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.

so I’ve heard

Ah, the serene life of a mormon mommy blogger. Happily typing away on her clean, no fingerprints here! keyboard about the wondrous life of raising a family. Putting into words the hilarious moments of being a mother accompanied with timeless wisdom for others to read.

And what happens when a kid/s comes in bored or hungry or angry or crying wanting this perfect mother’s attention?

“Be quiet for just one minute! Can’t you see I’m busy! Just give me a break here!! For crying out loud!!”

This is not autobiographical in any way.

hello, again.

I have officially ended my seven month hiatus.

A hiatus, you ask? Doing what? Two words: Home. Schooling. I am not doing this anymore. (More on this later. I am still recovering.)

I can now blog again. And clean the house. And read my scriptures. And water the plants. And take a walk if I want to. And shower. And several other things that were not so feasible when telling the children to write their vocabulary words ten times. Or concentrating on not only teaching my 2nd grader her addition facts (math? bleh!) but not pulling my hair out at the same time.

It’s so nice to see them get on the bus.

But it’s also nice to see them come home. I’m refreshed and welcoming with a warm smile and a hug.

say cheese

Thanks to a recent Dads-Night-To-Cook, I have discovered that fried cheese is probably healthier than regular cheese. No way, Jose, you say? I jest not. (I am 93.875% sure on this!)

The reason being is that when you fry cheese in a skillet, there is always fat and oil left in the pan after the cheese is fried to a yummy crisp. Try it and you will see I am right.

I think this is very valuable information. Imagine all you dieters that can now break free! Break free from not eating cheese and eat fried cheese instead!

Yeah, feels good.

this is the place

How often do you get to walk the same ground that your great-great-great grandfather walked? We happened to do just that over the weekend at Pineview Reservoir for a family reunion. Dad was in charge this year and, ever the sentimental fella that he is, decided it would be best to throw in a little familiar education while we ate our potluck under the pavilion at the lake.

So we learned about Joseph Stallings. He was a convert to the church from Maryland that headed out west and homesteaded 250 acres in a quaint little valley by the reservoir in Utah. Can I say gorgeous? I was about to pack up my own belongings and homestead my own third-of-an-acre-on-a-corner-lot.

We were able to tour the property where he lived and took pictures of the original home that he built and, just as exciting, see the original outhouse that he used (where I’m sure a lot of great ideas were born.) We also got to see the local church that he helped to build, and a few other historical landmarks.

The most exciting thing about the whole trip, though, was hearing Dad tell how he knew about the place in the first place. He told us that a few years ago, while my mother’s family was vacationing in the area, he decided to go for a drive and just see if he couldn’t gather some info about this man. He knew that he had settled in the general area, he just didn’t know where.

He drove around and finally stopped at a house hoping someone might know something that could help him. Dad knocked on the door and an older gentleman answered. Dad asked if he had ever heard of a Joseph Stallings or had any information that could help him on his quest.

Well...

This is the place, he was told. The man just happened to be Joseph Stallings' grandson and Dad just happened to knock on the door of the very house that Joseph Stallings had built.

Of all the houses in the valley, it was the right place. Coincidence? I don’t think so. But, you decide.

what a gas

We have been having family dinner now for quite some time. It is quite revolutionary. But, I will save these reasons for another post.

Sometimes while we are eating we will play a game where someone starts a story and we each tell an addition of the story until we either run out of food or the character ends up dying. We try to always let the girls start the story because as soon as either Roman or Greggory share their part of the story the main character usually dies. And for no logical reason. Actually, most of the time the cause of death is from the character’s bowel movements or some gaseous explosion, aka, it farts to death.

So you can see why we like Brooklyn to start the story. We even give Holland a chance to add on, making up sentences from her burbles, trying desperately to drag the story on as long as possible until the inevitable death that awaits.

Yesterday, I was fed up with all the farts. A: we are eating. B: we are eating and C: we are at least trying to make this somewhat educational and so far it was back-firing. (haha) I told the boys that from now on farts and death were banished from our story game. They took it pretty well considering I just wiped out all of their material.

Brooklyn then started the story (I still didn’t completely trust the boys) about a rock named Fluffy. The plot grew and another character, Herman, a sting ray, was introduced. So far, so good. Roman’s turn. More plot. No farts. Great.

And then, I hear this:

Roman: ...then Fluffy dug and dug a big hole...

Gregg (muttering to himself): and then he farted (suppressed giggling)

Roman: ...and they found a key that unlocked the treasure...

