You've come a long way, baby!

I know I got my creative instincts from my mother.  She could do just about anything and would try just about anything.  Always the room mom, the creator of the best parties, the seamstress of many a fabulous Halloween costume, the endless crafter.  Because I grew up watching her make things with her hands, I have seen the most popular (and horrid) crafting trends of the past.  Puffy painted tshirts. Rhinestone studded keds.  And our home went through many a decorating craze.  Coca-Cola memorabilia.  Oh yeah.  Remember that?  Watermelons.... watermelon napkin holders, watermelon towels, watermelon doorstops.   Cherubs... in the bathroom, in the living room, on the window sills.  Was there some secret rule of the crafters that your home had to literally be erupting with the latest thing?  Seriously, this is why I hate the word "craft".  I cannot help but think of the tacky things my eyes have seen over the years, in the name of "crafting". 

So when I came across this the other day while persuing through my mother's old recipes, I had a real good laugh and moment of nostalgia:

Can't you tell she thought this was the most amazingly unique idea ever when she jotted it down?  Amazing enough to make a cute little squiggley mark underneath it.  And to add an exclamation point on to the end! 

Yeah.  Good times.  I'm sure the joke will be on me in 25 years when my daughters find my stash of scrapbook paper.

Like father like daugher? Er, mother like son?

A simple game of Go Fish (the Finding Nemo version) demonstrates how my kids have taken after the opposite gender parent.  Andrew (my husband) is the competitive one while I am more of the "make love, not war" variety.  Funny, my dad was the some way.  In fact he used to say to us as we sat down to a game of Checkers, "This is war."  I'll give Andrew some credit, he's not that bad.

So Adriana, my 10 year old, and Jonah, my 7 year old, tried to teach their younger siblings how to play this game last night.  Adriana passed out the cards and explained the goal of trying to make a match.  And they began to play.  Jonah went first. He asked Adriana for a Dory.  She barely got out that she didn't have one when Drew (5) piped in with "I have one Jonah, I do!"  He was all smiles.  Such a lover, that one.  Adriana in her usual superior 10-going-on-16 fashion shouted "No, that's not how you do it.  You can't HELP him."  (Heaven forbid.)  So they started over.  Jonah went again and asked Adriana for a Nemo.  Drew didn't even wait for her to answer and began shoving his 3 Nemos into Jonah's hands.  I looked at Adriana and it seemed like the little vein in her forehead was close to bursting.  Lol.  And the game ended there. 

With a rebel yell from the 10 year old.

On why I need designer jeans.

This year, like every year before it, I hit the doorbusters in the wee hours of Black Friday. Most of my deals were found at Target, but I also hit World market (for their buy one get one free Christmas cards), Bath and Body Works (hey, a girl needs holiday scented
soap!),...................... and Saks Fifth Avenue.

That's right, I went shopping for myself on Black Friday this year. They were having a sale on their designer jeans and I was all over it.

It has taken a while for me to "get" the rationality behind a $100+ pair of jeans. Since highschool I've taken the middle road and worn mostly Gap jeans. Express if I am feeling extra sassy. And there is nothing wrong with them - they come in tall sizes (which I need) and they fit nicely enough. Until about noon or so when the butt is sagging (and no its not because of MY saggy butt, but rather material that doesn't give... that's my story and I'm stickin' to it).

It's hard to describe what it feels like to try on a nice pair of jeans. They move with you (not against you). The back pockets are in the right place (yes, even after you put them on). And they feel. so. good. In fact, trying on jeans has never been so fun when you are doing it in a room large enough that your elbows aren't knocking into the walls around you, and your salesperson is running all over the store for you, as determined as you are to find "the one" pair that will take you up a notch.

I guess my opinion on the matter shifted when I attended a photography seminar a couple months ago. We talked a lot about image, marketing and branding. 3 important targets on the business side of photography that I was severely lacking. Branding is the "intangible, personable and powerful message you portray" (Christopher Becker). It communicates who you are, what you do and WHO you do it for. And the benefits of branding yourself are countless... but the one that stood out most in my mind was maintaining a "top of the mind" status. Moreso than prestige, or greater recognition, or being at the head of the trend, I think that "if you can believe it, you can be it" mentality generates the most success.

So here I am dressing for the job I want. I'm communicating my worth.

