also relearning long division and double digit multiplication. My poor girls. I don't like it anymore now than when I learned it in elementary school.

I've learned multiple injections of lidocaine and massive amounts of laughing gas aren't enough to keep me from feeling the dentist's drill. Ouch. I'm going to learn about oral sedatives when I go back on Monday to get the rest of my dental work finished.

I've learned that allowing my 6:30 am violin students to switch lessons is a very bad idea. Inevitably, someone is going to forget about the switch, leaving me awake for no reason on the one day the sick baby actually sleeps in.

I've learned that cancelling my daughter's violin lesson when your baby has a fever of 103 and your toddler is screaming that his ear hurts might be the best possible decision.

I've also learned that chocolate chip pumpkin bread, some good friends to vent to, and a Saturday afternoon nap will go a long way towards making me feel better after a long week.

Blessed

2011-10-18T22:31:00.000-06:00

Things haven't been super easy around here lately. It's nothing big and drastic, but life's little (and not ao little) disasters have been weighing me down a bit.

But you know what? I'm pretty blessed. God must have known how much help I would need, because he sent me some pretty amazing friends.

Like a friend who, after learning I was having a really crappy day yesterday, not only sent me text messages of encouragement, but also let herself into my house, ignored the bags of trash sitting on the stairs, (my husband forgot to take the trash out last week, and these were bags of birthday wrappings and bows waiting for dark so they could be stuffed in some unsuspecting neighbor's trash,) and left me a large Diet Coke, a Krispy Kreme donut, and suckers for the kids on my kitchen counter.

Or then there's the friend who lets me go on and on and on about everything that's bugging me, complain about all the crap that I think I'm going through, when she is dealing with literal crap (I'm not kidding, people!) that the sewer people in her town decided to send up through her toilets.

And then there's another friend, who also happens to be my mom, who opened up her cabin, (which I'm convinced is one of the best places on earth) to us and my four untrained monkeys this week so we could have a few days away. Within minutes of arriving, I felt better. Clearer.

So tonight, I'm grateful. And determined that I need to do better at being that kind of friend.

Well, Since You Asked...

2011-10-07T23:09:00.000-06:00

"Hey," I hear you asking, "I haven't heard from Stacy lately. I wonder what's she's been up to."

Well, well, I'm glad you asked.

We've been homeschooling. (Forgive the crappy picture- I believe that Max was the photographer here.)

Max has been eating the Base-10 blocks that Ashlynn was using to learn multiplication,

And then scattering them all over the house.

We've been field-tripping on Fridays, where we river-walked,

fed the ducks,

and let them nibble on Ian's toes.

We watched General Conference and bottled lots and lots and lots of pears.

We did a little bit of laundry, (Ian is forever after in charge of the laundry. I'm all about training him young and all that. After all, it's about time he started pulling his weight around this place!)

We've been sleeping. Here and there. Ok, maybe they've been sleeping.

We've been chasing after Ian who is walking, and running, shredding toilet paper, squirting toothpaste all over the carpet, and all those other things toddlers do. And talking. (Did I mention he's only ten months old? I don't think he realizes that he's a baby.) He has a vocabulary or two words: "Ma!" which he yells at me approximately 257 times a day, and "Plop!" He has long thought this was the funniest word in the English language, and now amuses us all when he says is repeatedly to anyone who will listen.

We've gotten haircuts,

We've instituted a new excercise regimen,

And we've done a whole lot of practicing. A lot. As in, the whole family can now sing the Fiocco Allegro for memory. Abby is audtioning for the Suzuki Youth Orchestra of America, held in Minneapolis in conjunction with the SAA Conference. If she gets accepted, she'll play in an orchestra of 9 and 10 year olds from all over the Americas at the SAA convention over Memorial Day Weekend in 2012. We recorded this video yesterday.

And yesterday, as an added bonus, I looked around my kitchen to find that all four of my children were crying simultaneously. That takes some serious parenting skills my friends.

So we've been busy. Happy. Tired. Wouldn't change a thing. Except maybe I'll take the crying kids one at a time.

The Suzuki Square?

2011-09-25T21:42:00.001-06:00

Anyone who has been around Suzuki music for any significant amount of time has undoubtedly heard about the "Suzuki Triangle."

The idea is that the teacher, parent and student all have equal responsibility for success. If any of the three corners of the triangle are missing, the likelihood of the student progressing or enjoying music is much smaller.

I realized this week that I might have a little helper on my side when Max went to the bottom of the stairs and started yelling at Abby at the top of his lungs. Abby was practicing the Fiocco "Allegro" and possibly making it sound more like the Fiocco "Presto," (You know you're a music geek if you understand that lame joke,) and Max decided he needed to help with the practicing. After a few minutes, I finally figured out what he was yelling.

"Abby! Too fast! Turn on metronome!"

I about died laughing.

Maybe I can retire as the practice parent and hire Max as the Suzuki sibling. Obviously he knows exactly what to say. And he's not even three! (I'm so proud.)

And maybe at our house, we'll turn the triangle into a Suzuki Square. You know: parent, child, teacher, and overly helpful sibling.

To make a musician

2011-09-13T21:54:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure that Ian has a choice in whether or not he'll play an instrument. His only dilemma will be which one to choose...

Another reason we'll be paying off medical bills for the rest of our lives

2011-09-08T21:57:00.002-06:00

It's been a long time since my I've answered the phone and heard this on the other end:

"Hello? Is this Maxwell's mom? This is so-and-so from Primary Children's Hospital and I'm just calling to get some information about Maxwell for his surgery tomorrow."

What? You didn't know we were having surgery this week? Neither did we.

Usually, it takes 4-6 weeks to get in to see the ENTs at Primary's. When I called about the world's worst ear infection last week, they got me in in less than a week.

When I schlepped all 4 kids to the hospital for the appointment, the doctor told us that his previously placed ear tube was causing the infection, and it needed to be removed and replaced with a new, non-infected tube as soon as possible. He also suggested removing Max's adenoids because they often are inflamed and contribute to ear infections.

So I was thinking we would book a surgery date in a few weeks. Nope. Try two days. He really did mean as soon as possible.

I really hate taking my little boy in for surgery, no matter how minor. Not fun. Not even remotely. If we never, ever have to hand him over the an anesthesiologist again it will be perfectly fine with me.

Poor Max started screaming the minute they put the hospital bracelet on him, and didn't stop until way after the dose of versed kicked in. Although I have to admit that Tom and I got a chuckle out of the fact that they didn't even ask us if we wanted it, they just ordered it. I supposed him kicking at and running away from the staff probably gave them their first clue.

The worst part? We know that he remembers. Somewhere, deep in his psyche, he remembers at least parts of the experiences he's had before. The sight of the blue hospital band triggered a fear and rage so deep that there was nothing we could do to console him.

Luckily, ear tubes and adenoids make for an easy, relatively quick surgery. He woke up from the anesthesia yelling "No Doctors! No Doctors!" but a dose of pain meds took care of everything relatively quickly. We hung out in the hospital until we could get him to drink something, and were more than happy to be headed home.

The afternoon was up and down. Once we finally got him to eat something he started acting a little bit more normal, and was even able to charm one of my violin students into asking "Didn't he have surgery today?" And while things got really ugly when the pain meds wore off, we dosed him up quickly, and got another good laugh out of our drugged up little boy falling asleep in his bowl of cereal.

I'm glad it's done and over with. Glad not to have to wait for weeks, dreading another surgery. Thankful that we're entering cold and flu season with a fresh set of tubes and less chances of ear infections for Max. But seriously. My poor little boy. I wish he could catch a break somewhere.

Oh, and that goes for our medical bills too.

Dear IHC: Just put this one one our tab, m'kay?

2011-09-01T22:43:00.000-06:00

It's quiet at my house.

All four children are sleeping. (For now. Knock on wood.)

I'm at a computer.

These are three very big, very rare events at my house.

I'd celebrate, but I don't want to wake anyone up.

So we're homeschooling. It's overwhelming, and joyful, and maddening, and exciting, and lots of other -ings all at once. I haven't yet figured out how to school the girls, help them both practice their instruments, take care of the babies, teach the lessons and make sure the house keeps functioning. It's a lot. There's always at least one someone who needs me. Whether it's Ashlynn who needs help with spelling words, or Abby who can't quite put together the passage in Fiocco Allegro, or Max who wants to play/get thrown in the air/needs a snack five minutes after breakfast ended or Ian who just NEEDS everything, I'm spread pretty thin.

My friend Morgan wrote this post today, and already said everything I was feeling. So you know, just head over there and pretend that I wrote that. It reminded me again that I chose this. I can make it what we need it to be. And we're only three weeks in. We'll be fine. There are bright spots.

For instance, I folded a million loads of laundry today, and was so obscenely proud of myself, (and impressed with my laundry stacking abilities) that I took a picture!

And, Ashlynn sat at the kitchen table completely unprompted today to work on a story she's been writing. She's taken her little composition book everywhere with her the past few days, and has written at least six pages of a story. Today she wrote uninterrupted for more than an hour. She was thrilled. So was I.

In other news, since my husband has been home for a record six days in a row, we bought a car. It's been in the works for a while, but now was the time. Not only because we're both in the same state, or because we got a screaming "Labor Day SALE SALE SALE!!!" deal, but because Tom's boss told him straight up that it wasn't acceptable for him to be one of the faces of his company driving the beat up gray Granny car he's been driving for the past three years. I don't understand what her problem was. After all, the bashes in the side of the car just added character, and the worn out muffler just made it so that we knew exactly when he was arriving home.

Just for the record, this picture shows only one of two huge dents placed in Tom's car by our oh-so-nice-neighbors, who not only find it incredibly difficult not to back into our car when they're pulling out of their driveway, but that much more sdifficult to actually REPORT it. I can't say that we'll miss our Gray Dodge. Especially not when there's a brand new, less than 100 miles on it, silver-blue Nissan sitting in the driveway.

Just to further complicate things, the baby took two steps Tuesday. And more yesterday. He's nine months old. It's not even funny. He's thrilled, and has proceeded to empty grabage cans, play in the toilet, pull books off the bookshelf like it's his mission in life, and whack his poor little head on everything in sight. He's obviously ignored my instructions to stay little for as long as possible. He's naughty that way. And if the kid would just sleep for more than an hour at a shot, I could probably conquer the world. Seriously, we suspect he's paying us back for all those easy naps we got when he was tiny.

Not to be outdone, Max has managed to cultivate what may be the world's worst ear infection. Did you know that ears stink when they get infected? Neither did I. But it's true. And it might just be the worst smell in the world. Because it's Max, we've been through a round of antibiotic drops, and have almost finished a course of oral antibiotics without much change. We got his ear cultured yesterday so we could get a better picture of what we're dealing with. The pediatrician thinks it might be staff or MRSA, but then said it would be "really rare" for that to show up in a child. Yup. She obviously isn't our regular pediatrician or she would know better than to say "really rare." She told us that it may be time to look at getting Max's adenoids and tonsils removed along with putting in a new set of tubes. We have an appointment back at Primary Children's Tuesday morning for an ENT consult. Sigh. I haven't missed the medical roller coaster AT ALL.

Maybe I should have the girls interview one of Max's doctors and call it a homeschooling project. Hmmm.

Not Back to School

2011-08-24T22:42:00.001-06:00

I have no computer. Sigh. My desktop and laptop were in the shop and I picked them up yesterday. Unfortunately, the laptop was not actually repaired, (Good thing we paid $75 bucks to have it fixed...) and I'm not smart enough to hook our desktop up, and my husband is still out of town. (This is week six of six straight on the road. Yes, we are excited to see him on days other than Saturday and Sunday.)

So blogging from the iPhone is fun, yes?

Tomorrow is the first day of school for the neighborhood. I just made waffle batter for our not-back-to-school breakfast. We've been going at the homeschool thing strong for almost 3 weeks now, and today was my first "Why did I think this was a good idea" day. Abby decided she needed 2 1/2 hours for spelling and vocabulary, then had to finish everything else in the van on the way to her first violin lesson of the new school year.

I'm still pretty convinced we're doing the right thing in keeping the girls home. But that doesn't mean I won't still wonder about it tomorrow morning around, say, 8:25 am.

I'll just crawl under my rock now

2011-08-16T21:30:00.000-06:00

So I have to know.

Have you ever had one of those days where you're feeling all put together and cute because you're wearing the cute new shirt you snagged when you were supposed to be back-to-school shopping, and then you're feeling proud of yourself because not only did you teach a bunch of violin lessons, but you practiced with two kids and then worked on grammar, vocabulary, math and spelling with them, and THEN you were ambitious/motivated/crazy enough to go to the post office, the copy store and the district office where you filled out your homeschooling affidavit,(gulp),only to come home and find the size sticker for that snazzy new shirt is still stuck on your shirt right over your right boob?

Me neither. That would be incredibly embarrassing.

(It was the left boob. And it might explain the looks of pity and the "You must have your hands full!" comments I got everywhere I went today.)

And now, for some poetry

2011-08-14T23:01:00.001-06:00

Scriptures read.

Prayers said.

Baby fed. (And fed, and fed)

Exhausted.

To bed.

Excuses, excuses

2011-08-10T21:18:00.001-06:00

Yes, I am still alive.

Barely.

As for my unexplained absence from the computer, I have some good excuses.

Wanna hear them? (Of course you do. I know you do. Why else do you come to my blog?)

Remember how we decided to homeschool? And how I worried that I was going to go a little crazy? Yeah. So here's the thing. I'm still convinced it's the right decision for our family, but I also think it's going to end up the kind of full-blown crazy that only my family can pull off.

We're homeschooling using k12. The great thing about it is that all your curriculum for the whole year is shipped to you free at the beginning of the school year. Some of the instruction is done online, but all the reading books, science experiments, and even a blow-up globe ended up on our porch on Monday afternoon courtesy of the UPS guy. My husband took one look at all the stuff strewn everywhere and quipped, "Are you sure they didn't send you everything for K through 12?"

I had great dreams of getting everything perfectly organized, catalogued, and ready for a grand and ceremonious start. The girls thought Monday's delivery was Christmas and wanted all the boxes opened at once. Abby begged to start homeschooling atleast 572 times before Monday was over. it was as good a time as any to introduce her to the word "perseverate."

This is what my floor looked like Monday afternoon. And this is after we unpacked two full boxes. Do me a favor and ignore the pile of laundry on the floor. I seem to have forgotten how much laundry is involved in a household of six, and Mt Idon'twannafoldlaundry had once again grown to epic proportions.

So now, two days later, we've worked on English literature, Math, Science, and Art. Still to come is grammar, vocabulary, spelling, and history. (Sheesh!) I'm still trying to figure out how the puzzle pieces all fit, and how we're going to do all of that plus the hours of practicing and lessons. Like I said, I had grand intentions of getting completely organized, and was going to type and display lists and schedules and lists of schedules, but since this is the first time in a week I've had a chance to sit down at the computer, naturally I'm blogging about it instead.

So why besides the pile of curriculum in my front room have I not been able to accomplish anything, you ask? Let me show you one little picture.

Yes, this would be my darling Ian, who at the time of this picture had just discovered the wonders of watermelon, taco meat, and fresh guacamole eaten off a spoon.

He looks very sweet. Looks are deceiving.

Remember how he was the easy baby? The baby that slept? Well, now it's all about Ian's revenge.

This little boy seems to have forgotten what it means to sleep, or at least sleep consistently. Where I used to be able to set a stopwatch by his naptimes, now we could have a two and a half hour nap, or a five minute nap. Who knows. And once he finally decides to wind down and sleep at night, I could be required to put him back to sleep 1-4 times or more before I finally give up and go to bed myself.

He's crawling everywhere, but his favorite is cruising along the furniture and walls at alarming speed. Today he reached the dubious milestone of learning to unroll entire rolls of toilet paper. Sigh.

And with all those milestones comes the sheer delight of separation anxiet and we have a wicked case in full swing. With three others, I thought I had seen my share of it, but this one might be the worst. Or maybe I've blocked out all the others, which is a distinct possibility. What I didn't remember is constantly having a weepy, sad, whining baby pulling himself up on your leg, or having that same clingy cling monster scream and try desperately to climb out of the shopping cart and into your arms in the grocery store just because a stranger dared to say "Hi" to him.