Gregg (still thinking that no one can hear him): and then he showed his bum to people (more giggling)

Roman: ...and they rushed through the forest...

Gregg: and he farted! (more giggling)

At this point Roman hears Greggory and just bursts out laughing. And I can’t help it, I start laughing, too. Of course, this encourages Roman and he adjusts his thought mid-sentence and kills the character by, you guessed it, farting to death.

I don’t know if it’s the boys who will never learn. Or me.

diplomatic insult

Today I overheard Roman telling Greggory that he was “close to an idiot”.

Of course I told Roman to not call his brother an idiot, it wasn’t nice.

Roman told me that he did not call him an idiot. He said he was close to an idiot so he actually wasn’t being mean.

Yeah, I guess he had a point.

butte-iful day

What’s more fun on Memorial Day than climbing an old volcanic butte?

How about carrying a 28 lb. toddler on your back, having it rain AND hail, and having your seven year old daughter literally thinking she was going to die and not caring if the whole valley knew about it.

But, hey, that’s what good family memories are made of.

The highlight? Seeing my sons excitement knowing they have walked in a real volcano.

cookie {and} monster

I asked Greggory what he wanted for breakfast this morning and he told me he wasn’t hungry because he had a nightmare about a whale last night. I must have appeared confused because he added that the whale was eating him.

Okay...

He then explained that because of this horrible nightmare, he had to wake up in the middle of the night and eat all the chocolate chip cookies out of the cookie jar (which happened to be about eight).

And therefore, would not be eating breakfast today.

Well, I’m just glad they were oatmeal chocolate chip.

flower child

Little girls and dandelions. Is there a sweeter combination?

the shoe must go on

Here's the thing. Holland has an adorable fetish with shoes and that pretty much sums it up. There's no funny story behind the scenes, or freak accident--she just likes shoes. Of all kinds. It doesn't matter if they are men's, woman's or her brothers. She'll try on whatever comes her way.

I think it's cute. And I think she's cute. What more is there to say?

This is Holland liking the fact that I'm taking so many pictures.

"Maybe if I play dead she'll go away."

ride on

It seems almost cruel. Especially to a sweet little boy.

Last week was our week-long season of Spring where we live. We celebrated by planting flowers, pulling out the kiddie pool and buying the long-anticipated new bike for our oldest son. Which meant that the older, smaller bike immediately was inherited by the younger, smaller brother. He couldn't have been more delighted. As soon as we strapped on those training wheels he was off! Well, after several pushes from his mother. We watched as he circled slowly around the cul-de-sac past our house. Weee! We heard him say. The rest of the day was spent on that bike, circling slowly, around and around.

Yesterday. The little guy wakes up excited to ride his new bike. Well, it's Sunday, and we get to do other activities on Sunday, so we explain that he needs to wait until Monday. He nods, trying hard to be patient.

Today. Today's the day! The first words out of his mouth were not his usual launch about the urgency of eating right away, but are declarations to ride his bike! I convince him to have his breakfast first. He agrees. After his oatmeal, he manages to ride around the circle a couple of times, then comes in, defeated. It's cold, he says.

And so it is. And so it will remain (with chance of showers) for the rest of the week. I'm trying to decide if printing out a picture of a bike for him to color would be therapeutic or torture.

privacy, please

Okay, I'm going private. Who wants in?

here's something

So, here's a thought:

Actually, that's the problem. I haven't had many lately. I blame it on the weather. I mean, it can't even make up its mind to decide if it's spring or winter. Unfortunately, right now it's leaning more towards winter. I guess I shouldn't be too hard on the weather, though. It must be hard being the weather. So much pressure--literally! Hahaha. Okay, that was bad--but great. Come'on, more great than bad.

Onto other non-news, here's an idea that you might like. For Family Home Evening the other week we decided it would be fun to draw names in our family for "secret service". Basically we do things for the person who's name we drew throughout the week in secrecy.

This week, Brooklyn drew Roman's name and he could not, for the life of him, figure out who wrote him the I love you note that was shoved under his bedroom door. All week long he studied the note, trying to figure out who the author was. He finally narrowed it down by reasoning that because the y in you looked like a number four, then the writer had to be the age of four. You can imagine his shock and surprise when he learned on Sunday that it was actually his sister of seven.

Overall, it's been a success. But just when I think my children are learning the value and purpose of service, Roman draws his secret name and immediately starts groaning, No! Not him!!

Poor Greggory.