being the new kid

Today I had the opportunity to go and eat lunch with Brooklyn at her school. I brought along Roman who was excited to get a glimpse of real kindergarteners in action. Brooklyn didn't know we were coming and was very excited and surprised when we suddenly sat down beside her in the classroom "pit" a few minutes before the lunch bell.

Right away she informed us of a couple of lunchtime rules to make sure we didn't get out of line--literally. Walk to the line. Stay behind your person. Don't yell. Don't run. If you do these things then Mrs. Tucker won't become the "mean teacher." I nodded solemnly and our lunchtime line proceeded down the hall and toward the cafeteria.

After being served our pizza and chocolate milk we sat down to eat. As we ate I asked Brooklyn and two noisy boys sitting across from us about their day, what they had learned and if anybody ever got white milk. They didn't remember what they had learned, their friend Kylie liked Brian because he could count to over a hundred and that was amazing, and no, nobody ever got white milk. All in all, aside from the interjections of sound effects and invisible ghosts attacking the table, a decent conversation.

After lunch, recess. Brooklyn showed us--along with about seven groupies (who knew that a mom could make you so popular?) around the playground and I showed my sweet pushing skills on the swings.

As I watched the kids playing, I couldn't help but wonder where their lives would take them in the next few years. They were so innocent. Everybody was friends with everybody else, no one cared about clothes or style or being cool and the only thing that made you stand apart was how high you could count.



What makes all of that change?

it's a dirty job

On Monday, after his third dirty diaper, I asked Greggory if he wanted to use the potty like a big boy and wear undies like his big brother, Roman.

He looked at me for a moment and then said, "No, that would be dangerous."

Hmmm. He's probably right.

calm down, willya?

It finally happened.

Ever since I brought my first-born home from the hospital I have been afraid to shower. Not because I think there is a monster hiding in my bathtub but because of what my children might do while I am bathing. I can handle messes. It's blood that really makes me worried. I always leave my door unlocked just so that if somebody were to lose a hand or an eye they would have easy access to me for notification.

Well, the other day, for some reason I chose not to leave my door unlocked and the minute I turned the water off (after a more indulgent shower than usual, I'm ashamed to admit) all I heard was terrified banging on my bedroom door. And screaming. Instantly, my heart started pounding. Thoughts raced through my head of previous incidents of emergency rooms and x-rays and stitches and I braced myself for a grisly situation.

I opened the door to find Roman holding his hand--covered in blood. I raced him to my bathroom and held his hand over the tub to catch the blood dripping from him. At that moment, I knew that I could easily make a frightening situation much worse if I did not get control of my demeanor and tone right away. So, I took a breath and calmly told him that it would be all right and that he just needed a bandaid, praying that I was right.

Luckily, I was. It turned out to only be a superficial cut and he was soon back at play.

I then remembered how at scripture study that morning we had talked about talents. I asked the children what talents they had. Brooklyn knew her talent was dancing and singing, Roman's was flipping over things and Greggory thought he was good at climbing. When asked the question, none of them had hesitated. They all boldly declared what they were good at.

So, I think I will learn from their example. I have a talent of staying calm in a crisis. And that's pretty good, I think.

children of the morn

I quietly woke up early this morning with the lights off. I quietly got dressed to go to the gym with the lights off. I quietly walked toward the kitchen with the lights off. As I quietly turned the corner, I saw the solemn figure of a two foot personage standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at the floor with the lights off. I half expected to see glowing red eyes slowly look up at me and command levitating knives to suddenly dart into my bowels spilling my innards for the little devil's morning snack. Instead, it was only Greggory. He wanted some toast and milk.

--Weston

pass the toothpaste

I bought some new toothpaste the other day. (I know, right?!?!) And ever since my new upgraded lifestyle (see two previous posts) I decided on the better, fancier brand. Actually, it was the only kind I could purchase according to my new friend, thekrazycouponlady, to get them for krazy cheap. Yeah, I'm pretty much a couponer now. I'm trying to decide if that warrants a special prefix to my name.

Anyways...