So I'm tired. Much too tired. Like probably more tired than when he was a newborn tired. And I know it will pass, and I have high hopes that he'll eventually sleep and that I won't have to nurse him back to sleep every 45 minutes all night long. (Last night I was half asleep and telling Ian "There's no more milk, baby, it's all gone." If only you could reason with an 8 month old...)

So tell me it will get better. Tell me I won't always feel this overwhelmed about homeschooling. Tell me I will sleep again someday. Tell me you're bringing me chocolate and Diet Coke. Tell me my husband might someday stop traveling. Tell me you understand. Tell me a joke. Tell me anything! (I might be a bit starved for adult interaction, can ya tell?)

Let the Wild Rumpus Start

2011-08-02T14:57:00.000-06:00

My girls are home!

And if you're thinking to yourself, "Wait. Since when does Stacy have 3 daughters?" I don't, really. She's the girls' best friend, K, and she may as well be mine. Let's just say that everyone is have a very joyous reunion. I don't know if I've heard this much giggling and squealing, since, well, ever.

My baby is crawling!

And I forgot how adorable crawling babies are, and how much trouble they can get in in no time flat. I turned my back the other day and found him in the bathroom with a tipped over garbage can eating a dirty diaper. Shudder. Guess this means I'm going to have to vacuum way more often. And re-teach the girls about the importance of closed bathroom doors.

And I have the cold from you know where. It has been hanging around off and on for the better part of two weeks, and yesterday I started sounding like an asthmatic dying from emphysema and ended up needing to break out this:

And my husband is who knows where. Phoenix? Vegas? Somewhere hot. But that's not really news, and I don't have a picture to go with it, (mostly because I can't, for the life of me, remember where he is,) so never mind.

No, Max!

2011-07-26T21:03:00.000-06:00

Ok, friends, do you know this book? You should.

It's one of our favorites, and has been for a long time. Poor little David is always getting into trouble. We read the books with the girls and found them both cute and charming.

Except now, we have our own little David. His name is Max. His antics as of late are neither cute, nor charming. We no longer read these books to Max for fear of giving him ideas.

Here are some of the latest gems. And I swear to you, all of these have come out of my real, live situations that have actually happened in the last few days. My only regret is that we don't have the hilarious illustrations to go with them.

No, Max. You may not strangle your brother with the vacuum cord.

No, Max. You may not strangle yourself with the string from your balloon either.

No, Max. You may not run behind the Panda Express counter to use their phone.

No, Max. We do not bite other people's toes.

No, Max. You may not empty out all the ice and water out of the soda cooler with your cup.

No, Max. You certainly may not spit your drink out in the soda cooler.

No, Max! You absolutely may not put your whole head in the soda cooler and drink the water!

and for the win....

No, Max! You may not strip all your clothes and diaper off while you're in the backyard and Mom is nursing the baby so that you can play in the puddled rainwater left in the upside down swimming pool stark naked! (Do you see the discarded diaper in the background? Priceless.)

Now if I only knew the phone number for David Shannon's editor...

Scattered

2011-07-21T21:07:00.000-06:00

Abby and Ashlynn have been in Kansas with their grandparents for almost three weeks.

Tom is traveling again, and if I have his agenda right, he's in Washington DC today and tomorrow.

It feels very strange to have my family scattered all over the country. It's just been me and the little boys all week long.

The first few days without the girls were amazingly quiet and peaceful. The boys went to bed early and we enjoyed having time to ourselves. Now, it just seems lonely. We miss them on Sunday nights when we make chocolate chip cookies and watch a movie, and I miss them on homemade pizza night when I have no one clamoring to help put the cheese on the pizza.

And I miss them at night, when I pass an empty room, and my mother's instinct feels unsettled because two of my children aren't home in their beds where they belong.

Don't get me wrong, they're having a great time. They're staying up late, eating tons of junk, and playing with the animals. Grandma is buying them many, many things, and we've only had one or two sad calls home.

As for my husband, well, let's just say I'm doing my best to be the supportive wife. A few years ago, I had a friend whose husband traveled every other week, and I always shook my head and wondered how she did it. Now I can say from first hand experience, it ain't easy. Especially on days like today when I have a nasty cold, two cranky boys, and no one to hand them off to at 6:00.

This truly has been the summer of many travels. I'm ready for everyone I love to come home and be settled under one roof for a while. Tom's traveling weekly until late August. He'll be home on the weekends, but will be racking up the frequent flier miles traveling all over the country until then.

And while I enjoy having life be somewhat calmer and slower paced for a bit, and like that macaroni and cheese becomes a gourmet dinner when there's only Max to impress, I've decided that I'd rather have the scattered pieces of my heart back home where they belong.

You're going to miss this

2011-07-18T17:05:00.000-06:00

I'm sure I won't surprise anyone when I say that mothering small children is hard.

As my nine year old would say, "Duh, Mom."

There are the times you've been up all night for so many nights in a row that you don't know what it would feel like to sleep for more than two hours in a stretch. There are times when you're covered head to toe in someone else's bodily fluids and there are times where the noise level in your home rivals that of a jet engine at takeoff. There are times where your doctor and prescription copays roughly equal your grocery budget for the month as well as times where you're so buried in laundry and housework that you think it might be easier to just firebomb your house to the ground and start over.

Inevitably, when I'm ready to resign from motherhood forever and run away to the nearest tropical island, someone tells me: "Just wait. You'll miss this someday when your kids are grown and gone." There's been a great discussion going on over on Steph's blog about this very thing. She mentions this quote by President Monson:

“If you are still in the process of raising children, be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled will disappear all too soon and that you will—to your surprise—miss them profoundly.”

Every time I read this quote or hear someone say anything resembling "You're going to miss this," I alternately want to laugh or shake them. What am I going to miss? Being so exhausted that I can't think straight? Feeling like my head is going to explode when my girls are singing the latest stupid song at the top of their lungs? Sweeping Cheerios, dead grass, clumps of dirt and who knows what off my kitchen floor three times a day? I honestly don't think I'll miss any of those things.

I've been thinking about this idea a lot the past few days. Here's what I've decided: First, when President Monson says "You will miss them profoundly" I really think he's talking about the children and not the fingerprints and dirty laundry. I am not at all attached to the dirty laundry or the toys that seem to multiply and scatter everywhere. Second, I'm thinking that I'll probably miss more about having young kids than I realize.

I'll miss Ian's light up the room smile every time he sees me, even if I've only been gone for two minutes.

I'll miss Max's crazy head of curls, because I know it's only a matter of time before he'll want it cut short.

I'll miss Ashlynn reaching up to hold my hand when we go running errands.

I'll miss my talks with Abby on the forever longs drives to violin and back.

I'll miss kissing the soft cheeks of my little boys, and blowing kisses on their tummies to screams of giggles.

I'll miss rocking and nursing a baby. There are no words for how peaceful and contented it feels to have a baby fall asleep in my arms or over my shoulder.

I'll miss cuddling with my little boys and watching them close their eyes as they fall asleep.

I'll miss messy faces,

and even messier hair.

I'll miss watching my my girls take such joy in making their little brothers laugh, reading to them, or playing silly games.

I'll miss how a $20 wading pool can keep everyone in the neighborhood happy for hours on end, and I'll miss the squeals of joy when they jump into a pool full of cold water from the hose.

I'll miss watching Ian trying to eat the cat, the basketball, and most recently, Dad's head as he was riding on his shoulders.

I'll miss handsome boys and beautiful girls dressed in Sunday best.

I'll miss my kids dressed in whatever they manage to find around the house, and how Max is convinced that the only true pair of flip flops is a mis-matched pair of flip flops.

I'll miss how Max says "Fip Fops."

I'll miss little boys splashing in the bathtub together, and lifting them out of the bathtub, clean, fresh, warm, and smelling like baby shampoo.

I'll miss finding random pictures on my cell phone.

I'll miss bedtime stories and endless repetitions of all things Mo Willems.

I'll miss ice cream covered faces.

I'll miss infectious baby giggles, and how once you get a baby giggling, you'll do all you can to keep them giggling. I love how when the girls hear Ian belly laughing, they'll come running from wherever they are in the house to see what is so funny.

I'll miss Sunday afternoon walks, games of UNO with the girls after the boys go to bed, and our weekly batch of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven.

I'll miss being able to fix the bumps, bruises and various owies with a kiss, some cuddles, and a bandaid.

I already miss the tiny newborns snuggled up right underneath your chin, with their impossibly small clothes, and their fingernails barely big enough to see.

I'll miss them looking to me with their eyes full of trust, as if I have all the answers and can make all the problems go away.

I'll miss the milestones: the rolling over, crawling, walking, riding a bike, the sheer wonder in discovering the world for the first time.

I'll miss the girls coming to cuddle up right next to me while we're watching a movie or reading scriptures.

I'll miss Max climbing up on my lap and asking "More tickles?"

I'll miss the crazy, rambling stories the girls tell.

I'll miss hours and hours spent at every park in our town, and how all it takes it 20 minutes on the swings and slides to turn the day around.

I'll miss Ashlynn's letters and drawings left on my bed, in my drawers or on the refrigerator saying "I love you Mom!"

I'll miss watching my kids turn into people with their own personalities, likes and dislikes, dreams and goals.

I'll miss watching my kids interact with, take care of, and love each other.

So maybe I won't miss the piles of dirty dishes, the endless trips to the pediatrician, or the mountains of laundry. (Will those ever really go away?) But maybe President Monson was on to something. Because I think there are a lot of things I will miss profoundly.

What will you miss the most?

Sweet Summer

2011-07-15T09:32:00.000-06:00

Fresh strawberries just harvested from the garden.

Fresh strawberries from the garden in Ian's mouth. And all over his arms, face, hair, bib, high chair tray, clothing....

Who's raising these kids anyway?

2011-07-11T15:39:00.000-06:00

The good news: My girls, as well as my Mother in Law and Father in Law, are all still alive and enjoying each other.

The bad news: We're missing them. Especially Max, who walks around daily calling "Abby! Where are you? Ashlynn! Where are you?" He misses his entertainment committee. So do I, because frankly, you can only get climbed on by the two year for so long before it stops getting cute and starts getting really obnoxious.

The embarassing news: We were checking in with Grandma a few days ago and she told us: "Well, I just thought I should tell you that right after we got in the car and were starting to leave Grand Junction, almost the first words out of Ashlynn's mouth were 'Grandma, what's a c_ndom?' I told her that was a discussion that she needed to have with her parents, but I just wanted you to know that she might be asking."

Nice job, Ashlynn. Way to make us look like good, open minded, concerned parents who protect their children from all evil influences.

Well, now I know what we're going to be talking about when they get back...

Happy 7th of July!

2011-07-07T10:41:00.000-06:00

OK, I know I'm three days late and way too many dollars short to count, but have we had some craziness over here! The good kind of crazy, but crazy is crazy, and when you add any kind of crazy to the crazy we already have, well, you get the picture.

A week ago, my darling Ashlynn, my born on the freeway baby, turned 8. How this is possible, I don't know, but there was no way on earth she was going to let us forget it. Turning 8 is a big deal when you're a Mormon, so not only did I find myself planning for a birthday, but also a birthday party, an activity for her actual birthday, ("What are we going to do for my actual birthday, Mom? Because I know we're having a party on Friday and my baptism on Saturday, but what are we going to do for my actual birthday? Because it's my actual birthday and we have to do something!") a baptism and brunch afterwards, but also planning to get out of town for our annual 4th of July in Torrey, and then prepping to drop the girls off for a few weeks with Tom's parents in Kansas. Did I mention that all of this took place last week while my husband was out of town?

Yeah, crazy.

So in the spirit of the good blogger mom, I sat Ashlynn down and "interviewed" her for my blog, which made her all excited because she was "going to be famous on mom's blog." Love that kid. She's so good for my ego.

Favorite food: Fried chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers.
Favorite color: Blue
Favorite Movie: "Chestnut" (Huh? I've never even heard of this movie!)
Favorite TV Show: "Good Luck Charlie" (The whole family watches this one. Including Tom.)
Favorite Music: Taylor Swift
Best thing to do for a birthday party: Go to Seven Peaks and then have a sleepover.
Favorite Thing to Do With Family: "The fun things we do together. But not chores."
Most exciting thing about being 8: Getting baptized.

So Wednesday, Ashlynn's actual birthday, I rounded up a bunch of friends and suckered them into coming to Trafalga with me. If you're wondering, 1 pm on Wednesday is not the best time to go to Trafalga with a bunch of little kids without your husband. It was hot, sticky, crowded, and Max had approximately 32 meltdowns by the time we left. The big kids had fun, though, and when all the adults had had their fill of the screaming and whining, we piled more kids than legally should have fit in our and headed home for pizza and a movie. Ashlynn declared it the most fun birthday ever, so it must have been ok.

Friday, I wrangled up most of the same friends (why are they all still friends with me?!) and we headed to Seven Peaks. I was incredibly proud of myself for getting all four kids ready and out the door a few mimutes early, until I realized I had no idea where my wallet was. We searched the house. We searched the car. Then I remembered that I had taken all four kdis to Target with me the day before and I sighed, knowing that we were going to be heading to Seven Peaks in Provo via a Target in Salt Lake. Luckily, my wallet was intact, and we made it just over an hour late. Remarkably, we all had a good time, and no one got lost, sunburned or drowned, so I'm counting it a grand success.

Baptism day dawned bright and very early. Ashlynn was bouncing off the walls, and Tom and I were propping our eyes open with toothpicks. I had been up until an obscene hour cooking for the brunch, and Tom's flight from whereeverhewasthatweek didn't even get into the airport until after midnight.

There is something very special about watching your child so excited for such a milestone. Ashylnn's smile already can light up a room, but on Saturday morning, she was grinning from ear to ear non-stop. My mom made Ashlynn's dress, and it was amazing. Ashlynn picked out the pattern, and my mom had no idea the amount of work that was going to go in it- there was 9 yards of lace in the skirt alone! In a happy coincidence, the fabric that my mom picked for the baptism dress was the exact same fabric that she picked for her blessing dress 8 years before. Once Ash gets too big for the baptism dress, I'm going to have them both preserved for her.

The service itself was intiamte and sweet. Ashlynn played the opening song on the piano, which had me crying before two notes were up, and Abby impressed me with her ability to put together a musical number in less than a week. Being with Ashlynn after the baptism, helping her back into her dress, gave me an inkling of what it will be like to help her into her wedding dress in a few short years.

Brunch was a success, and a few hours later, we threw everything in our van and headed to Torrey for our annual Fourth of July party. Unfortunately, the town of Torrey decided to do all their celebrating on Saturday, so we missed the pie eating contest and the parade, but we made our own fun. We rode four wheelers, we played in the water, we napped and relaxed, and we shot off a lot of fireworks. Neither of the boys appreciated them, and one of the funniest moments of the whole trip came when Max announced "I so scared! I go inside and go to bed!"

It turns out that we're not great picture takers. When I came home and started downloading pictures from the weekend, I realized that we had taken a grand total of one picture the whole weekend.

That's Ian, passed out asleep. He was fed up with being in the carseat on the way there, so out of desperation, I gave him the cookie part of an Oreo. It may not be the most nutritionally sound choice, but it obviously did the trick.

Two days later, we were back in the car. Tom's parents live on a farm in Kansas, and we don't get to spend much time with them. The girls have been begging to see the farm, the grandparents have been begging to see the girls, so we met up with them in Grand Junction, CO. After spending the ngiht playing together, Grandma and Grandpa took Abby and Ashlynn and went East, and we took the boys and headed West. The girls are thrilled to be spending time on a real farm. There are at least 3 litters of kittens, 4 dogs, 20 chickens, a bunch of horses and cows, and a duck. They're staying for about three weeks, give or take. Which makes for a very quiet ride home and an oddly empty house.

So there you have it. We've never had such a nutty summer, but for us, the traveling is over. Max and Ian and I are going to hang out, go swimming, and try and dig ourselves out of the 7 loads of laundry that are piled all over the house. (And I would love to know how one 3 day trip can turn into 7 loads of laundry! Seriously! It defied the laws of physics.) Tom is going to travel to whereeverhesgoingthisweek and we'll see him when we see him.

And we're definitely going to nap. *Yawn*

My name is Stacy and...