Too bad I am often simply on my way to Walgreens.

Chronciles of Potty Training

When my children hit the age of 2, I recoil from potty training for as long as possible. It's like Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, I have a knee jerk reaction due to my horrible past experiences with it.

My first child potty trained at the age of 3.4. I felt like I certainly must have been the worst mother in the world to have a child p.t. so late in life. All her little friends were having potty success by the age of 2.5, with few exceptions. There was nobody there to tell me that each child has their own unique time frame and temperament, and that all of these must align in order for p.t.'ing to lift off without a hitch. Nobody was there to tell me that whether or not my child potty trained before the age of 3 was in no way a reflection on my parenting skills. Of course, I kept company with other first time moms, so that explains it right there. But I pretty much hid under a rock whenever the topic came up. And when she was finally p.t.'ed, I joined the other living, breathing, bragging moms and basked in the glory of having completed my task.

Jonah potty trained at age 3.975. Unlike Adriana, he refused to even SIT on the dang thing. He'd go stiff as a board every time I carried him into the bathroom, singing dumb little ditties about how fun using the potty is through my gritted teeth. I was a sweaty, bitter mess by the end of the day (actually for MANY days, on end), and had only a pile of wet undies to show for it. I threw in the towel quickly, and asked periodically, over the course of probably a year (yes, you heard that right), if he'd like to try and go potty. His teachers at preschool were vigilant as well. But to no avail. Alas, one Saturday afternoon, my husband decided to take Jonah in the bathroom, shut the door, and insist firmly that he pee. Just a drop would do. And there'd be a party in his honor, with a present, and plenty of praise. And it worked. And he had not a single accident from that day forward. It was like a switch went off and he just decided to do it. FINALLY. Here I thought maybe there was soemthing wrong with him, that he indeed might be the first Kindergartner to wear a Pull-Up to school, and he'd just not yet decided that he wanted to do it! Stinker!

Drew comes along. He hits 2.5. And I have a 5 month old baby. A very easy 5 month old baby, I might add. But nobody else needed to know that. ;) It can wait, I thought. He asked a few times, to which I retorted "I know what you've got up your little sleeve! What do you think I am, stupid?" He'd look up at me confusingly and go back to playing with his trains. Poor kid. Had no idea how much therapy his mother needed. But I knew that boys trained later than girls - Jonah had certainly proven that theory. And I wasn't ashamed of my laziness any more than I was reluctant to face the hardships that lie ahead for us both. Then around his 3rd birthday, I suggested he use the potty. I knew it was time and I wanted to get it over with quickly. Like ripping off a band-aid. By now I had heard and tried all the theories - let him go naked, buy him a doll, give him potty treats, make him a potty chart, blah, blah, blah. I just didn't really care for any of the hooplah anymore. I only wanted to stop hoisting my 35 lb. preschooler's legs over his head to wipe his bum. And so every 15 min., for 3 or 4 days in a row, we marched into the bathroom and sat on the porcelain throne. 3.975 came and went. I was shocked. Drew DID want to use the potty. He went whenever I asked him to. But he never went on his own. Was he not sensing the urge, I wondered? Because he was willing and able to do it. And I found myself hiding under that dang rock of shame again. It didn't help that he is big for his age... as tall or taller than many kindergartners. So I felt much scrutiny whenever he declared loudly in public that he'd peed his pants again. The road to success continued to meander for a few months. But around 4.4 he was finally trained.

So by now I am really beginning to feel like this is my lot in life, right? This and laundry. I couldn't seem to get a handle on either one.

Well, Sasha is currently 2.8. She has hit every milestone much sooner than her older siblings. So, 2 months ago I decided to buy her a pretty pink Baby Bjorn potty (the old one surely had a bad omen placed on it). Last week I decided we'd begin the process. Yesterday was when I actually started. ;) Baby steps, ya know? You don't go jumping head first into a landmine.

I am proud to announce that she was succeessful. On her very first day. She knew when she had to go. She simply told me, we walked into the bathroom together, she sat down and listened to a few songs, and voila. Peed. I almost didn't believe it. Had all those moms been telling the truth? Was this actually possible? I had to peer into the potty to be sure. And pinch myself a few times. She's broken the mold in so many ways (rarely has temper tantrums for one thing), and I hope this continues to be one of them!