So I come home with my brand new toothpaste excited that not only did I save two bucks per tube, but now I get to look forward to brushing my teeth with a new mint flavor. At this point I have to make a decision. Do I wait to use the new paste until the old paste is gone, or pull a switcheroo? Well, that really wasn't a tough one. The old paste is immediately demoted to the back cupboard and I tear open the sparkly box.

Hang on to my hat! What do we have here! Not only is this toothpaste extra minty but it also comes in a see-through tube!! I've never seen this before! What craftmanship in a plastic container!

Well, after the excitement and hubbub calmed I started thinking, is this what we've finally come to as a society? Do we really need all the extras in order to consider buying a product? Does this see-through tube really make my teeth cleaner? Maybe. I don't know. Probably.

It's just awesome. The pioneers really missed out, you know?

back to bread

I was reunited the other day with a long lost friend: my Kitchenaid dough hook. I like to make bread and I depend on it to get the texture just right.

Well, to make this post more interesting I'll throw in a twist. My boys also are quite fond of the hook--but not to make yummy butter rolls. It provides the final detail to make a fearsome pirate, arrgh matey. Well, after a few battles between bread and swashbuckler my dough hook vanished. Never to be seen again. I was quite saddened and so were our tummies as they, too, missed cinnamon rolls. This was several months ago.

For Christmas, my sweet husband surprised me with a replacement and then promptly said, "get to kneading!" (I'm just kidding, but I bet he thought it.)

So I made some rolls like I usually do and didn't think anything of it. Well, Roman happened to be playing with playdough that same day and when I came in the kitchen to check on him, much to my amazement were two sheet pans resting on the counter with neat little playdough-rolls placed on top. The rolls were identical to the ones I always make, cut and rolled exactly like mine. I asked Roman about it and he excitedly told me that he made the rolls just like I made them. I remembered how Roman always liked to help me when I was making bread, but I didn't think he was paying that much attention.

I was so flattered with his work that I forgave him for any foul play that he may have been involved with with my old hook. It just goes to show that you never know when the short people in your house are paying attention. So be careful what you say and how you roll your dough because they're always watching.

upgrade, please

It all started with a dish-towel.

I brought a micro-fiber towel home from the 'mart and fell in love with it instantly as it not only cleaned my counters and glass-top stove but shined them, too. I thought, as I was admiring my handiwork of shininess, why have I not forked over the five bucks to get these towels earlier?

Then, a few days later as I was folding laundry I realized that the smell was not quite all the way out of the boy's clothes--you may know the smell that I am referring to--the smell that accompanies small boys no matter how many times you bathe them? So I remembered my dish-towel experience and knew it was time for an upgrade in laundry detergent.

BOY! If I thought I knew what happiness was before washing clothes in nice laundry soap I was surely mistaken. Every shirt, pant and sock met my nose in wonder before being folded and put away.

You may be asking, what's the big deal? I'm sure many people do not hesitate to fork over the extra dollars to get the premiums but I'm cheap, you see. Get over it.

So then I started thinking. What else can I buy? This is fun. And then I realized my biggest foe staring at me right in the face, er rather, feet. My carpet. It wasn't even two years old and already I had fantasies of replacing it. No matter how many times I vacuumed it never looked clean. Of course, I blamed it on my vacuum for sucking, or not sucking, or whatever, instead of the four children and two adults that inhabit the house. It's not our fault. It had to be the vacuum.

I started investigating. What kind of vacuum to buy? How much did I really want to spend? It turned out that vacuums can cost a lot of money. Gulp. But I'm cheap. Could I do it? I wasn't sure.

Eventually I caved, justifying the purchase to a business expense (hey, I work. . .I just don't get paid any money) and we came home with a pretty nice vacuum. Immediately we set to work vacuuming every nook and cranny we could get our hose on. And when we finished we stood back and gaped at the miracle. Our dingy crusty carpet had vanished! In its place lay a beautiful, fluffy, soft carpet that made you think of little lambs jumping through a meadow....well, you get my point. I couldn't believe it!

So, I guess the moral of this story is that sometimes it's okay to be cheap. But sometimes it's not. And also, vacuuming really makes a difference!