2011-06-27T10:42:00.000-06:00

I'm addicted to sleep.

My kids are trying their hardest to break me of that addiction, but it's so hard.

Some days, it's all I can think about. I obsess over whether or not I can sneak in a nap, fight the heavy eyes that inevitably arrive around 5pm, and swear every day that this will be the night that I'm going to bed as soon as the kids do.

The cravings for sleep become especially bad around 5:30 am, when my bright sunny baby boy takes the "break mom from her sleeping habit" shift and keeps me awake until it's time to get ready for the day, at which time Ian gets to go back to bed and the other kids take over.

Nice of Ian to be pulling his weight, right?

Things went especially well last Friday, when Ian's wakeup call came at 5am courtesy of a wet diaper soaked to his armpits. Once I changed him, he was all kicks and grins. I groaned, realizing I was done sleeping for the night, and hauled downstairs so the other four people snoring upstairs could continue sleeping in peace. (And yes, I did shoot daggers at all of them as I went downstairs.) By 6:30, the other kids were stirring and Ian was ready to go back to bed. All I wanted was to close my eyes for a few minutes. I told the girls to watch Max and went back upstairs. Just as I had drifted back into my oh-so-peaceful slumber, I was awoken by the shrieking of the smoke detector.

Do you have any idea how alarming (yes, pun intended,) that is?

Abby had decided to make eggs for breakfast.

Needless to say, she is no longer allowed to use the stove without an adult present, and our house smelled like burned eggs for the rest of the day. (Yummy!)

I don't think I've actually slept through the night since somewhere around 2006. I don't think my poor body knows how to sleep that long anymore.

So like I said, I'm obviously an addict. If they have a 12 step program, sign me up. Just think how much I could get done if I didn't have to sleep every day!

Naps are wasted on the young. They never appreciate them.

We went to Hawaii, did you know?

2011-06-22T11:00:00.000-06:00

I know you all want to hear all about it. I've decided that blogging about vacations has become the virtual equivalent of strapping someone down and forcing them to watch your slide show.

We managed to leave 3 out of 4 kids with Grandma and Grandpa. Everyone said "Oh, I'm so sorry you had to take your baby." I wasn't. First of all, easy is always one less than you currently have. So taking one out of four? Piece of cake. And second, Ian and I are pretty attached. Literally. So Ian became our interpid little traveler. And he really only hated the first flight, so that was something.

Our first day was tourist day, and when we were hungry we decided to sample some of the local eats. It was my goal to eat my way through Hawaii.

A local delicacy, apparently. Rice, seaweed, eggs, and spam. Really, it wasn't nearly as revolting as it sounds.

We were obedient little diners. That may just have been the best shrimp I have ever eaten.

We loved to see the temple.

We headed over to the Polynesian Cultural Center where I managed to get myself tatooed,

Tom threw spears,

Ian ate camera straps,

And charmed everyone he came into contact with.

We hit the beach, where Ian ate sand and adventured into the ocean. He didn't like it much.

We also sampled some of Honolulu's night life, where we got suckered into holding two giant parrots and then were expected to give a giant tip.

And Ian learned to sleep everywhere, including his stroller.

After a few days on Oahu, we left our hotel and our glorius view of the beach,

And flew to Maui, where we found oursleves in another spectacular hotel, with a magnificent view, that only looks like a postcard.

It turns out the Celestial Kingdom has been hiding on Maui all along. Who knew? It had a much different feel than Oahu, and we loved it there. We're already scheming a way to get back.

I love this picutre. We had just gotten done swimming, (when I said Ian could fall asleep anywhere, Iw asn't kidding. He fell asleep in the swimming pool!) and he was curled up asleep on me. I had a book, and was just setttling in when this wonderful woman appeared out of nowhere and asked me what she could get me to drink. I asked her what they had and she told me she could get me anything I wanted. So the nice magic lady brought me a raspberry smoothie, a container of gourmet chips, and I was in heaven. Beach? check. Sleeping baby? Check. Warm sun? Check. Fruity drink? Check. The only thing missing was someone fanning me with palm fronds. We snorkeled with sea turtles, people! Sea turtles! Hands down, one fo the coolest things I've ever done in my life.

So the truth is, Hawaii is all its cracked up to be. We loved every minute of it. Okay, except for the four flights and four airports it took to get us home. But you can bet we'll be making our way back there as soon as possible. Because seriously folks, it doesn't get much better than Maui.

Extreme Violining: Year 15 (And a Winner!)

2011-06-15T22:43:00.000-06:00

I have a winner for the mymemories.com software giveaway! Sorry it's late- I've moved into my parents' house for the week and am computerless. Well, except for my trusty phone, which I'm learning is super annoying to write a blog post on.

Anyway, the winner as chosen by random.org is commenter #11- Shar! Shar, send me an email and I'll let you know what you need to do.

So this week, we're once again at our favorite violin institute. For the uninitiated, it's basically an intense week-long violin camp. Today I think Abby clocked roughly 6 hours of playing, and then another 1.5 of practice outside of her classes. It's a long week. Add to that major jet lag, a vacation hangover, and a baby whose sleep schedule has been shot all to Hell, and you get the recipe for what we had today: epic meltdowns from all three kiddos. (And no, I didn't miscount, Ashlynn was lucky enough to escape the madness this year and stay home with Dad.)

In all fairness, we love our institute. Abby is more driven than she's ever been before, and is having a ball. I'm trying to keep the baby happy, and chatting it up with all my violin friends. Max is hanging in the day care, and Ian is convinced that he can't possibly sleep more than two hours in a shot. I figured out today that this is my 15th or 16th year at ISSI, and while it's a lot of work, it's also an amazing experience for her and for me.

And I do have Hawaii pics. And I know you all want to see them and hear about how the Celestial Kingdom has been hiding on Maui all this time. But all I have is an iPhone, and I'm pretty convinced I couldn't find a power cord to my camera if I tried, so you'll just have to wait.

In the meantime, listen to about 367 versions of Twinkle and then you can feel like you're right her with me!

Paradise Found

2011-06-09T13:22:00.000-06:00

This is the view from my hotel balcony, taken about 5 minutes ago.

This too. We have a really big balcony.

So far, we've eaten ourselves sick, spent the day at the Polynesian Cutural Center, and taken the baby to the beach. He loved the sand, but the waves in his face weren't his favorite.

It's paradise.

Right now, my husband is at his convention, the baby is taking a long-overdue nap, and I'm going to go enjoy a fruity drink, a novel, and the sound of waves crashing on the beach.

A confession and a GIVEAWAY!!!

2011-06-06T09:17:00.000-06:00

OK folks, I have a confession to make.

Are you ready?

I'm a Mormon Mommy Blogger

AND

I don't scrapbook.

I know. I can hear the gasps from here. It's practically written into my religion isn't it? Every good Mormon mom must make funeral potatoes, have big hair, and scrapboook.

I've just never gotten into it.

Don't get me wrong. I think scrapbooks are awesome. I love looking at the layouts other people do, and admiring the creativity and hours of painstaking work that must have gone into every page. My sister does amazing scrapbooks, and I've often joked that I would hire her in a heartbeat to put ours together. Problem is, I don't know that I actually have that kind of money!

BUT.

I had a chance to review an awesome digital scrapbook program. Now this, this is something I could really get into. Sitting at the computer? Check. Pressing a button to choose all the cute page layouts, decorations, fonts, and none of it involving scissors or whatever that fancy little paper-cutting machine is called? Check. Idiot proof? Hey, if I can make it work, anyone can.

So check this out. Within an hour of downloading the program for their site, (which was incredibly easy,) I was creating scrapbook pages. They have album after album of layouts you can choose, and everything you could ask for was at the click of the mouse.

Now, being as I'm a scrapbooking novice, to be honest, I didn't know what half the buttons and options were for. But that's what makes this program great- if I can use it, then certainly anyone can, whether you have a lot or no experience! The bonus is, if I made a mistake or it was something I didn't like, I just clicked the little "undo" arrow- there was no re-cutting, re-gluing, or saying naughty words and throwing the ruined page in the trash. In fact, I'm really excited to put my girls in front of it and see what they can do. Maybe they should make their own baby books!

Here's the fun part: I get to give a copy of this away, totally free! (And it's my first ever giveaway, so I'm super excited!) It's a digital download, so you'll be creating in no time. Here's the rules: (you could probably all recite them by now!)

**One entry for hopping on over to mymemories.com and telling me what your favorite was.

**A second entry for following me. (Gotta stroke my ego somehow!) Let me know if you already do- that counts too!

That's it folks. That's all there is to it! Contest will run until next Monday, June 13th, at 9 pm or whenever I manage to get on the computer.

OH! And the folks at mymemories.com are giving a $10 discount if you order the software with this coupon code: STMMMS32773. Go check it out. I promise its cool.

And with that, I'm boarding a plane with my husband and baby son, who is too little to leave, (I don't have anyone who loves me enough to keep a 6 month old exclusively breastfeeding baby for a week. I can't blame them!) for a week in Hawaii. Here's the best part: because it's a working trip for my husband, everything, including my airfare is free! And, he works in "destination management" which means we're going to be staying in five star resort hotels. I may never come home. Whee!

Disclosure: While I was given a free copy of the software to review, all the opinions are mine.

Three for Thursday

2011-06-02T12:03:00.003-06:00

1. Three of my favorite Pandora.com stations:
-Glee! This one has been on a lot lately. What can I say? Ian likes it when I sing showtunes at the top of my lungs!
- Lily Allen, Regina Spektor, Coldplay. Love it!
- Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

2. Three lessons learned since I have graduated from high school:
- Being the grownup isn't all the fun and freedom that you thought it was.
- You might not ever actually feel like the grownup.
- People are more important than things. (Still working on this one.)

3. Three people I was remembering on Memorial Day:
- Both my grandmas, one who passed away about three years ago, and one recently.
- My two brothers who died almost three years ago.
- My sister, who lives too stinkin' far away!

4. Three favorite Youtube videos:
-This one. But be warned, it's a little dirty. And not at all appropriate for kiddos. But it's really funny.
-This one has been making the rounds on Facebook. It makes me smile because I don't remember the last time I slept without at least one little person next to me.
-There are lots of homebirth videos on Youtube, and I probably watched hundreds when I was pregnant. Love this one.

5. Three bad habits
- Staying up too late when I have to teach lessons at 6:15 am.
- Playing too much on the iPhone.
- Eating just because it's there.

6. Three foods I will NEVER put in my mouth
- Olives
- Cottage Cheese (I literally just shuddered thinking about it!)
- Shark/squid/eel I love seafood, but for some reason, that just takes it a little bit too far!

7. Three things that sounded like a good idea at the time
- Buying a tiny townhome in 2008, thinking it was just going to be for a year and a half, two tops.
- Taking Max to Chick-fil-a.
- Taking the kids on a trip when my husband was in Germany.

8. Three things that make me a “mean mom” (aka a GOOD mom)
- Consistent Bedtimes.
- Teaching responsibility through chores and music practicing.
- Letting them learn some things the hard way.

9. Three Pictures:

Ian, helping Mom fold the laundry. The shot could also be called "Look at my cute dimple!"

He was supposed to be sleeping. He didn't get the memo.

This was a house in my neighborhood a few days ago. Things that make you go "huh?"

10. Three things I'm supposed to do today:
- Teach lots of violin lessons.
- Fold laundry so that we all have clean undies to wear tomorrow.
- Start checking off my "to-do before we leave for Hawaii" list. It's a long list. But it's Hawaii. I can work with a long to-do list.

OK, that was fun. I got the idea from Wonderwoman, who got the idea from Evelyn, where I'm linking up. Happy Thursday!

Find a Friend Friday!

2011-05-27T09:30:00.003-06:00

One of my favorite bloggers is Steph over at Diapers and Divinity. I'm pretty sure she is spying on my life with her posts most days. With every post I find myself nodding, smiling, laughing, and being inspired by the topics she tackles. She has a feature on Fridays where she spotlights a blogger, and today, it's me!

Ta da!

So head on over to read my interview and learn more about me than you ever really wanted to know. And stop and hang out there for awhile. You'll love it, I promise.

And if you're visiting today for the first time, thanks for coming! Pull up a chair and stay awhile. You might have to throw some laundry on the floor to make room to sit down, but the Diet Coke is cold, the treats are plentiful, the company is good, and the kids are free to run wild.

Is it worth it?

2011-05-25T22:44:00.000-06:00

A few months back, I got this comment on my second ever blog post:

I know this is an old post but I just found your blog searching for Suzuki violin mom blogs. I was reading this post and heard all the same questions I constantly ask myself about how much to do for my 8yo talented violinist. It is really difficult balancing all the kids' activities, time, and resources. Just wondering, now, a couple years later, what your thoughts are?

This question has been bouncing around in my brain ever since.

When I wrote that original post, Abby was mid-way through Suzuki Violin Book 3, we had just moved, started with a brand new teacher, and I had one tiny medically needy baby. Now, two and a half years later, Abby is a lesson away from starting Suzuki Violin Book 6, a member of her teacher's advanced performing group, Rocky Mountain Strings, and we have a nearly eight year old, a crazy toddler and a baby. In short, things have only gotten more intense.

This has been a huge year for Abby. I don't think either of us realized the time and energy committment that RMS would require. Along with all of her regular scales, excercises, etudes and Suzuki pieces, she learned, polished and memorized 12 or so pieces for RMS, as well as another 8 or so for her teacher's Book 3-5 group.

We were in Salt Lake for lessons and group rehearsals at least six times a month, each trip a minimum three hour committment, often much longer. Because Max is two, and way too energetic to sit through an hour long lesson without destroying our teacher's studio, and Ashlynn is too cool for anything relating to violin, each trip to Salt Lake meant a babysitter. I traded discounts on violin lessons for my students for babysitting on lesson and group days, which helped, but the lessons, driving, babysitting, instrument maintenance, music, and the inevitable meals out after a late rehearsal took an enormous toll on our budget.

It's been an up and down year as far as practicing has gone too. Abby's nine. She's good at it. She's full of pre-teen emotions, mood swings and unpredictability. I feel for her, I really do. I remember being that age vividly, crying at the drop of a hat for no reason, feeling like the whole world was against me, and no one was asking me to play incredibly advanced violin music! There were mornings that things went really well and we made a lot of progress, and there were mornings that weren't so great. To be perfectly honest, there were lots of mornings when I would stand on our middle floor, listening to Abby practicing scales upstairs and Ashlynn practicing piano downstairs, and think "I don't even like music. Why are we doing this?"

A lot of mornings we struggled to work together. Really, our story isn't unique. Abby likes the violin, but hates practicing every day, especially when there are so many more things she could be doing that are more interesting. She wants me to practice with her, and does much better when I can sit with her while she practices, but our busy household doesn't always allow for that. And then when I do sit with her, she gets annoyed with every suggestion I make, and then I get annoyed that she's not grateful that I'm there helping her. None of this is helped by the fact that practicing is supposed to start at 7 am and last for an hour and a half at which time she has to leave for school!

Much of the RMS music this year was incredibly difficult. Her teacher handed us a "West Side Story" medley that was composed specifically for her group, and I was incredulous. There was no way Abby was going to be able to learn that. Then her teacher said we had a month, and I thought her teacher was crazy. Turns out, we can do incredible things under pressure. In March, her teacher handed Abby the 1st violin part to another crazy hard piece. I looked at it and realized that I wouldn't have been able to play it without some diligent practicing. That time, we had three weeks to get it learned and memorized, and it nearly killed all of us.

There have been lots of tears this year, hers and mine. Lots of times where I asked myself if it was worth it. There were a few times where my husband and I wondered if we really should throw in the towel and let her quit. And I'd be lying if I said there weren't times when I resented it. Resented the time, the travel, the energy, the obscene amount of money, and all the times the entire family had to be rearranged to accomodate a rehearsal, a lesson, or a performance. Resented that we were making all these financial and time sacrifices and she didn't even seem to appreciate them. (In retrospect, she's nine years old! What did I expect her to do? Fall at my feet crying with gratitude?)

So why have we done it? Why have we gone to such great lengths? Is it worth it?

Yes. Despite the tears, the struggles, the fights, the yelling, and the wondering if she's ever going to hold her bow correctly.