Ironically, I am hearing from other moms this time around how hard this potty training gig is. And I shake my head emphatically along with them that yes, potty training deserves some kind of great reward. Move over Oscars. I just may be done with diapers, and my biggest parenting challenge to date, FOREVER. Where, oh where, is my gold trophy?

A moment of pride

Yesterday while I was working out my 4 year old came into the room and asked if he could join me. He peeked under my bed, where I keep all my weights, and struggled to reach 2 small, dusty 5lb. weights. He pulled them out and studied them, comparing them to the 20 lb. weights I was using. And he asks...

"Are these Daddy's weights?"

10 MORE commandments

For my children and my children alone:

1.) Thou shalt not lick anything besides lollipops, ice cream or popsicles. This includes your little sister.

2.) Thou shalt not hit any note higher than G whilst screaming. I cannot handle high C any longer.

3.) Thou shalt not steal food off your sibling's plate when they look the other way.

4.) Thou shalt restrain the urge to practice your most intense piano pieces, crescendo ad nauseum, as soon as I pick up the phone.

5.) Don't not go potty and say you did. Er, Thou shalt not lie and then pee in your carseat as we pull out of the driveway.

6.) Speaking of pottying, thou shalt pull your pants up before you exit the public stall - or even better, the public restroom.

7.) Thous shalt not try and slide down my back while I am doing yoga in the living room.

8.) And thou shalt not ask for me to explain the law of gravity while I am on my 12th rep of bicep curls.

9.) Yes, it is fair. Uh, I mean... thus is fair. (?)

10.) Oh, and thou shalt EAT YOUR VEGETABLES! That one is in the bible. Somewhere, I'm sure. :)

Are we there yet?

I keeping asking myself this question. Why? Because on Thursday I get to take off, by myself, for 3 days. 3 days of no Dora. 3 days of no settling spats. 3 days of no answering the same question times 10. 3 days of quiet. 3 days of not having to share what is on my plate. 3 days of going to the restroom alone. 3 days of doing whatever I want - sleeping, reading, watching movies. In a big hotel room. With spa access (my poor runner's feet cannot wait). And the company of my lovely sister-in-law to whom I owe the accomodations.

Thursday, where art thou? Come swiftly and pass slowly. Rejuvenate me. Give me breath. Grant me rest, I beg thee.

Oh, and be sweet to my husband. Forsake him not. He hath taken time off work for me to do this. And if it be thy will, subdue my children... just enough to keep my spouse sane, though not enough that he is not in awe of me upon my return, and doth lavish me with praise and a promise that I might be let away again once more...

Just cause I want to remember it...

Adriana came home today all excited because she got to see President Obama's inauguration speech in school. She added, and I quote, "I saw him SWEAR, Mom!"

:)

Cute girl.

Censoring the words of an elementary school boy...

One of Jonah's recent spelling assignments was to write 2 sentences using the words "I" and "what". Here is what he came up with...



I made him erase "What the heuck (heck)?" and think of another sentence before turning it in, but not before I took a picture! Lol!

For Tamlynn and Nettie

I even put on an apron for ya. ;)

Feel my pain...

3 days ago I would have said that I'd do anything to have my healthy little girl back. She's got a viral bug and her fever has been up around 102-103 since Saturday. I hate looking into those sad, sunken little eyes and feeling like there's nothing I can do.

Today, although still a tad feverish, she's getting her mojo back. Oh yes. I discovered that she'd painted my ottoman with nacho cheese this morning and thought... now why didn't I appreciate the quietude yesterday?

Thank goodness for blogging because I don't think I could say that out loud and not be committed. Lol.

I vacuum my table (and other confessions)

Yes, sometimes it is the fastest and easiest way to clear the surface of crumbs!

I think all purses shaped like bustieres should be burned.

I bribe my kids with dum dums to get them to keep playing the piano.

I also think sweatpants with writing on the rear should be burned.
I've taught my 2 year old to say, "I'm so cute. And I'm so smart."
I hate going to the park, but I do it because my children love it.

I'm probably the worst potty trainer ever.
I don't make my kids brush their teeth every morning.
I love Big Macs.
I like to run to heavy metal. And hip hop.

One more reason to get my husband to start exercising again....

