breather

So, did you hear we are having a boy?  That will make three boys.  I'm pretty sure my brother, who has three girls, is green with envy.  haha.  We're thinking of Giovani, Grayson, Cooper, or just plain Kid.  Which do you like?

Yesterday I turned 30.  I marked the occasion by buying myself a pretty new shelf for our living room wall.  I know.  Wild.  Other than that it was dinner with the fam on Sunday, and a hot date with my hubby on Friday.  Pretty exciting.

Holland is back in diapers which means no preschool for her.  I know you were dying to know this but it really is the bane of my existence right now.  You think you have it tough?!!?!?

I had an awesome weekend, though:

*I turned 30.  That doesn't happen every day.

*We finished the boy's closet downstairs--complete with their own matching shelves and clothes rod--which will make for more peaceful mornings come school time.

*We found out that Brooklyn doesn't have the mean teacher for third grade and Roman will be in the same class as his best friend

*We also discovered the incredibly grotesque stench coming from our food storage room was not, in fact, rotting mice like we were led to believe, but instead, rotting potatoes that were oozing onto the floor.  I'll bet you're wondering, "Why did you not see these slimy, fly-infested potatoes earlier?"  Well, I have asked this question to myself, my friend, many times since the smell has been lurking in that in that room for a few weeks now.  But, it's all cleaned up and I'm never buying potatoes again!!  Well, at least I'm not storing then down there.  

The horror of it!  But, overall, we got so much accomplished I can breathe a little easier.

comeback

The kids and I were just finishing a shopping trip at Walmart (bleh!).   I was trying to get our bags loaded and they were tired and squabbling as kids (and sometimes adults) do when they are tired.  Well, I guess Greggory had had enough of Roman's excessiveness and in his angriest voice yelled as loud as he could,

"Well, you're sexy!"

It suddenly got quiet.  The kids and I just stared at him along with probably half the parking lot groupies that were in our near vicinity.

"What did you just say?"  I asked.

"Roman's sexy."  More unsure and a little quieter this time due to the unexpected response he gotten the first time.

"Okay, get in the van.  We need to have a little talk."

Now, Greggory has been known in his life for great comebacks (Idiant!  Hate that!  Just to name a couple)  He can be pretty witty and hold his ground, but with this new one I think he broke ground on a whole new level.

bombs away!

Roman was jumping off the couch in our unfinished basement and aiming for our bean bag. He’s usually pretty successful but the other day he apparently was not because Greggory scared him so bad that he missed.

Well....

After the hugs and kisses and pats on the head telling him he would be okay things got a little...weird

A few minutes later, at dinner, when asked about his new airplane that he’s been excited to get for weeks, he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. And then when he called his brother his sister’s name I knew something might be wrong. So I called the nurse. And left a message.

“Um, hi, my son was jumping off the couch and he hit his head and now he has short term memory loss. Do I need to come in?”

(Okay, so, to give me some credit I didn’t have to wait for the nurse to call me back to realize that I needed to have him seen by a doctor. I guess I’m just one of those have-hear-it-to-believe-it kind of folks.)

After driving to the doctor and after Roman asking me, oh, forty-six times: “where are we going, mom?” you guessed it I’m sure. Mild concussion. For jumping off the stinking couch! Granted it was a concrete landing, but still! Usually you think of concussions being gotten after cooler or more dangerous things.

He’s okay, now. Back to his old self again. Except, the only bad thing is that because of the short term memory loss he has no recollection of the jump. Which means that he hasn’t learned any consequences. Which means this will probably happen again.

Sigh.

barf!

Holland wanted me to play pretend puppies with her one morning.

Okay, I said. We’ll play puppies.

She immediately got on all fours and yelped,

“Barf! Barf! Barf-barf-barf!”

Maybe her puppies need to go see the vet.

mmm. ham.

I was at institute the other night.

Institute is a class for adults where you can study the scriptures. It’s also a place for learning and reflecting and spiritual growth. I was doing all of those things and very much enjoying it, too.

Then I get this text from Weston who was at home watching the kids:

(Just disregard the first part...)

Have I mentioned I am a proud parent of two boys?

breakfast

This morning at family scripture study, two year old Holland taught us that a way we learn that the Book of Mormon is true is through the Holy Toast.

Maybe having scripture study during breakfast isn’t such a great idea.

enlightened child

My youngest is just about 2 1/2. That means, culturally speaking, that she needs to be potty-trained any day now.

I am in agreement 100%.

But she is my youngest, meaning that I’m pretty used to changing diapers by now. In fact, I would even argue that diapers are easier than a potty-trained child. (Have you ever had a full cart of groceries in the check out line when your child starts panicking that she or he has to go now!!)?

Even so I realize that she cannot go to preschool still wearing diapers and that countdown is putting pressure on me to get her trained. But I’m not worried, because, again, she is my youngest and the other three are fairly potty-trained--using that term loosely of course--and I’m confident in my abilities.

So I start with the classic: bribery. In my sweetest voice.

“Holland? If you go potty in the toilet, I’ll give you a (wait for it--) a potty treat!” Pause and hold excited face for seven seconds. Wait for positive and enthusiastic response from child. Optional confetti falling down. Optional hug for Mommy for being so generous. (See? I know how to do this. I’ve done it three other times after all.) Piece of cake.

She looks at me stupidly, wrinkles her nose and pouts a disgusted, “eeww!” my way and leaves.

Hmm. Probably have to re-think that whole “potty treat” idea.