I've watched Abby grow so much this year. She's turning into a sensitive, capapble musician. She's an incredible note reader, a great leader, and very confident in her skills. She's learned so much about taking a huge project and breaking it down into managable chunks. She has gained so much confidence.

And she loves RMS. Loves it. There's something so special for her about being a part of a group and making music together. She's one of the youngest kids in there, and idolizes the older girls and has a "secret" crush on one or two of the older boys. She has made fast friends with three of the other girls that are all with the same teacher and around the same level, and it's so fun to see the four of them giggling together.

Abby with her friends E, N, and A. These four are inseperable!

Abby was really in her element during the overnight concert tour a few weeks ago- it reminded me of all the fun memories I made touring with my music groups in High School.

Her final RMS concert of the year was last week. She was glowing, beaming with excitement. Along with Tom, Ashlynn, Ian and I, (we left Max with a babysitter because, well, if an hour lesson is torture, an hour and a half concert would be suicide!) my parents, one of their friends, and my brother were all there cheering her on. She loved it, the audience all loved it, and I bawled. Through almost the whole thing. I knew every note of every one of Abby's parts, but hearing her play as part of the group, and seeing her smiles of satisfaction was so fulfilling.

So yes, it's worth it. The endless driving, the fast food, the late nights, the practice struggles, the money. It's damn hard. But it's worth it to see my little girl turn from someone who takes violin lessons into a musician. To see her have a place where she can fit in and belong. To watch her find true joy in performing. It's worth it. Even at 7 am.

Learn something new every day

2011-05-24T22:44:00.001-06:00

I planned a profound, educational, wisdom-filled post for today. Honest.

Unfortunately, today kicked my butt.

By 11:00 am, I had already practiced with two kids of my own, taught four violin lessons, (two of them to four year olds!) and made lunch. Still on the agenda? Well child check ups for the boys, Abby's school talent show, and three more violin lessons.

I'm exhausted. I should be in bed.
But right now, at 10:25 pm, I'm basking in my very first "me-time" of the entire day. You know, the first time where I'm actually sitting by myself, with no little people (or husbands!) clinging to me, talking to me, pooping on me, or needing something from me.

And I'm enjoying it very much.

But despite its busy-ness, today was actually very educational. For example, I learned that:

~Seven violin lessons in one day is far too many. Especially if three of those seven are four year old violin students.

~You might need a violin if you're planning to play it in the school talent show. Go figure, right?

~And duh, it's always Mom's job to take care of things like that.

~There are at least two coats, and probably many more, that belong to us in the school's lost and found.

~My Baby Ian weighs in at 18 lbs 2 oz at the ripe old age of six months. I always get unreasonably proud when I look at his chubby thighs, because I did that. I created and nourished every bit of that.

~My boys have impeccable timing. Ian pooped all over everything right before we entered the doctor's office. Yes, I'm the good mom that brought the kid to the pediatrician with the exploding diaper. And then Ian barfed on the pediatrician right before Max proceeded to fill his diaper. All in a day's work.

~And possibly most importantly, I learned that if I ignore and neglect the overflowing basket of dirty laundry long enough, my husband will haul it all downstairs and start a load for me, without being asked. Don't try this at home. Your mileage may vary.

There. Now that I've quite literally aired my dirty laundry, don't you feel better about the state of your life. You're welcome. Consider it my public service for the night. I'll be back with something intelligent tomorrow. I promise.

I could probably find the kitchen sink if I looked hard enough

2011-05-18T22:05:00.000-06:00

So I lost my wallet.

Not my purse, just my wallet. And I turned my house upside down looking for it. Here's the funny thing- my house was actually clean from top to bottom, so it wasn't hiding under piles of shoes, backpacks, dirty clothes or anything else that piles up at my house.

And unlike the other day when my nine year old thought it would be funny to hide the car keys, throwing me into a tearful panic, and leaving me no option except to call the school in desperation, hoping against hope that she had seen the keys when she cleaned the basement, (Do you have any idea what an inept mom I felt like calling the elementary school to talk to my third grader to ask if she'd seen my keys? Yeah, it was a special motherhood moment. Except then she had seen them, and had HID THEM, and I felt all kinds of vindicated!) neither one of my girls had seen my wallet.

And then I found it. Want to hear the bad part? It was in my purse. Right where it belongs.

Want to know why I couldn't find it?

Because it was buried amongst:

~Approximately 40 coupons. (Someday, I'm determined I'm going to save real, live money using coupons. It would probably help if I actually removed them from of my purse...)

~3 diapers. (Yes, they were clean.)

~Two grocery store receipts.

~One brand new pair of toddler socks. (I don't think I even remember buying those, let alone stashing them in my purse...)

~One small, plastic, inflatable ball. (Don't knock it. It was given to Max once when we had Ian in the clinic to be suctioned. That little ball has entertained all of us at many a doctor visit.)

~Three McDonald's Happy Meal toys. (I have no idea how those got in there. Honest.)

~An unactivated Gymboree frequent customer card.

~One matchbox car

~4 Jolly Ranchers. (How long have those been in there?)

~One of Max's t-shirts. (If I looked long enough, I probably could have found the rest of his wardrobe!)

and here's the kicker:

~A cord and sensor to a pulse-ox machine.

There's actually a story behind that one. Last time we were at the hospital with Max, the very nice Respiratory Therapist, (who I now know by name and who recognized us when we saw her around town last weekend,) offered to let us keep the pulse-ox cord and the attatched sensor. I looked at her strangely until she mentioned that they would just have to throw it away if we didn't take it with us, and if we brought it with us the next time we were in the hospital, it would save us about $60 or so.

That's right, folks, all of our hospitalizations from now on will be BYOPOE: Bring Your Own Pulse Ox Equpment They might get away with charging us obscene amounts of money just for breathing air in the ER, they might bill our insurance $5 for every pediatric dose of Advil, but we're one step ahead of them. We're bring our own disposable medical supplies! That's us. Beating the system every way we can.

(And how ridiculous is it that I'm actually saving it, because knowing us, it will probably end up saving us money in the not-too-distant future! I can't wait to see the look on the Doctor's face when he or she starts to hook up whichever child is in crisis, and I make them wait while I rummage through my magic purse and produce my own cord. It will be very funny. Or at least it is in my head.)

I bet you're jealous that you don't have any major medical equipment in your purse.

And I bet you're thinking I should clean out my purse. You're probably right.

What a difference four kids makes

2011-05-15T10:38:00.000-06:00

Kid #1: You dutifully wait until six months on the dot. You buy a box of rice cereal, mix it with some breastmilk, sit the baby in the brand new highchair, put on the bib that matches her outfit, and feed her a few spoonfuls of rice cereal, documenting the glorius milestone with 329 pictures.

Kid #4: You decide, when your baby is almost six months, that you are way too embarrased to admit that your baby's first solid food may or may not have been a french fry stolen from you, or a taste of ice cream that he face planted into when he wanted to know what was so yummy. You plop him down in the highchair, (by now covered with the fossilzed remains of three other children,) grab a ripe banana from the counter, and feed him a few mushy spoonfuls, remembering only at the very end to capture his "Mom, are you trying to kill me?" looks with your phone's camera.

Not so sure about this.

Nope, not gonna do it.

Just give me the french fries and ice cream instead!

To my kids, in honor of Mother's Day

2011-05-09T22:21:00.000-06:00

Dear Abby~

You made me a mom for the first time. You taught me what unconditional love meant as I held you, nursed you, rocked you and paced the floor for hours on end. You taught me to slow down- that afternoons spent nursing, rocking, reading, and napping were more important than anything else. You taught me to parent with my gut, because you had no intention of following a schedule, a routine, or some child raising manual that you had never seen. You've put up with me as we've stumbled through this first-time parenting/first child gig together. I've watched you grow as a musician, friend, sibling, and I'm so proud of how much you want to do what's right and how you work to please everyone. You have so much love and happiness in your heart, and I'm so proud of the person you're becoming.

Dear Ashylnn~

From the suprise positive pregnancy test, to your surpise entrance into this world on the side of the freeway, you've always kept us on our toes. When you were a baby, you helped teach me how to manage with less sleep, energy and patience than I thought I could. You help us to laugh, and see how beautiful the little thigns are. You're quick to throw your arms around us when we're sad or frustrated, and you're so full of love. One of my favorite parts of being a mom are the love notes, cards and drawings that you leave in unexpected places. Just this morning, you told me how much you love surprising people and making them happy, and I see that everyday. You are so talented and will make many people happy in your life.

Dear Max~

You are my miracle son, in so many ways. Just when I thought that I was done having children and my life was complete, you came along and taught me how much I was missing. I was terrified to have a son, worried that I would damage you for life, but now I spend my days tripping over balls of all shapes, sizes and varieties, and wondering what I was so afraid of. Because of you, I can speak medical-ease with the best of them, and have had more than one doctor question if I have a medical background. Putting you through two extensive surgeries was the hardest thing I've ever done as a parent, and I still get teary-eyed thinking about it, but I look at you and know that we made the right choice. You make us laugh everyday; you've taught me not to take myself or any one situation too seriously. You are charming, observant, loving. We can't wait to see the man that you grow up to become.

Dear Ian~

Oh my sweet baby, you have taught me that sometimes the sweetest blessings come at the most unexected times. We had no idea how much our family needed you until you were here, and now we are whole; complete. You are the easiest baby that I've ever known, and your grins and giggle melt the hearts of everyone around you. I love the way your face lights up and your whole body wiggles when you see me- it never fails to make me smile, no matter how difficult the night has been. I love curling up to your little body at night. I love nourishing you with my milk, and the special time we are able to share together. I promised myself I would cherish your babyhood, and it's all going by much too fast. Can you stay little? Just for a while?

My dear children, I am so blessed to be your mother. Even when I'm elbow deep in poopy diapers. Even when I yell. Even when I trip over two of you trying to cook dinner in our tiny kitchen. Thanks for teaching me, for changing me. For making me a mother.

And for more fun...

2011-05-04T12:56:00.002-06:00

Guess who else has strep?

The five month old baby.

Again.

I think I'm going to go crawl under a rock and hide for the next few weeks.

That, and start a savings account for when Ian needs his tonsils out.

There must be opposition in all things

2011-05-03T21:53:00.001-06:00

Remember how Sunday was my birthday? And it was wonderful and peaceful and relaxing and everything I needed it to be?

Well, what I didn't tell you is that Max had been brewing a fever since Friday afternoon.

So Sunday night, when his fever spiked somewhere between Death Valley in August and African desert, I decided that it was time for a trip to our pediatrician.

He slept in until 9 am Monday morning. That right there was enough to tell me how sick he really was, because never in my whole parenting career have any of my children slept until 9 am. And then he woke up.

And then the whole neighborhood could tell that he was awake because he started to s.c.r.e.a.m. And scream. And scream. And he didn't stop screaming until about 5 minutes before we got to the doctor's office.

I have to confess to being more than a little worried. I had wrapped him in a blanket and he was visibly shaking, his face was grayish, and then he started screaming again. Turns out, there was a positive side to all the screaming. Even if your doctor's office calls when you're on the way to tell you they're double booked, they tend to get you right in when your child is making enough noise to wake the dead.

So despite having ear tubes, the doctor discovered that Max has an ear infection. The sweet pediatrician was ready to wrap her diagnosis into a neat and tidy bow when I asked her to swab Max's throat for strep. "You know," she replied, "Kids this young don't usually get strep."

That's when I told her that the baby had gotten strep when he was the ripe old age of two months. And when she swabbed Max's throat, it was an unmistakable positive for strep. Then I mentioned that he hadn't had a wet diaper in almost 12 hours, and that got us a do-not-pass-go pass to the Park City Hospital for IV hydration.

It also forced me to make yet another series of my favorite phone calls ever. First to my husband: "Hi honey, can you meet me in the ER so I don't have to hold two screaming babies at once?" and then to a series of violin students: "Hi (insert name of violin student here), my son is headed to the ER, can we reschedule your lesson?"

I told Max we were headed to the hospital to help him feel better. His response? "No hopistal today." If he hadn't been so sad, the mispronunciation would have been cute.

We got to the hospital, and I started checking Max in, and he started begging Tom for water. Tom got him a water bottle and he promptly guzzled half of it. They got us back to a room, assesed his vitals, and watched him drink some more water and down a pedialyte popscicle like it was the best thing ever. We raised our eyebrows at each other and asked the nurse if we could avoid turning the two year old into a human pincushion (last time we went down this road it took them 7 sticks with a needle to finally get the IV inserted.) as long as he kept drinking. She agreed, gave us 20 minutes to have him produce a wet diaper, and turned on Elmo's world for Max.

Twenty minutes and one wet diaper later, we were very gratefully on our way home.

I thought we were done. A few doses of antibiotics, a little bottle of ear drops and we'd be good as new, right?

Ha! Did I forget who I was dealing with?

I went to give him his second dose of medicine tonight to find a rash all over his little body. Of course it was 5 minutes after his pediatricians closed for the night, so I got to speak with the very nice pediatrician on call, who was neither our pediatrician nor the one we saw yesterday, (and what does it say about us that I have the on-call number for our pediatricians programmed into my phone?) and she told me that it was probably an allergic reaction to the antibiotics and that I should bring him in tomorrow to be checked and to get him a new prescription. Joy.

Did I mention that my husband is out of town again today? At least this time, Max had the courtesy to land himself in the ER while my husband was in the same state.

So tonight, Max got a dose of ibuprofen. Ian, who cut his first tooth today, got a dose of tylenol. I consumed massive amounts of chocolate. Here's hoping we get at least a little bit of sleep.

It's my party

2011-05-01T16:36:00.000-06:00

And I'll sleep if I want to.

Or stay in my pajamas all day and eat chocolate.

Or make my husband do all the cooking and my kids all the cleanup.

You know how when you're a grown up, birthdays never seem as exciting as they did when you were a kid?

Well, since I spent the weekend hauling all over Utah in a bus with 40 violinists and my baby, the above mentioned activities sound like a grand old time to me. It was a great weekend- I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would- but I'm thinking Baby Ian has the right idea by insisting on sleeping the day away.

But anything beats my birthday two years ago, when Max was going in for his first, and ultimately unsuccessful cranio surgery.

So today, I'm relishing in my pajamas, my (multiple) naps,my novel, my chocolate, and the presents that are waiting for me. Besides, I think I might be getting too old to handle much excitement anyway.

When I Run the World

2011-04-26T21:19:00.000-06:00

Someday, when I'm the Queen of Everything, I'm making some major changes around here.

First, the will be no more snow in April, especially the four or so inches that I had on my lawn this morning. The way I see it, there are four seasons, they can each have three months. I figure our first day of sunshine, daffodils and 60 degree temperatures should be March 1st. (March 1st people! Not May 1st!)

Second, Moms will require no more than 6 hours of sleep for optimal functioning. Interrupted sleep counts. In fact, while I'm at it, let's declare it a rule that kids won't even be able to bug their parents between the hours of 11 pm and 7am.

Teething? Let's just do away with it all together. Baby teeth will appear easily and painlessly.

No one will be required to do anything that necessitates any kind of brain function before 9 am.

Baby poop will no longer be the neon yellow shade of, well, baby poop. And it will be easy to remove if it accidently gets on, say, your white duvet cover.

Laundry? It will come with a self-cleaning feature.

The hours between 5pm and 7pm will hereby be the calmest and quietest hours of the day.

It will be good to be queen.

How about you? What are you changing when you're in charge of the world?

Words to Live By

2011-04-20T14:06:00.000-06:00

We try not to impose a lot of arbitrary rules for our kids. Max, however, has taken some of the things we've said very much to heart. He tends to repeat these ad nauseum, especially when he's about to do the very thing we've warned him against. So today, we present to you Max's Rules for Living, by Max, age 2 1/2:

1. Don't pick nose.

2. No poop in bathtub.

3. No brush hair!

4. Shhh! Ian's sleeping!

5. No cookies for breakfast.

6. Don't touch the poop.

7. No throwing shoes church. (He probably means no throwing shoes when at church. He got in a little bit of trouble when he launched his shoes about three benches in front of us last week and beaned someone in the back of the head.)

8. No tantrums.

9. Don't break the phone.

10. (And most important, to us and to him, for vastly different reasons...) No go bed!

I feel like we might be living in Max's version of David Shannon's "No David!"