... is not only to increase his energy and fend off a family history of cancer, but so he doesn't feel the way he did the first time I asked him to run to the store and buy me tampons. (Ah, remember the good old days?) Since I began training for a half marathon our grocery lists have begun to look more like spelling tests and riddles. I recently had "sports beans" on there and he came home with bean sprouts. "Honey, it just didn't make any sense!" he tells me, bewildered, holding the grocery list inches from his nose, squinting as if to will the letters into their proper place. Poor guy, the look on his face told me that I have gotten upset with him one too many times for bringing home the wrong thing. But this time it wasn't the wrong kind of apples or brand of detergent (clearly labelled and perfectly legible if I may add). As I took in the genuine look of confusion on his face, I actually understood and even sympathized with where he was coming from, and then began brainstorming ways of disguising bean sprouts in that night's dinner.

Did I just say that?

As a mom who is rarely undistracted, I strongly believe that whatever comes out of my mouth should not to be questioned, except by myself. This should be a commandment.

Today at lunch Drew (3) kept getting up from the table. Over and over ad nauseum. So I kept trying to clean up his place at the table. And he'd come running back and say "I'm not done!" I found myself replying, "If you're going to eat, eat!" Which makes no sense really. And he's getting smart enough to realize that now. Giving me that puzzled look.

I never thought I'd mistake my children for one another. My own mother did it and it really bugged. Now I regularly go through the whole family's names before I get to the right one. Sometimes I don't even start with the right gender. Drew is always there to correct me. But I am exempt. Because I usually have a million other things on my mind, alright?! If I call a name and you are guilty, come running I say! Regardless of whether or not the name exists in our family!

"Because I said so." How many of you have that one on your list? It's losing it's effect on my 9 year old. But it still works great on the others, so I am standing by it.

I especially love it when I say "yes" to something I clearly meant to say "no" to. It's not until I hear the "YAYs" and see the backflips that I realize I just committed to something big. I don't think tantrums should be allowed if mom was approached under the influence (of blogging). Backsies, however, should be allowed when approached under the influence!

We need to recondition this line of thinking that "Mother knows best." Because sometimes mommy forgets her shoes when she leaves the house. And looks all over the house for the keys she is holding in her left hand. She may even try to put your socks on your hands when getting you dressed.

And you know what? It is O.K.

If only I could relax

Without "unbuttoning my pants". And I don't mean that metaphorically. I know this blog has become sort of a "chronicles of apartment living". I'm sorry for that, I assure you it is only temporary. Anyway - clarification on the pants (so you don't think I'm also becoming one of THOSE blogs, and by that I mean risque, and I'm just assuming they are out there). I really wish that I could kick back... now that the house is packed up and sold and everything is neatly boxed and waiting for it's new home. But I am anxious, people. And my kids have cabin fever. And, AND, I have developped a habit of ending my day with a pint of Ben and Jerry's. (Finally, the point) Imagine Whirled Peace, Peach Cobbler, Mint Chocolate Cookie... be still my beating heart (and bulging zipper)!

UUGGGHHHH

Being sick and being a mom don't mix. It's been a long time since I've surrendered myself to illness. The pride (I'm tough!) and the guilt (I can't bare to make somebody else sniff for dirty underwear!) trump a silly little cold, in my opinion. Yesterday morning, however, my husband took one look at me and my not-so-sexy-crusty self and offered to stay home from work and telecommute. "Thanks" I managed to croak defenselessly. He locked my bedroom door and I rolled over and moaned.

So I spent the whole day in bed. THE WHOLE DAY. I got up to use the bathroom and that's it. Now, were my head not pounding I'd have really lived it up. Maybe ordered take-out and watched a few good movies. But the rest alone was nice. Really nice. And I peeked through a few catalogs and picked out some new paint colors for the house and chatted with some friends.

Today I am feeling loads better (thanks honey). But I've quickly decided that there is something tougher than being a mom and getting sick. And that is making up for being sick. Yep, there is double the work the day after you are sick. I should have done the math ahead of time, because I was a little shocked this morning. I've been picking up, cleaning up, and tidying up all morning. There is a trail of snacks from the pantry to the living room. We could have sat down to breakfast this morning right there on the floor! Okay, I may be exaggerating just a tiny bit, but I am surprised I wasn't a whole lot sicker with how dirty this place seems to be today. I feel like Monk trying to get in every nook and cranny.