But I also admit to cracking up every morning when he's in the bathtub and reminds me "No poop in bathtub." I wholeheartedly agree. Who said you learned everything you needed to know in kindergarten? "Don't poop in the bathtub" seems like a pretty important rule to me!

Abject Humiliation and other fun

2011-04-15T22:23:00.000-06:00

So as I've mentioned, spring break is this week. And since, according to my girls, we're the only ones in the whole wide world who didn't get to go somewhere really, really fun for spring break, (you have to read that in a whiny 7-year-old voice for maximum effect) I decided I was going to be the fun mom and plan enough activities so that we didn't spend the week getting on each others' nerves.

Since we have to be in Salt Lake on Wednesdays for lessons/rehearsals for Abby anyway, we decided to pack up all the kids for a day of fun. I enlisted my new blog friend Morgan and her four boys, and we spent the morning gabbing our faces off and taking turns losing children at the Childrens' Museum.

Ian and Ezra became fast friends. For about two minutes until Ian, the big bully, starting yanking on Ezra's ear.

And that, my friends is the only picutre we have of the outing, because not only did both of us forget our cameras, but we were both chasing children too often to remember to actually take pictures. But there will be more get togethers with Morgan and her boys, because she's cool and we laughed a lot, and didn't get to finish any of our conversations. And we've exchanged about 547 text message since then, planning our escape vacation where we leave all the kids except the nursing babies at home and we run away to talk, eat, nurse the babies, and catch up on sleep. Sounds divine, right?

OK, back to my story of abject humiliation.

We went to Abby's violin lesson, and everything went swimmingly. I was, once again, making the mistake of patting myself on the back for being super mom and handling a day out with all four children by myself. And we all know what happens when I start patting myself on the back.

We had an hour or so to kill while Abby was in rehearsal, so I took the kids to Chick-Fil-A, and sent Ashlynn and Max to play in the play land for a bit to burn off residual energy. I had no sooner started debating between nuggets and a chicken sandwich when Ashlynn urgently ran up to me: "Mom! Come quick! Max threw up!"

Ashlynn has a bit of a tendency to overexaggerate, so I asked her "A little bit or a lot?"

She grabbed my hand and dragged me back in response where I saw my little boy, standing in the middle of a giant circle of throw up.

Now, for maximum effect, we had picked the restaurant's "Family Night" so every table in the restaurant was full. All the little children were making grossed-out noises, all the moms were glaring at me, and Max was screaming. All I wanted to do was run away.

I grabbed the nearest 16- year-old employee I could find, handed him the baby's carseat before he could object, picked Max up by the armpits and lugged him out of there, feeling the glares from the other mothers following me all the way out to my car. I had to restrain myself from yelling: "I didn't know he was sick! I'm not a bad mom who brings her sick kid out in public just for a nugget fix, I promise!"

I used about half a carton of baby wipes to wipe us all down, stripped him off and put him in a clean pair of shorts, and we booked it back to Abby's teacher's house. I dreaded the fact that we still had an hour drive ahead of us, knowing that Max never just throws up once.

To spare you the rest of the gruesome details, I'll just let you know that our carseat cover is in fact washable, that it takes an advanced degree in mechanical engineering to get the carseat cover back on the carseat, and that Zofran the wonder drug is our friend.

And just in case you're wondering, when the stomach bug inevitably makes its way around your familiy, one of the blessings about having older children is that they actually learn to throw up in the toilet or the bathtub, instead of just leaning over the bunkbed. However, do not make the mistake of assuming that when you child uses the bathtub to throw up in that they will actually wash it down afterwards.

*gag*

Ok, now that we've got all that grossness out of the way... (Do I have a glamorous life or what? Really, my mission is just to make you feel better about your life.)

Thanks for all the kind comments and advice about homeschooling. We're still kicking the idea around and talking about logistics, but it's so good to know that I have so many friends to lean on. (And probably complain to!)

We're still house hunting. Who knew that it would be so difficult to find a place? Looked at a fantastic house tonight, but things are up in the air with the current owners until they find out if his job transfer is going through. This place was fantastic, but so is any place where we wouldn't feel like we're stacked on top of each other. But I really, really liked this place and it has everything we need, so we'd appreciate any positive vibes you can send our way. Our soon-to-be renters are being patient. Hopefully we will find something soon, because I'd really rather not move myself, my husband, and my four kids to my mom's basement. Call me crazy, I know.

Heaven Help Me

2011-04-13T12:00:00.001-06:00

I'm thinking about homeschooling again.

I've always had the heart of a homeschooler, but never had the determination or organization to make it work for us.

I actually homeschooled Abby for the better part of her kindergarten year. I've always viewed it as one of my epic parenting failures, and confess to breathing a sigh of relief the first time I sent her off on the school bus, but the girls still frequently talk about the fun things we did that year, so perhaps it wasn't the disaster I thought it was.

I really feel the education my kids are getting is sub-par. I'm not sure if it's the district, the schools, the teachers or what, but it just doesn't seem like there's a lot of learning going on. Ashlynn has gotten the raw end of the deal this year with a teacher who has been gone with health problems more than she's actually been in the classroom. There's not much learning can actually get done when you're as familiar with the various substitutes as you are with her teacher. And Abby's class isn't much better. The better part of the third grade year at the girls' school is devoted to putting together a Disney Program full of costumes, songs and dances from Disney movies. Now, I support music and performing as much as anyone, but when days and weeks at a time are devoted to rehearsing "Kiss the Girl" from "The Little Mermaid," I start to wonder.

The school is constantly having assemblies. More than once my girls have come home and told me they watched movies in PE. I don't want to be the mean fun killing mom who insists on academics at all costs, and blames the terrible school system for everything without offering up any solutions, but come on! Movies in PE? Seriously?

But there are other factors too. The more involved my kids get in their musical instruments, the more they both need me. The sad truth is, there's just not enought time between 7:00 am when everyone is supposed to start their practicing and 8:25 when they're supposed to leave for school for me to spend adequate time and energy with my pianist, my violinist, the crying baby, and the demanding toddler, make the lunches and get everyone out the door on time when all I really want to do is go back to bed. I hate being pulled in a million different directions and feelng like I'm short changing all four of my kids simultaneously.

We're also hoping to move sometime in the next few months. Somehow, 4 kids and 2 bedrooms just isn't working, and we need a bigger place. We'll be staying in the valley, but a lot of the homes we're looking at are in the boundaries of the school we had such terrible experiences with last year, and I will not send them back there. There are, of course, ways I could send them to another school in the valley, but it just doesn't address the nagging feelings that both my husband and I have had that the girls might be better off at home.

I know it wouldn't be all sunshine, lollipops and fluffy bunnies. In fact, I seriously wonder at my abilities to cope with all four of my children all day everyday, and be responsible for their education on top of that. (Especially on days like today- we're only on the second day of spring break and the chorus of "I'm bored!" was deafening at times!) But part of me wonders if things might move more smoothly if our family wasn't forced into an artificial school schedule.

Yesterday was delightful. By noon, all the chores had been done, Ashlynn had done nearly an hour of piano, Abby had done almost 2 hours of violin, and I'd been able to spend significant time with both of them. The girls practice so much better at any time but 7 am (and I can't say I blame them!) and practicing with both girls was so much more productive than it usually is. I felt less rushed, and I'm sure that translated into a more casual environment for them. I think that bringing the girls home would create a better, less rushed, and more productive environment for all of us. I think we could get the chores, practicing, and school part of our day all done in the time the girls are usually at school, leaving their afternoons free while I am teaching.

But then I wonder. What do I do about doctor's appointments? Grocery shopping? I've mentioned several times how I would rather poke myself in the eye repeatedly with a toothpick than take all four kids grocery shopping, but if all four are home with me all day, I don't think I have much of a choice. And I'd have to forget about those spontaneous mornings out with my mom friends and the quiet hours in the afternoon when the baby is sleeping and Max is watching his one movie for the day.

I'm wondering if I'm really sane even thinking about this. But I'm also wondering if it's the best thing for them and for my family.

So I know I have a lot of homeschooling friends that are readers here. How do you make it work for your family? How do you balance everything? Do you still find time for yourself and your own pursuits?

Pardon my dust...

2011-04-12T17:27:00.000-06:00

Hi!

Yes, it's still me! (Is it still you?)

I'm undergoing a complete blog-y makeover here- do you like it? I mean, I look like a real blog and everything! A header, a cool custom font, and even a navigation bar! Okay, the links in the naviagtion bar are completely empty, but still, it makes me look like I actually know what I'm doing and stuff.

Except now all I want to do is play around on my blog instead of actually paying attention to my children, who all seem to think I'm their entertainment director. Bah. Did I mention that my husband is gone again? Because he is. To Vegas this time. And now I have four children, two of which are home from school on spring break, and I've heard "I'm bored" more times than I care to count today.

Is it bedtime yet?

Motherhood Math

2011-04-06T21:22:00.002-06:00

I am one person.

I have two arms, two hands, two ears, one mouth and one lap.

I can be in precisely one place at one time.

I also have four children.

And two bedrooms in our tiny house.

And seventeen violin students.

Somehow it just doesn't compute.

It's a good thing I'm a musician. Obviously, I was never very good at math.

Because I'm the grown up, that's why! (And the world's best chocolate chip cookies)

2011-04-04T15:47:00.001-06:00

When I was a kid, I was always reluctant to go to bed because I was convinced that the minute I fell asleep, my parents brought out all the good movies, all the yummy treats they wouldn't share with us, and generally had a party. They assured me life after bedtime was boring and they did nothing fun. I, of course, stopped believing them when I would routinely smell popcorn shortly after bedtime.

Last night, after a fantastic day of conference watching, we put everyone to bed on the early side and commenced being boring and having no fun.

The only problem was, we started making cookie dough and turned on the movie without verifying that my girls were actually asleep. When they both came down to protest this epic unfairness, it was met with that most grown-up and mature of answers: "Because we're the grown-ups, that's why." (Really it might have been because we didn't want to share the best chocolate chip cookies in the whole world.)

But, because I'm your friend and because you love me, I'm going to share the recipe for the best chocolate chip cookies in the whole world. Trust me on this one. They're amazing. They make an appearance at our house around once a week. I've searched for years, and this is the one. Throw away your Neiman-Marcus $400 cookies, and your Mrs. Fields cookies. You'll never need another recipe again. You're welcome. And if you make them, you have to promise to come back and tell me how much you love them.

2 eggs
1 C shortening (Yes, I know. Shortening. But don't sub it out for butter, just trust me on this one.)
1/2 C White sugar
1 C Brown sugar
1 tsp (or more) Vanilla (Don't even think about using the cheap imitation vanilla. Seriously.)

Cream above ingredients. The secret to these cookies is to make sure you really cream them well- just let your mixture run for a few minutes until it's almost white and fluffy. Then add:

3/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 salt
2 1/4-2 1/2 C flour
1-2 C chocolate chips (I prefer one cup, hubby prefers two)

Mix em up really good and bake in a 375 degree oven for 9 minutes.

Oh, and double the batch. Because you'll eat them all the first night.

Like I said, you're welcome.

Anyone else have cookie recipes to share? Someday, I night need to make some cookies that aren't chocolate chip.

Craniosynostosis Surgery- a year later

2011-04-01T23:29:00.000-06:00

Craniosynostosis.

Before my son was born and diagnosed, I had never even heard of it. Once he was diagnosed, I had to ask the doctor to say it again and again, then finall had her write it down so I could come home and research it.

Now, nearly two and a half years after that diagnosis, not only have we had two surgeries and a whole host of complications to go with them, but I could probably bore you to tears spouting more information, facts and stories than you ever wanted to know. I could probably challenge most pediatricians in a game of "Cranio Jeopardy" and win. (And wouldn't that be a riveting game show?) I could tell you the best-known surgeons in the US, (and Great Britain for that matter), I could decribe in depth the difference between the endoscopic repair and the more traditional CVR, and I could give you all the secrets you would need to spend a week at a Children's hospital.

This week marked a year since Max's second big surgery. I can't say that I've been feeling nostalgic, but I've done more than a little looking back this week and thanking the powers that be that cranio isn't something we worry about on a day to day basis anymore.

In general, we are satisfied with the results of the second surgery. To an untrained eye, (in other words, to anyone except me and other head picking, cranio-obsessed moms,) he looks like any other little boy. His long crazy curls cover up the fact that the top of his head has more bumps and ridges than a moguls course. The poor boy will never be able to rock the shaved-head look. He still has some weird lumps on his forehead, some narrowness above his eyebrows, and every so often we'll see what has to be a screw poking out underneath his skin, but there's nothing that would make us consider another surgery for a second.

I mean, really, could he get much cuter?

I called yesterday to make an appointment for his one year follow up with the craniofacial surgeon. Just talking with someone at the hospital made me start to sweat, and it took close to a half hour after that phone call before the adrenaline stopped pumping. Just envisioning being back in that hospital, no matter how benign the reason, gives me a minor panic attack.

But for the most part, the medical chaos that followed us for the first eighteen months or so of Max's life seems to have subsided dramatically. He hasn't been to the doctor more than once in the past six months, which is quite a change from the first year of his life, where we were lucky if we went a week without one doctor appointment or another! He is a bright, happy, cheerful, busy, trouble-making, tantrum-throwing, house-destroying toddler, and thankfully, we wouldn't have it any other way.

To know Max is to love him. You can't help be captivated by his crazy hair, his infectious laugh and his hilarious take on life. (And yes, I realize that his hair is long enough to take over the world, and yes, I probably should get it cut. But I can't bring myself to do it. It's his third head of hair. It's never gotten this long without someone strapping him to an operating table and shaving it off, then handing it to me in a little plastic bag marked "biohazard." So we're probably gonna be keeping it long for a while yet. And in my defense, it doesn't always look this crazy!) You would never guess all he's been through in life just by looking at him.

A year ago, we were sitting in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit at Primary Children's Hospital. Max's swelling was at its peak, and we were all praying that his sodium levels would get under control soon so we could be moved to a regular room. We were trying to find a pain medication that would do the job and desperately praying for comfort for him and for us.

I still tear up when I see this picture.

Today, Max spent the morning playing in a cardboard box with his sister, jumping on the trampoline with the neighborhood kids, and watching Elmo videos. What a difference a year makes.

Unexpected Blessings

2011-03-29T22:39:00.001-06:00

A year ago yesterday, I sat on my toilet seat early on a Sunday morning, staring incredulously at a positive pregnancy test.

To say it was unplanned would be a major understatement.

It took two years, a miscarriage, and lots of expensive and humiliating fertility drugs and treatments for me to get and stay pregnant with Max.

I wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant. My cycles were ridiculously out of whack, and we were under an incredible amount of stress preparing for Max's second major skull surgery in a year. (More on that tomorrow when I do another "One year ago" post. Sorry. I'm feeling nostalgic. Or something.)

So I sat there. And stared. And stared some more.

Then I showed the test to my husband, who claimed that because the second line was so faint, that it wasn't possible for it to be accurate.

That afternoon Tom was at Walgreens, despite the fact that it was a Sunday, buying another pregnancy test. That one was more positive than the first.

I spent weeks saying some version of "Are you kidding me? Now? Seriously?" I sat in the hospital with my swollen post-op little boy marveling at the wicked irony of the timing of it all.

It took me months to adapt to the idea of another baby.

But now. I am completely, utterly,

In love with this little boy.

Can't imagine what we'd do without him.

And I dare you to watch this video without laughing. Go ahead and try! (And yes that is me in the background sounding like a complete fool. But when you get a baby giggling, it's worth it!)

The Christmas Letter Syndrome

2011-03-25T22:26:00.000-06:00

Do you ever feel slightly inadequate after reading  those letters at Christmas?

You know the ones, right? The ones that detail every single thing that has happened to their family over the past year, and how many books they've read, and how many awards their kids have gotten, their gorgeous tropical vacations, and how, of course, their children have never said an angry word to each other and the only thing that's keeping them from being instantly translated is that one time on April 23rd when they had that one hair out of place. Am I the only one that gets those? I look at the pictures of their perfectly dressed and styled children, and read the descriptions of all their grand adventures, and usually end up spending a few minutes feeling like I need to redecorate my house and remodel my entire life.

I had a moment like that this week.

I opened up my email a few days ago to find a message from one of my closest friends from college. We were both violin performance majors, studied with the same teacher and had dreams of conquering the world together with our violins. We've kept in scattered touch over the years, chatting on occasion, and passing messages and milestones through mutual friends. She's always been an over-achiever, but when I read her email my jow dropped. Four homeschooled kids? Check. A violin studio? Check. A recently-earned Master's Degree in Music Education? Check.  Recitals at the Assembly Hall on Temple Square? Check. Teaching offers at BYU and the U of U? Check.

Stacy left feeling inadequate? Check.

Normally, I feel pretty satisfied with my life. Proud of the way I mother, grateful for my little violin studio, and feel like I'm doing a pretty good job balancing my roles. But I couldn't help feeling a bit envious.

I graduated with a group of four other violinists.   We were all the same age, studied with the same teacher, and were close all through college. Now, 12 years later, I'm the only one out of the five that doesn't have a master's or doctorate degree.

It's so easy for me to look at these friends, see what they've accomplished, and feel like I'm doing nothing with my life. Especially since I know that most of them are teaching, mothering and doing all the other things that I'm doing. At times like these I keep wondering if I'm missing something; that somehow I'm not doing enough. I haven't performed on stage in years, (and years, and years,) and probably couldn't play anything I played on my senior recital if my life depended on it. I spend my days teaching, mothering, practicing with my nine year old and shuttling her down the mountain for lessons and rehearsals. I don't think I've put in serious practice time in years.

I frequently tell my students that it's not about the competition- that violin is all about being the best you can be, and not worrying about what everyone else is learning and playing. I'm having a hard time taking my own advice to heart; believing that the path I've chosen is right for me and that I don't need to be performing, earning advanced degrees, or soloing on Temple Square in order to be a worthwhile teacher, violinist and mother.

I've consoled myself over the past few days by telling myself that while all my friends were getting masters degrees, I was attending births and managing my son's multiple surgeries and medical crises over the first two years of his life.

And the truth is, if I was interested in getting another degree, (which I'm not at all at this point!) I don't think it would be a music degree. I'm just not excited about the idea of hours of practice and intense competition that it would take me to get there. So someone explain to me why I'm feeling so stinking inadequate.

Enter a typical Tuesday morning. The baby had (yet another) nasty cold and we had been up most of the night. I had already fought with Abby over her scale practicing, tried in vain to help Ashlynn understand the diffence between treble C and middle C, and came upstairs to find both the little boys fussy and irritable. I was about ready to give up and go back to bed when I saw this letter on the countertop.

Tears sprung to my eyes. I left it there all day, reminding me why I do all those seemingly insignificant things. Helping me to know that someone appreciated it. It might be silly, but I've kept it clipped to the fridge all week, and it's helped me through my yearly violin-related existential crisis as I've realized that my sweet Ashlynn (and all my other kids) don't care that I'm not performing on stage. In fact, knowing them, they probably prefer that I don't.

11 Years and look what it gets us

2011-03-21T21:42:00.000-06:00

Last week, Tom and I celebrated our 11th anniversary.

Yup, eleven years.

And celebrate in grand fashion we did.

After I successfully retrieved our lovely red van from the shop where it had its torque converter replaced for the second time, I ran to meet my husband for lunch, with grand visions of sushi rolls combined with deep and profound conversation.

Instead, we ended up hanging out at Tom's work for a while while everyone ogled our cute baby, stopping at a church where I'm trying to arrange a concert for my daughter's performing group, driving by a houses for rent and peering in the windows, nursing the baby in the front seat of the van in the Whole Foods parking lot, and scarfing down Orange Chicken from Panda Express. Our ten minute lunch conversation alternated between the scintillating topics of "Who is taking which kid where this weekend?", and "Wait? Where's Max?"

I dropped Tom back off at work, and drove back to Abby's school to watch the famed 3rd grade Disney Program. Well, "watch" might be an exaggeration. It really consisted more of me changing the leaky diapers of two boys, and then comforting one onery baby and trying to keep crazy Max from running on stage during "Kiss the Girl" than it did actually watching the program. We then left as soon as the program was done to haul Abby to Salt Lake for her violin lesson and recital rehearsal, which we left a half hour early (much to her teacher's annoyance) to haul back to yet another run of the Disney program which we arrived to five minutes late, (much to another teacher's annoyance.) I then drove home, changed into a skirt, drove to the stake center for an interview to renew my temple recommend, and finally arrived home just as Abby called to say she was done and needed a ride home.

Once the kids were finally in bed, we partied in grand fashion- Tom playing an xbox game and me falling asleep reading blogs.

Like I said, we partied. We celebrated. Look what eleven years of marriage will do for you!

Actually, we're headed to Hawaii in June, and are calling that our anniversary trip, so we're not as hopelessly unromantic, uncreative and uncelebratory (what? It's a word!) as this post makes us sound.

And if you want to read our love story, it starts here.

Samoas are good too

2011-03-15T08:00:00.001-06:00

Dear Girls Scouts of America:

Thank you for your cookies, really. We love them. We love supporting our cute little girl scout who eagerly takes our order every year and delivers them to us with a cute little green apron on.

However, this year, I noticed a problem with my Thin Mints. Check out the nutrition label:

See that part where it says "Serving Size: 4 cookies"? Clearly, that's an error. Obviously, you meant it to say "4 Sleeves."

It's okay. No harm done. You'll be fine as long as you get that fixed for next time, m'kay? Good. Thanks for clearing that up.

Oh, and while we're asking, why do Thin Mints taste so much better frozen? Just curious.

Keeping it Real: Family Home Evening

2011-03-13T21:34:00.000-06:00

Let me set the scene: It's a Sunday night, and Tom and I are feeling more than a bit frazzled. Sunday afternoons and evenings are usually a bit less than relaxed as we rush to get dinner on the table with a onery baby who needs a nap, and three older kiddos who are bouncing off the walls afterbeing released from three hours of enforced quietness. enforced quiet-ness.

Tonight, the girls were in rare form and by the time the chores were finally finished (after only 347 reminders, and almost as many threats,) we flopped on the couch with a sigh of relief. The peace lasted for about 2.4 seconds before the girls started reminding us that it was their night to do Family Home Evening and could we please do it now, please, please, please? We (inwardly) groaned, cursed our recent decision to move FHE to Sunday nights after dinner and reluctantly moved to the kitchen.

Things started out with a bang when Max stumbled while climbing into his chair and landed face first in a bowl that inexplicably hadn't been put away with the other dishes. We finished singing our opening song- "Families Can Be Together Forever" barely able to hear ourselves over the toddler's wailing.

Abby decided that we should make "scripture cookies" for her lesson. For those unfamiliar with the concept, the idea is to look up a verse, find the food item mentioned and add it to the cookie recipe. Nice idea, but we had a few problems. Ashlynn and Abby had this exact lesson yesterday at an Activity Day stake activity, so Ashlynn was less than enthralled with the repeat lesson, and had to be reminded several times that wandering around the kitchen was not an acceptable FHE behavior. Max couldn't have cared less about Abby's lesson, and was absorbed in an Elmo video blasting at top volume on the iPhone. This left me to monitor the recipe, (because contrary to Abby's beliefs, the amount of ingredients in the recipe really does matter, and yes, we had a lovely argument about it...) and Tom to read the scripture verses in between cell phone beeps, answering emails when he didn't think I was looking, and kid refereeing. Needless to say, it wasn't our most spiritually enriching lesson.

Once the cookies were finally in the over, we commenced our nightly verses of scripture reading, complete with reminders to get scriptures out, follow along, and "could you please stop tormenting your brother and read your verse" moments.

I was about done at this point. Unfortunately, the girls weren't. I made the mistake of asking them to go down a pick up a little in the basement. While I'm not a huge fan of giant clean-ups on Sundays, I have a lesson coming at 6:15 am on Monday, and the basement was looking a bit like a casting call for TLC's show "The Hoarders." A few minutes after I sent them down, I heard them reading and gigglng over a joke book. I then proceeded to remind them that they needed to finish up their jobs so we could have cookies. Not 60 seconds later, I heard more really bad jokes. I not so patiently reminded them that they had work to do. two more minutes went by before I heard them both banging on the piano.

"Bed time, both of you." I announced. It was 7:05, and our scripture cookies hadn't yet come out of the oven.

Yup. A Family Home Evening for the ages, I tell you. I almost hope that someday Abby or Ashlynn calls me and complains about how their kids are making FHE impossible so I can remind them about the fateful scripture cookies and we can laugh about it together.

As an aside, both my husband and I just got a really good laugh as I searched Google images for "Family Home Evening." Try it. You'll see a bunch of pictures of well dressed, perfectly styled families in gorgeous houses, all gazing up lovingly and attentively as someone gives a wonderfully spiritual enriching lesson. Yeah, right. As my husband says, "Well, if they showed how it really happened, no one would do it!"

I'm so glad that we can all start over tomorrow.

So anyone want to make me feel better? Anyone have any good FHE or scripture study horror stories to share?

Validation

2011-03-11T10:43:00.000-07:00

My husband and I were having a very normal night the other night- 3 out of the 4 kids were sleeping, I was nursing the baby, he was relaxing on the couch and both of us were zoned out to the TV when one of those internet dating commercials came on. You know, the "If you sign up on our site, you're guaranteed to find more crazies concentrated here than on any other website" kind.

I absentmindedly looked over at my husband and asked "If I died, would you go looking for another wife online?"

Good thing he's used to my random, out-of-nowhere questions.

"Probably," he answered, "Because where am I going to find the time to meet someone when I'm trying to work and take care of four little kids?"

He then gave a little chuckle and went on, "I'd hate to see what that profile would look like."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, it would probably go something like this:

"Single Mormon man seeks wife for me and mother for my four small children. Must be willing to stay home, nurse the baby, wash and fold all the clothes, pick up my dirty socks, clean the house, cook gourmet meals, help two children with their music practicing, conrtibute about a third of the monthly household income, maintain a social life, and not lose it when your husband is traveling all over the world for weeks on end, all on little to no sleep."

I grinned feeling a little bit validated.

He shuddered involuntarily and looked at me.

"Honey," he said, "Don't die. And it may be time to increase your life insurance."

In a Reading Rut

2011-03-05T08:00:00.017-07:00

I've always been a big reader, and I would love my kids to develop the same habit. I'm don't think that there is much that is more wonderful than curling up with a warm blanket and a good book, and reading until you force yourself to turn out the light because you know you're going to hate yourself in the morning.

But I've been struggling getting my kids motivated to read. Most days, it seems like reading is a chore for them, one more thing to check off the homework chart. Not to mention their choices in books are usually a little less than substantial.

For example, I recently had to ban all of this series from the house:

And they've read every one of these that they can find at the library:

They love these, but read them in less than a day:

Ashlynn has recently started:

And Abby is on the third book in this series:

I loved Harry Potter, and both my husband read them as fast as I could get my hands on them, but Ashlynn still groans when I tell her it's time to read. And while Abby seems to like Fablehaven, and about fell over dead from excitement yesterday when she got to meet the great Brandon Mull in person and he signed a bookmark for her, I still have to remind her to finsh that book before she starts another. What I'm hoping for is something that will really capture their attention. Something that they can't put down, something worth of will smuggling a flashlight up to their rooms so they can read under the covers when they're supposed to be asleep. (And I'm wondering what will do it if Harry Potter and Fablehaven don't!) Suggestions? Ideas on how to help them love reading?

And as for Max, we've read all of this series so many times that the entire family, including him, has them memorized. I ordered this one from Amazon the day it was released because I was so excited to have a new one!

We also love the close relative of Elephant and Piggie: the pigeon. (Mo Willems needs to write more of these!)

And we can't forget this book. We bought this for $.50 at Deseret Industries years and ago, and it has had more readings over the past few months than any book in our house. Combine multiple readings a day of with all the violin music going on in our house at all hours of the day and night and you get a two year old constantly asking "Max violin lessons?"

And don't forget to "Make way for Elmo and his duckies!"

Max has also taken a weird liking to this book, which seems like it would be way over his head.

So any suggestions for a gripping toddler read from my smart, well-read blogging friends? While we have nothing but love for Elmo, Elephant and Piggie and the Pigeon, it may be time to expand our horizons a bit.

Ideas? Suggestions? Plugs for your favorite author? What are your favorite books for toddlers or young girls?

Dr. Suzuki never told me

2011-03-03T21:10:00.000-07:00

I'm utterly convinced of one thing when it comes to Suzuki violin teaching and parenting: It's much easier to be the teacher than the parent.

As the teacher, I can say things like: "Make sure to make your practice sessions with your child positive!"

As the parent, I know firsthand what it's like to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from exploding when the c-sharp is played wrong for the tenth time in a row.

As the teacher, I can remind my students and parents why it's important that they practice every single day.

As the parent, I inwardly long for a Friday morning break from practicing as much as my daughter does. (And sometimes we take one. Shhhh! Don't tell!)

As a teacher, I am constantly talking to my students about the value of listening to their Suzuki CD.

As the parent, I hae been known to switch the CD off in favor of anything else because I cannot take one. more. minute. of violin.

As the teacher, I remind my students why it's so important that they practice their scales as part of their daily practice routine.

As the parent, I want to kick and scream as much as my nine-year-old did when her teacher introduced a new scale program that took an hour and twenty minutes of our practice time to get through this morning. Curse you Carl Flesch!

As a teacher, I work hard to provide educational, enriching musical performances and opportunities for my students.

As a parent, I sometimes think that if we have one more wonderful "musical opportunity" I might just curl up in a corner with my blanket and my iPod blasting anything non-violin.

As a teacher, I'm more than happy to blather on and on and be the go-to source when someone asks advice on a music-related matter.

As a parent, I roll my eyes inwardly at my know-it-all teacher self, and think how much easier it is to have all the answers when you're not the one practicing with the headstrong nine year old at seven in the morning.

As a teacher, I look for ways to push my student beyond what they think they are capable of, and try to provide them with exciting and worthwhile music.

As a parent, the exciting, worthwhile, beyond-what-we-think-we're-capable-of piece is alternately inspiring my daughter and giving me nightmares. It's the hardest thing she's ever played and we've had just a little over a month to learn it. And yes, they're learning the choreography too. (Take a look- it's pretty darn amazing.)

As a teacher, I get pretty excited when I see a student perform well.

As a parent, I still get tears in my eyes when Abby performs. And I remind myself that yes, it is worth it.

My new get rich quick scheme

2011-02-24T20:49:00.000-07:00

So I have an idea.

It's brilliant.

It's going to make me a fortune!

Here's how it goes: every time a doctor or and kind of medical professional utters the words "It's very rare" they have to pay me $5. That's it. Simple as that.

Because in my household, rare is what we do.

Take me for example: I have a neurological condition that affects 1 in 100,000 women. Pretty good odds, right?

Then I gave birth in the car. I think the odds on that are around 1 in 300.

Max has craniosynostosis, a condition that affect approximately 1 in 4,000 babies. After surgery #1, he had a very rare complication. Then he was one of the lucky 5% that has to have more than one operation. Then he had the same very rare complication again. I'll leave it up to you brilliant math people to figure out those odds.

Then there's all the other Max Medical Drama. I shake my head at the craziness of it all, and all the times we were told "Well, this is really unexpected." or "This complication is very rare."

But we've been doing good for a few months. I was the only one who managed to get myself hospitalized, and I got a baby out of it, so that was good.

Even Ashlynn getting strep throat last week didn't phase me much.

What did worry me was when the baby spiked a fever Saturday night while my husband was in Vegas. I'll give you a hint: never google "Fever in a 3 month old" at 3 o'clock in the morning when you're up with a crying baby and your husband is in another state.I waited until morning to call my pediatrician who told me we were safe to wait it out at home as long as nothing got worse. I thought we were out of the woods by Sunday night when my husband was home and Ian's fever started to go down.

Unfortunately, his coughing and breathing kept getting worse, and yesterday morning, his fever was back, and so off to the pediatrician we went.

A fever in a barely 3 month old is usually cause for concern anyway, but a fever plus a rattling cough is bad news. Honestly, I was prepared to be sent to the hospital overnight. It didn't help my confidence any when the doctor heard Ian cough and said "I hope he doesn't have whooping cough."