So my advice to you, should you get sick and should your husband offer you the day off... take it, by all means TAKE IT! But send them all away. Let them make their mess somewhere else!

silly girl

Every night when I tuck 20 month old Sasha into bed:

S: Mom?

me: What baby?

S: Want something.

me: Okay, what do you want?

S: Um... chicken.

And then we giggle...

26.2...

...is the number of miles in a marathon. I've taken to running in the last few months. Never thought I'd be a runner. I tried a few times in college with my roomates and it seemed like the most brutal form of exercise. I'd been dancing for years, so running felt like a form of punishment!

I have several MOFs who are runners, too. Many of them are currently training for the Wasatch Back and a number of other individual races. I guess this is the next step for me, although I haven't the desire yet. I've been running 10-12 miles a week for a while now (3-3.5 miles x 3 or 4 days a week) and I feel like I should be going somewhere with it. Only, there is still so much I do not know. If I try to think of things in terms of hectic motherhood, however, it makes a little more sense. Here are a few runner's terms I've picked up.

FARTLEK

I totally get this (and not in the way that you might think, although the analogy of changing diapers was the first to pop into my mind. Second thing to pop into my mind was that my brothers actually used to call each other "fartLICK". Ew.). Anyway, think of it this way... have you ever tried to cook dinner (moderate speed- don't want to burn it!), help your children with their homework (slow and steady, with patience) and be ready (as in nicely dressed) for a church meeting at the same time (SPRINT!)?

SPEED WORK

Some days you just gotta pace yourself. You want to dive in so badly, but in order to endure to the end of the day, you have to reserve your energy stores.

"HITTING THE WALL"

Defined as "The dreaded point (and awful feeling similar to what your body would feel like if you ran into a wall) during a race when your muscle glycogen stores become depleted and a feeling of fatigue engulfs you." Uh-huh. I call that 4:00 in the afternoon!

INTERVALS

It's like tidying up a house. You do a fast sweep through the house. After a 5 minute break you have a new mess to tend to. And so on.

RUNNER'S HIGH

The feeling of exhilaration that comes after a good hard run. Or childbirth. Or naptime.

TAPER

Runners usually cut back mileage 1 day to 3 weeks before a race. Like when I decide to let my kids buy lunch rather than make it for them, right? I'd really like to incorprate this more into my housekeeping. I don't think dh would go for it though!

There's so much more to learn. In both arenas. But they definitely both reap what you sow. And they both push you, some days harder than you'd like!

Ah, so that's what I missed while I was walking the halls...

My daughter has been of the age now for a couple years where she does not need busy activities during church, but I let her have a piece of paper and encourage her to write down her impressions.

I found this list she made from a while back in an old church bag. It starts off great - with some really deep stuff... John the Baptist baptized Jesus Christ, Christ is our example, Say your prayers every night...

And then there's this:

(translation - Just like your wife said. Take out the trash! Ok!)

Hmmm...

On swearing

Having been raised in the South, "damn it" was never considered a curse word. So I say it pretty casually and pretty often. You're shocked, I know. Well, I have to stop it. Because my 2 youngest children are now repeating it (so much for just knowing deep down that it is WRONG to say it). I was able to sneak it by the 2 oldest, so I'm a little miffed that my one vice (not including diet coke) has to come to an end.

The other day while playing video games with his father, my son fell behind in a race and said "Damn!" My husband and I looked at each other, appalled of course. Seeing our expressions our son corrected himself and said, "Oops, I MEANT to say damn IT. Sorry." Wow. We've taught him well.

And then there is Sasha. Sweet little thing. I just bought her this darling little book from Costco called "Mommy's Tote". It's got all sorts of flaps and puzzle pieces and things to tuck into pockets. Well, of course, one of the damn pieces ripped. And then another. And another (oh why do I buy these things?). So I said it. Out loud. And she picked up on it, immediately. Off she ran, squealing and grinning wildly and yelling "damn it" (3 times in a row, as per my habit)!

I've heard that there comes a time in every parent's life when their children magnify (and manifest) their weaknesses. I guess I'm glad that I lasted as long as I did. 2 outta 4 ain't bad. But damn, I'm ticked.