She listened to him, checked his ears and eyes, and then looked at me and said "You know, I'm going to run a strep test just in case. It would be extremely rare for a baby this age to have strep, but just to be on the safe side..."

Five minutes later, she cam back to tell me that my three month old did indeed have the first case of strep she'd ever seen in a baby this young. Incidentally, this is twice we've given the pediatrician something she's never seen before. And she's not a brand new doctor. Yes, we're all about the education opportunities here. (Maybe I should be charging for those too...)

The doc also wrote us a prescription to have Ian's nose suctioned a few times this week so that he can breathe and so that we might all be able to sleep again. Both times I've been to the hospital these past two days, everyone who find out Ian has strep has said "That's so rare! I've never heard of that before!"

I'm telling you, I'm already planning the giant house, the tropical vacations, the hired help...

(And I'm already planning on the other two kids getting strep as well. Because that's just how we roll...)

(And if you're wondering, I am actually feeling better. Now that I know that my baby doesn't need to be hospitalized, I'm actually glad it was strep throat because it's so treatable! A shot of penicillin later and my baby is back to his happy, smiling, snotty self. Thank heavens.)

Middle Child Syndrome

2011-02-22T21:39:00.000-07:00

This is Ashlynn.

Despite being the second of our four children, she is most definitely a middle child.

She's in the middle of a chaos sandwich: on the one side, you have Abby: the oldest, the violinist. Abby's very talented, and there are times that the whole family gets turned upside down to accomodate a lesson, a rehearsal or a performance. Abby is on stage a lot, and gets a lot of recognition and praise for what she does.

On the other side of the sandwich are the two boys. First, you have Max, and all his Max-ness. And while it's not his health issues that are currently monopolizing the spotlight, he is two years old. He's amazingly cute and can throw a wicked tantrum, often within minutes of each other. Then there's Ian,who just by virtue of being a baby, commands lot of attention, love and face time.

Lately, we've been super worried about Ashlynn feeling lost in the middle.

A few weeks ago, Abby and I played for my Grandma's funeral, and later that night, Abby had a violin recital. As we left the recital, Ashlynn was crying. "No one even cares about me. Everyone only cares about Abby and her stupid violin."

Sigh. No matter how much you tell a seven year old that you love her just as much her sister, when she's spent the day watching her sister get praised from all sides, she'll never believe it.

As of late, the violin thing has become a real issue. You see, we started Ashlynn on violin at the ripe old age of almost four, just like we did her sister. It lasted less than 6 months. Even at that young age, Ashlynn recognized that she couldn't do what Abby could do, and translated that to mean that she wasn't as loved.(Plus there was the small matter of 5 minutes of practicing for every 30 minutes of crying.) It just wasn't worth continuing.

So we decided that Ash needed something of her own and enrolled her in gymnastics. She loved it, but still felt slighted because she didn't have concerts, recitals, or endless practice time with Mom. When we moved 2 1/2 years ago, we couldn't find a gymnastics program that measured up to the one we had been attending before.

Ashlynn started begging for piano lessons about the same time. I was reluctant for a lot of reasons- finding a piano teacher, enrolling in a new studio, practicing with a second child everyday. It all sounded very intimidating. But she kept begging. And when the gymnastics didn't work out, I bit the bullet and found her a teacher.

She's doing quite well. We're managing to practice most days, and either we're still in the Honeymoon phase, or she just really likes it. But for some reason, it still isn't enough. She still compares herself to her sister, and no amount of talking and pleading can convince her that she's amazing just because she's Ashlynn. I can tell she still feels like she's getting the short end of the stick sometimes, and she's probably right.

The thing is, Ashlynn is low maintenance. She doesn't require trips to Salt Lake twice a week for violin, she doesn't need diaper changes or constant nursing, or to be watched like a hawk so she doesn't cover her hair and everything else in arm's reach in lotion. Ashlynn is the most likely to play with her brothers, color the picture for Mom and Dad to make us smile or to do a job without asking. She tries so hard to be sweet and kind and good. I was a middle child too, and remember feeling like I wasn't getting any attention because I wasn't getting into trouble. I thought that I should get attention just for being good, but in my crazy and chaotic family, it was the squeaky wheels that got the grease, and I'm worried that sometimes her quiet goodness and sweetness are getting lost in the shuffle.

So, smart moms out there, how do you balance? How do you nurture your "middle children?" How do you make sure everyone gets equal time, love and affection without anyone getting slighted, even if they are easy? (In other words, I'm still trying to figure out how to have four kids! Help!)

Please tell me I'm not the only one

2011-02-17T12:30:00.000-07:00

~Who feels more wound up than an over-tuned violin string.

~Who doesn't know if she can do bedtime by herself one more night.

~Who is crazy, insanely jealous of the husband who is on (yet another) business trip because he gets to eat three meals a day without someone complaining, crying or wanting to nurse in the middle of it. And he gets to sleep. In a bed. By himself.

~Who contemplated leaving the sick seven year old in charge of the two year old and the sleeping baby to run to the store to get a Diet Coke. Because really, who runs out of Diet Coke on a day like this?

~Who thinks that one more illness- any illness, in any of us, even the snotty nose variety- might prompt me to run, screaming, to any place warm and sanitized. Either that or I might move in next door to the pediatrician's office.

~Who has a Visiting Teacher who called, and upon hearing that my husband was out of town and that my kids were sick, responded, "I'm sorry. I hope things get better. I'll count this for our visit and we'll talk next month."

~Who has an unidentifiable stink coming from somewhere in the kitchen area and is too afraid to go find out what it is.

~Who looks somewhat put together (I have to teach this afternoon, or I'd still be wearing my trashy pajamas) but feels like they're falling apart.

~Who sometimes looks at their four kids and wonders who they are and when their mom is going to come pick them up because you're pretty sure you're just 19 years old and your biggest problem is the stupid Rode Caprice that you're supposed to have prepared for your violin lesson the next morning.

~Who, upon seeing all four of your kids crying at once this morning, (one because he's a baby and that's what he does, one because he's a two year old and he woke up too early and wanted Dad to get him out of the crib when Daddy was on a plane to Vegas, one because it was her second day with strep throat and she feels miserable, and one because she's nine and that's what she does lately, and because she was faking sick so she could stay home with everyone else) wanted to hide in corner with a trashy novel and play iPhone games all day long.

~Who is worried that she'll put on five pounds from all the chocolate she's contemplating eating to feel better.

~Who is worried that the leaning mountain of clean and dirty laundry in this house might fall over and suffocate someone if they breathe on it wrong.

~Who is contemplating taking explosives to the house and rebuilding, because really, it might be faster than cleaning everything up.

~Who is really doubting her ability to be the "strong one."

~Who apologizes for whining, and promises to pull herself together sometime soon.

Just in case I need blackmail material in the future

2011-02-16T10:00:00.003-07:00

This is what happens when I clean off memory cards that I haven't looked at in a while. I get some good laughs, and you get a blog post full of random pictures that I thought were funny.

Brotherly love. Especially when Max spreads that booger he's working on all over Ian.

Ian and Grandpa were very good this Christmas.

One of the many, many, many snowstorms we've had this winter.

This is one of approximately 647 self-portraits we have of Abby.

Now this one is a mystery to me. Why exactly is my daughter getting beaten with the remote control? And why is she smiling about it?

Never mind, maybe it wasn't that fun after all.

Now this is a real gem- a picture of the picture hanging in our front room. (I never promised these were going to be good pictures...)

There's a baby in the violin case!

I think I was about 32 weeks pregnant with Ian in this picture. Frightening. There's a reason I never uploaded this...

Max the lady killer.

"Big Helper!" Max reminds us as he rearranges the silverware.

This is what I wish I was doing right now. Yawn. If only he slept this well at 4:30 am, when he's convinced it's morning.

This is what Ian really thinks of the violin.

Are you sensing my "sleep-deprived" theme?

Could I be any cuter? Probably not.

Road trips and Fireworks: A Valentine's Day story

2011-02-14T11:51:00.000-07:00

Let's take a stroll down Memory Lane, shall we?

It's Valentine's Day 1997. "Foolish Games" by Jewel and "How Do I Live" by Leann Rimes were playing on every radio, Dolly the Sheep had just been cloned, and I was a freshman living on campus at the University of Utah. Because I was a freshman, and because my parents firmly believed that a college student should not live at home, I was living in the dumpiest of dumpy dorms, in a building so bad that not only have I blocked out its name, but it has long since been both condemned and demolished.

Although our living spaces were small, our communal bathrooms were so nasty that you had to wear flip flops to take a shower or risk a foot disease, and our kitchen was three flights down and constantly smelled like rancid Korean food, we had a lot of fun that year. There was a group of seven or eight of us that made it through the year together, freshman fifteen, missionaries leaving, the horror that was Biology 101 and all.

This particular Valentine's Day found me in a foul mood. I've never loved Valentine's Day, (or as we called it, "Single Awareness Day") but I was unusually grumpy that evening, and decided to do something about it. I went down to the kitchen, took stock of my friends were also sitting around bemoaning their single-ness and declared, "I'm going on a road trip. Who's coming?"

I was one of the only one of my friends with a car. The fact that it had four tires full of air and went above 55 miles an hour on the freeway outweighed the fact that it was a two-toned brown 1983 Ford Escort.

This is very close to what my infamous car looked like. You're jealous, admit it. This car was actually much better than the one that came after it, a baby blue 1985 Ford Tempo, which was aptly nicknamed "The walrus."

And since they were bored, tired of hanging around the dorms all day long, or actually wanted to celebrate Single Awareness Day with me, about five of my friends jumped at the words "road trip."

It wasn't until we packed six of us into my tiny five seater that we realized we had no idea where we were going. They asked me, thinking I had some kind of master plan. We debated our options. North led us to Idaho, and Idaho was boring. South could lead us to Vegas, but we all had to be in class the next day, so South was out. West led to lots of Great Salt Lake Desert. The dorms would be more exciting. East it was.

Heading East had the extra bonus of getting to another state in a little less more than an hour. Hitting Evanston, Wyoming had never been so exciting. And as everyone from Utah knows, there are three options for excitement in Evanston that you can't find in Utah: drive-thru beer, porn, and illegal fireworks. Since we were mostly good kids, we passed on the porn and the beer and went straight for the illegal fireworks. We pooled our money and had enough to buy approimately two fireworks, (what did I tell you about living in the ghetto dorms!) and piled back in the car.

We arrived back on campus in what felt like the middle of the night. We debated all the way home about what to actually do with the fireworks. As soon as I parked the car, the debate was over. Brandon, our resident pyro, ran up to his dorm room and found some matches, and herded us all out into the middle of the quad. We shot off our two glorious fireworks, each of them rocketing high enough to be seen everywhere on campus. We couldn't decide if we should be giggling or running before the police caught us. In the end, we retreated back to the dorms when we heard the sirens to watch a horrible romantic comedy on the tiny nearly-dead tv on the boys' floor, congratulating ourselves on the best Single Awareness Day ever.

Blessings

2011-02-08T15:26:00.000-07:00

To say this was an interesting weekend is a major understatement. Any time we take our (not so little) family and spend the weekend with lots of extended family, there's bound to be lot of both laughter and tears. Add in some relatives you know, some you barely know, and some that you've never seen before in your life, and you've got a downright rocking party. Throw in a drive to middle of nowhere Idaho, (and no, I'm not just talking about Boise here,) and you can see why I'm just now starting to resume real life.

In all seriousness, this weekend was a wonderful juxtaposition of family, friends, grief and celebration. It was an honor to sit at my Grandma's funeral, celebrating the life of an amazing woman who touched so many lives. There were lots of tears, a little bit of laughter, and unlike most sacrament meetings, we didn't have to chase Max to the podium even once. (That's a miracle in and of itself!)

You know what was most fascinating and intriguing? The group of women, occupying three rows on the side near the back, wearing bright red, showy hats and purple shirts and dresses. I remember reading something about the red hat society a long time ago, and realized that these women knew and loved my grandma in a way that I never did. Growing up, you think your grandma is and has always been old. Seeing red hats and purple boas reminded me that Grandma had friends, interests, goals and ambitions that I probably never knew about.

We buried her on Saturday, in what has to be one of the most middle-of-nowhere-est places in Idaho. Great Grandma and Grandpa Harrison owned and worked a farm ouside of the bustling metropolis of Bancroft, ID, population 327. The cemetery was small, quiet and deserted. My dad told me they had to pay the town an extra $125 so that they would plow the lane leading to the cemetery. The wind whipped through us, making a joke of the few pine trees that were planted as a wind break. I zipped the baby into the coat with me, and watched Max kick the snow while we said our last goodbyes. While Max's antics got a glare or two from the aformentioned relatives we've never met before, I think Grandma would have gotten a good chuckle out of it.

And then Sunday we blessed our baby. At first, we thought we should postpone, deferring to the funeral. My mom asked us to continue with our plans, telling us that we needed some joy to mix in with the sorrow. So we spent Sunday celebrating our new little boy.

Events like this feel like paydays for me. You know, the reward for nights spent walking the floors with a crying baby, for the spit up and the poop, for the tears, (mine and his!) and all the worry and grief. There is something so precious about seeing my husband bless our son.

And can I just say that Ian needs to slow down? I think it's completely unfair that the last few months of pregnancy are so long, and then the first few months of infancy fly by before you can even figure out what happened. My tiny little newborn is now a round cheeked, fat and happy baby boy who shocked himself by rolling over the other night, and who has so many ripples in his thighs that he could be mistaken for a minature Sumo wrestler. Did I mention he was a solid 12 lbs 14 oz when I took him for a two month checkup? Yes, the 0-3 months clothes have been packed away for the next tiny baby, who most certainly won't be coming from this house! I'm not sure I'm okay with Ian getting so big, but I'm just as sure that there's not a darn thing I can do about it.

Grandma Call

2011-02-03T12:24:00.001-07:00

Marjorie Helen Harrison Garner Call, age 83, died 30 January 2011, a result of pancreatic cancer. Marge was born in 1927 in Providence, Utah. She was raised in Caribou County, Idaho on a farm in the former township of Central, and educated at the nearby schools in Grace, Idaho. She lived through the Great Depression, World War II, and the Korean War. In 1946 she married Dewey D. Garner and moved to Utah (later divorced). They had one son and four daughters: Gary (Elizabeth), Linda, Lynette (Bruce) Petersen, Shauna Swena, and Lisa Hunter. She married George H. Call in 1961 and they had a son, Ralph (Kathy). Marjorie enjoyed an active life. She loved singing and participated in various singing groups in the Salt Lake Valley. She traveled extensively from coast to coast in the U.S. and also explored the Caribbean, Mexico, Germany, and Switzerland. She was a lifelong member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Marjorie is survived by her children; stepdaughter, Pauline (Rod) Torgersen; 30 grandchildren; 44 great-grandchildren; and her sister, Sharon (Russ) Hawks. She is preceded in death by her parents; husband, George; sister, Betty; brother, Lynn; and four grandchildren. Services will be Friday, February 4, 2011, 12:00 noon at the LDS. Kearns 16th Ward Chapel, 4300 West 4715 South, Kearns, Utah where a viewing will be held, 10:00 to 11:30 a.m. prior to funeral service. Arrangements: McDougal Funeral Home.

My Grandma Call died this week of Pancreatic cancer. It's odd that a woman who lived for 83 years can have her life summarized in two hundred or so words in the local newspaper.

While she was never the milk-and-cookies kind of grandma, she was a constant presence in our lives growing up. One of our biggest Christmas traditions as children revolved around "Grandma Call's Christmas Party," a Christmas Eve bash at her house. We would be surrounded by relatives we only saw once a year at her house ("Now who do you belong to again?" was a common question that we dreaded,) eat chili (laughing that those that mixed noodles in,) and light the actual fire-hazard candles on her Christmas tree while we sang "Silent Night." Christmas Eve was never the same after she moved the party to her local church on a random Saturday afternoon.

Grandma was always supportive of my music, and would be irritated if I didn't call and invite her to all my performances. She loved to sing, and frequently told me that we should find a duet to play together in her ward. I used to roll my eyes at being asked to bring my violin over to play for her. Now I laugh as Abby does the same thing, realizing how much it really does mean to people.

Grandma loved my babies, and was always thrilled to hold them, talk to them and make faces at them. She was thrilled to meet Ian a few weeks ago, and held him, sang to him and whispered secrets to him. She also never failed to mention that she thought the outfits I dressed the babies in were ridiculous, and that when she had her babies, they dressed them all in kimonos until they were six months old because they were warm and comfortable.

There are two funny stories about Grandma Call and names that will go down in our family history lore. When I was pregnant with Max, before we knew it was Max, we were discussing possible girl names around the Sunday dinner table. Out of nowhere, Grandma piped up, "I think you should name the baby Frederika." We all giggled, thinking she was joking. Turns out she wasn't. "What?" she continued, "It's a beautiful family name, and then you could call her Freddie." Someday we'll tell Max that if he was born a girl, he would have been Frederika Smith.

The second story also revolved around a Sunday dinner. As we were cleaning up from the meal, we heard Grandma keep calling, "Bill!" "Bill!" "BILL!" Finally, she gently slugged my husband and asked "Bill! Why aren't you answering me?" Bless my sweet, confused husbands' heart, he looked at Grandma and said "Are you talking to me? My name's Tom." She muttered something about being sure that his name was Bill. We teased her about that until the very end. And I will still call my husband Bill occasionally.

I talked with her on the phone a few times right after she was diagnosed. She told me "You know, looking back, I wish I had played with my children more. It didn't matter that the clothes weren't washed or the dishes weren't done. I should have gotten down on the floor and spent more time with them." Words I'm trying to remember.

I read this in the guestbook to her obituary today: "I can't think of Marge, without thinking of flowers. She was the one who helped me realize that no matter how much you need to plant tomatoes, it's always good to plant some flowers too." I'll plant some flowers this spring for her.

Abby and I are playing at the funeral tomorrow. I'm grateful to be able to give her that final, musical tribute. Hope she likes it.

Things I'm happy about

2011-01-28T23:02:00.002-07:00

This has been an interesting week, to say the least. I'm actually pretty proud of how I've held it together so far, and we have less than two full days before my husband comes home. (I think I can, I think I can...)

I've been trying to focus on the good things, and remind myself that toys strewn all over the living room isn't always the tragedy that I make it out to be. So here, in no particular order, are things that made me super happy today.

~The box of fresh tulips that were waiting on my doorstep when I came home following very long drive from violin lessons. Somehow, my husband managed to send me flowers from clear across the world, and they couldn't have arrived at a better time. And they're tulips, which to me are a reminder that Spring might someday actually reappear and melt the three feet of snow that's outside my doorstep.

~Max's new words and expressions. Our newest laughs all center around his responses when you ask him to do something. Often, he responds with a cheerful "Sure!" Other times, like this morning when I asked him to get out of the bath, it was "No thanks." And a few times, I can tell he's channeling his nine year old sister, because he'll stomp his feet, roll his eyes, and shout "Fine!"

~I may have designed the world's best Pandora station. I don't care how good yours is. LIly Allen+Regina Specktor+ just touch of Coldplay and U2. Perfect. I don't even listen to anything else anymore.

~And thanks in part to the word's best Pandora station, all of my bathrooms have been scrubbed top to bottom today. Yes, I now have three clean toilets. You may all come over and ask to use the restroom, and I won't even have to apologize before I let you go in there. You might have to step over a pile of dirty clothes on the stairs, ignore the 17 balls strewn all over the living room, and pretend you don't see enough peanut butter and jelly smeared on my counter to make a sandwich all while making your way to my sparkling clean restrooms, but who cares! I even scrubbed behind the toilets. I may be in the running for homemaker of the year here, watch out.

~Max's head of crazy messy curls. I should probably cut it. But I can't. It's his third head of hair, and this is the longest he's ever gone growing it out before someone takes a razor to it so they can cut open his skull. Besides, not everyone can work the curls like this handsome little boy.

~Messy faces, the chocolate ice cream cones that make the messes, and the cell phone cameras to document them. By the time I got this one cleaned up, he had chocolate ice cream behind his ear. Now that's good ice cream!

~ The sound of two little boys snoring away heard through the baby monitor. Time without one little person or another clinging to me has been severely limited lately, so of course, what am I doing? Blogging about said little people.

~Watching my daughter, who after years of early morning violin practices and tears, is starting to turn into a capable, sensitive musician all on her own. She has a recital coming up next week, and I was teary-eyed listening to her rehearse the Vivaldi g minor with her accompanist today.

~This picture that I found on my bed this morning. I am continually surprised that anyone will even talk to me after spending some time with the wicked grumpy mom who takes my place in the mornings, but for Ashlynn to color this for me and suprise me with it after the morning that I had assures her place in heaven.

~Remember how I have a baby? He's the easiest baby in the whole world. (and yes, I did just knock on wood.) I didn't know babies came this easy. He sleeps. For a good part of the day. And here's the kicker: he puts himself to sleep. He doesn't want to be rocked, nursed, cuddled, swayed or patted to sleep. Just swaddle him up and put him in the bed, thank you very much. It's a little bit weird for me actually. And he nurses great, but only when he's hungry. For about five minutes, and then he's done. And his smiles are the cutest thing ever. I just want to eat his face off. In a totally not-weird, non-cannibalistic way, of course. Now before you all start throwing poopy diapers at me, I earned this baby thankyouverymuch. I earned him with the whole first year of Abby's life where she wouldn't sleep for more than 40 minutes a day when we wore a track in our carpet from pacing up and down the hall, listening to her cry for her first 18 months solid. I still marvel every time I set Ian down in the bed and watch him settle himself in for a three hour nap. If he would have come first, I would have been convinced that I was the world's best parent.

~Did I mention that my husband is coming home on Sunday? And that no one has yet had to visit the emergency room or the doctors' office? (And yes, I just knocked on wood again!)

How about you? What's making you happy today?

Our newest addition

2011-01-25T22:09:00.000-07:00

And no, before you ask, I did not get a positive pregnancy test. (Can you imagine? Never mind. Let's not imagine. Too scary. I'm going to have nightmares from merely writing the words "positive pregnancy test.")

So now that I've built up the suspense, I present to you the newest addition to our household:

Yes, ladies and gents, it's a clothes dryer. What's so exciting about a clothes dryer you ask?

Well. Let me tell you.

It all started Saturday night when my husband was frantically trying to pack for his trip to Singapore. Much laundry ensued. I went downstairs to switch the laundry like a good wife and found the load of whites was still wet. Since I'm a little bit ~~disorganized~~, ~~scatterbrained~~, busy, I thought I had maybe forgotten to turn the dryer on.

Nope.

Two complete drying cycles later, the load of underwear was still dripping wet.

Wonderful.

Let it be known that at this point, I told my husband he should probably just take the items he needed out of the dryer, drape them all over the house, and let them dry overnight. He insisted that one more cycle in the dryer would do it. I have to admit I laughed a little bit when he had to pack his underwear in the suitcase still wet, hoping to find a washer/drier combo in his hotel.

So not only was I without a dryer, I was without a husband. And without many clean clothes. And since letting your kids run around naked is considered bad form when it's what feels like 12 degrees below outside, I had to find a dryer. And fast.

So I did what every good daughter does. I called my dad. And begged.

And my sweet father spent most of the day today buying a dryer for me (since he actually lives in civilization!), hauling it up to me in the middle of a huge snowstorm, unloading it, installing it, and loading the other one out.

It works brilliantly. Clothes are dry. And we solved the great "where do the missing socks end up?" mystery. Because when we pulled the old dryer out we found enough socks to fill an entire sock drawer and enough washcloths and dishcloths to stock up a newlywed. I was going to take a picture of our findings, then decided that even I wasn't up for being that humiliated. It was bad, I tell you.

I am celebrating being excited about doing laundry. And i"m marking the occasion, because that excited feeling is only going to last for approximately one more load.

And hey, if a broken dryer is the worst crisis I face this week, then I'm not going to complain.

Pray for me...

2011-01-23T10:30:00.000-07:00

A year or so ago, my husband took his first international trip, to Ireland. He flew for a ridiculous amount of hours, got off the plane, took a shower, then had a full day of meetings. Just as he crawled into bed and fell into the sleep of the dead, he was awoken by a panicked call from me, telling him that Max was choking on a random object, was in the ER, and was about to be transported via ambulance to another ER where he would most likely require surgery. Luckily, Max didn't require surgery, and we were released that night only slightly worse for the wear.

His second trip was to Germany, and he managed to be there a few days before he received another panicked call from me telling him that Abby had gotten in a horrific bike accident and ended up with stitches in her chin and scrapes and bruises all over her body. He started laughing at the timing of it all and I nearly hung up on him.

He was supposed to go to Hong Kong at the end of October, when I was 35 weeks pregnant. His boss forever endeared herself to me when she told him that there was no way in you-know-where that he was getting on a plane with a wife who was 35 weeks pregnant and was threatening pre-term labor. To this day, I believe that had he gone on that trip, I would have gone into labor the minute the plane took off.

This morning my husband left for his third international trip. 8 days in Singapore. I think I'm going to head upstairs, wrap all four kids in bubble wrap, lock them in their rooms, and then lock all the doors.

I'm only halfway joking.

Don't pat yourself on the back too hard

2011-01-17T16:40:00.000-07:00

You know, there are days where I make the mistake of feeling like I have it all together.

Like last Wednesday, when I was sitting in the pediatrician's office with a certain one of my children who had been throwing up all day long and was getting dangerously dehydrated. (Any of you who have read my blog for any length of time get one and only one guess as to which of my children it was...!) Despite the fact that he had been throwing up all day, and that my baby had as nasty cold and pooped all over me at the pediatrician's office, and my 9 year old was home with a fever, when my husband called to ask what I wanted him to bring home for dinner, I congratulated myself when I told him that I had managed to get a loaf of bread made and rising to make a sub sandwich for dinner. He was suitably impressed.

Until, that is, I had to call him about 30 minutes later and ask him to bring home dinner after all because after I gave the puking toddler a dose of Zofran the wonder drug, and put my gorgeous loaf of homemade bread in the oven to encourage it to rise for a few more minutes, I accidently turned the oven to broil instead of warm, lighting a kitchen towel on fire and nearly burning my house down in the process. Needless to say, my loaf of bread was a total loss, my husband couldn't stop laughing, and we had KFC for dinner.

Or take last Friday. Just as I was feeling proud of myself for running a bunch of stupid errands without the baby screaming, the toddler throwing a tantrum, or me losing my cool, I started unloading grocery bags to find that the one I had just purchased from the grocery store wasn't there. Unfortunately, without it, I was missing one very important ingredient for dinner. So I loaded the baby (who was now screaming), the toddler (who had a major meltdown at the prospect of getting back in the van,) and myself (very much about to lose my cool), back in to the van, and schlepped back into the grocery store. I told my sad story to the nice people at the customer service desk, who handed me my bag while having a good laugh at my expense, and headed home, wondering why I thought it was a good idea to leave the house at all.

And then there was yesterday morning. My mom and dad were coming for dinner, so I had been cooking up a storm all morning long. I had Cafe Rio pork simmering and a gorgeous masterpiece of a cake in the refrigerator. My daughter and I had rehearsed the special musical number that we were playing that afternoon in church, and all four of the kids were bathed, dressed and fed. My husband came home from whatever it is he does on Sunday mornings and proclaimed himself impressed. I was feeling really good about myself until we were two minutes from church and Ashlynn said "Mom! I have to give the talk today! You told me to remind you, remember. I'm reminding you!" Yeah, thanks kid.

And then of course, we left the diaper bag at church. With my phone in it. Which incited a major tear-the-house-apart-looking-for-the-phone panic this morning, and gave my bishop a good laugh when I asked to borrow his keys to the church this afternoon so I could go retrieve the diaper bag and my lifeline to the outside world. (It might be a little ridiculous how addicted I am to my iPhone. I might need a support group.)

So the moral of all these sad stories? I'm never quite as together as I think I am. And the minute I declare myself to be amazing, I should expect the sky to start falling. And to reassure you that if you didn't try to burn your house down with a dishtowel this week, you're doing better than me.

I might not have to turn in my two weeks' notice after all

2011-01-09T21:25:00.000-07:00

Being a mom to a new baby is a thankless job.

First, there's the labor and delivery, which I'm (obviously) still not talking about.

Then there are the infamous sleepless nights.

Add to that the sore nipples.

And the leaking breastmilk.

And the approximately 47 diapers you change a day.

Don't forget that the baby won't let you put him down most of the time,

And refuses to nap on any kind of predictable schedule,

So you become hopelessly behind on laundry,

Grocery shopping,

And you start to consider peanut butter and jelly a well rounded meal because that's what the girls can unearth the ingredients to and actually make themselves without burning down the kitchen.

Having a newborn means constantly having a little person attached to you.

And never feeling like you have a moment to yourself.

It means constantly teetering in a state of exhaustion, where you're not sure when you last showered, what day of the week it is, or even what your first name is.

But this. This is my paycheck.

And this is my bonus.

I love my job.

In which I buy stock in Pampers, Huggies and Diapers.com

2011-01-05T09:25:00.001-07:00

Enquiring minds want to know:

Just how can two tiny humans make so much poop?

And how do they know to always do it at the same time?

And why is it always when I'm trying to do 57 other things? (Finish the practicing, pack the lunches, will you please find your snow boots, your ride is here you have to go NOW!)

Anybody know how many diapers it takes to fill up a landfill? Beacuse I'm well on my way.

(Yes, I know. I'm a "crunchy" mom. I should be using cloth diapers. I know I should. But I realized a long time ago that I only have so much time and energy, and I can't even accomplish the laundry that's already mine to do, let alone adding in a few more loads of diapers. Plus, my husband told me (and I fully 100% believe him) that if we switched to cloth he would never change another diaper. Do I feel guilty? A little bit. Enough to switch to cloth. Nope.)

Things to love about Christmas

2010-12-29T21:06:00.000-07:00

There are lots of things that I loved about this Christmas.

I loved Ashlynn's second grade Christmas program, and seeing her absolutely giddy to show off for Mom and Dad.

Apparently, my seven year old already has lots of admirerers. The little boy next to her, making googly eyes at her, has been writing her love notes almost every day. They are in second grade people! So not funny.

I loved our Christmas tree. Originally I didn't. Our only matching ornaments were, unfortunately, glass. They, of course, got broken approximately 2.3 minutes after the Christmas tree was decorated when Max decided to see how stable the tree was by pulling it over on his head. Our tree was covered in every kind of ornament imaginable, collected since I was a teenager. We have more handprint reindeer and preschool wreaths than we know what to do with. Plus, the ornaments were continually rearranged not only by two girls who are wanna-be Christmas tree designers, but also by a toddler who was determined that the football ornaments on the tree were for kicking, not for looking at. At one point this season, I wanted to scrap the whole thing and get a tree with matching decorations that actually looked decent. Then, gradually, I realized it was really a metaphor for our lives. A little messy and disorganized? Yes. Did the kids love it? Yes. They probably loved it even more than they would have loved a designer, everything color-coordinated tree because they got to help. So yeah, we'll keep the mismatched tree and the kindergarten ornaments.

I love the treats at Christmas time. I love that people randomly ring your doorbell and bring you plates of homemade goodies. I may or my not be ~~devouring~~ nibbling on some of the best homemade caramels I've ever tasted right now. I love that both my children shown in this picture were eating candy out of their Christmas stocking as breakfast. It's Christmas, what can you say? And Max's crazy bed-head hair is just a bonus. You're welcome.

I loved watching my two year old admiring the presents, and placing his brand new basketball ornament on the tree. He was very proud of himself.

I loved watching my kids' excitement on Christmas morning. The shriek that we heard when the girls went downstairs and discovered that not only had Santa come, but they were most definitely not on the naughty list made both of us laugh out loud. And there's nothing quite like the "I got exactly what I wanted!" smile.

I love oddly wrapped presents, and the way it takes the two year old forever to open them, much to his sisters' dismay. This one was a new Nerf football, complete with a kicking tee for our budding athlete.

I love new Christmas outifts, and the little boy who is so excited about his new vest that he demanded to put it on over his pajamas, and threw a screaming fit when it was time to take it off for breakfast.

And I especially love the cuddly new baby, who was completely oblivious to the Christmas celebration going on around him, and slept happily on Dad's chest through the whole thing.

What were your favorite parts of Christmas?