Cat or Dog?

Recently we have been trying to teach our children to make decisions by allowing them to choose between two options. For example: "Roman, do you want to go to timeout or do you want go to bed?"

This morning Brooklyn approached me with two options. Of course she caught me at my most vulnerable position--I was flossing, both of my hands were bound. Recognizing that she would have nothing but my full attention, she stated:

"Dad, you can get me either a cat or a dog. Which one do you think would be better? I would be happy with either one. However," she stated as she lifted up her hands to show me her hypothetical scale of logic, "on the one hand you have a dog, who would eat all the vegetables in our garden." Then, raising her other hand much higher than the first and proclaiming with a happier voice while nodding her head in affirmation, "Or we can get a cat, which will eat all of the mice. So Dad, which is it going to be? . . . A cat that will eat mice or a dog that will eat our food?"

I tried to avoid the subject by brushing my teeth and rinsing, but she kept asking with her hypothetical scales: "Cat or Dog? Cat or Dog? CAT OR DOG?" I still haven't answered her question, but between you, me and everyone else except for Brooklyn, I will be getting her a cat. After all, when you only are only given two options to choose from, you must pick one, right?

(Brigette said I had to make full disclosure that Weston wrote this, as she is embarrassed by my lack of blogging abilities)

Bruised, But Not Beaten

The other day Weston was out tinkering around outside probably trying to decide how many possible ways he could clear the driveway from all of the snow when he suddenly came in with a pained expression on his face. Now, when I say pained, I mean his face was contorted to portray as much agony as humanly possible. Not only that, he was limping to one side and holding his back.

I looked at him, and asked him if something was the matter.

He told me that he had fallen down.

I stared at him trying to muster up as much sympathy as possible and told him I was sorry. Then I went back to reading my book.

I know as I write this that I sound extremely callused, and that may be true. But, that is probably true for two reasons: One, growing up (I know, it's the childhood syndrome) I was taught that if something bad happened, you just tough it up and move on. The second reason is that Weston has been known to milk any injury to the extreme to extract any amount of sympathy for him. So, I try. I really do. But, sometimes, I'm just not in the mood.

Well, anyway, the next day we were in our bedroom and he was changing his shirt. As he lifted his shirt up to remove it, there branding his back very boldly was one of the ugliest bruises I had ever seen. I gasped loudly and cried, "what happened?!"

He looked at me dumbly and then the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I stammered, trying desperately to still feel justified.

The dumb stare continued.

Feeling like the worst wife in the world, I stood up and gave him a hug. However, I did note the exaggerated wince that he made even though I only touched his shoulders.

I don't think we'll ever learn.

Teamwork

Yesterday I was busy in the living room when I heard a soft thump coming from the boy's room followed by an enthusiastic, "you're welcome!" A minute later, Greggory came walking out to meet me with a victorious grin on his face. Apparently, Roman had helped the little guy "escape" from naptime by tipping his playpen over--with Greggory still in it, of course.



Here's another example of Team Greggoman at work. Roman is kind enough to share his yogurt with Greggy over my brand new carpet.

I love my boys.

Tag!

I've been tagged to write seven interesting things about myself. I understand that "interesting" is based completely on one's perspective and so I guarantee nothing.

1) My biggest ambition in life when I was growing up was to be a brain surgeon. I collected everything anatomically correct and for Christmas when I was eight years old I even asked for--and received--a true-to-scale model of the female human body. You couldn't have found a happier girl.

2) I really enjoy brushing my teeth. I brush them about four times a day and when I'm finished I'll run my tongue over my top teeth. I just haven't gotten over the smooth feel of them ever since I had my braces taken off after five years of being a metal mouth.

3) I'm pretty much obsessed with gardening. But, I think everybody knows this, so I will move on.

4) I've also taken quite a fancy to geneology and family history. I have many pictures of Weston and my ancestors on our wall and am in the process of compiling as many stories about our families into a book.

5) I try to eat as healthy as possible, but I do battle a serious sweet tooth at times. Actually, I have a condition that triggers my fat cells to grow whenever I eat sugar in excess. This has caused me to buy several exercise videos.

6) I started writing a novel when I was in middle school. It was a love story set in the civil war era of the 1860's. I would literally write in class and then give manuscripts to my friends between classes to edit. (By the way, thanks for all your help, if any of you are reading this! If I ever publish for real then I'll be sure to dedicate something to you) I wrote about a hundred pages but for some reason I never finished it.

7) And finally, I recently found out that we are expecting our fourth child, which is great news. The bad news is that I don't know if I'll still be able to climb Mt. Borah this summer.

Thanks for reading! I tag:
-everyone who's name begins with a "C"
-all those secret "blogger stalkers"
-and anyone who has a pet.

My Child's Poses

Today I rediscovered yoga. I used to do yoga a lot when Brooklyn was a baby and I remember it being very stress-relieving as well as great exercise. So I set up my mat and prepared to begin, excited for a quiet and meditative workout. Brooklyn saw what I was doing and was interested in joining me right away. So I placed a little blanket on the floor for her mat and we started our downward facing dogs and sun salutations.

Now, I think yoga was really invented by a little kid to be able to make fun of adults. I say this because each time I was stretched to my capacity in a demanding pose, Brooklyn would do the same pose and with a triumphant look on her face say, "this is so easy!" I'm amazed at her flexibility. She is truly the master in this game and I am the struggling student.

It was when we attempted to stand on our heads that Roman's attention was caught. I think he was a little impressed that his mommy could stand on her head, and actually, I was a little impressed myself. I asked the children if they could do this particular pose--while upside down--and Roman immediately replied, "no, but I can do a donkey kick!" So, while I was supposed to be upside down on my head in a peaceful and serene state of mind the kids were giggling like crazy trying to do donkey kicks within inches of my face.

Next, came the child pose, which is in itself an oxymoron. I mean, have you ever actually seen a little kid resting on his bended legs with a serene look on his face for long moments at a time? As soon as I relaxed into child pose, it was as if I had given the little monkeys an obvious invitation to do a dog pile on their mommy. By this time, I had given up on my idea of a peaceful workout and resolved to try again another day.

So even though I didn't get an exactly quiet workout, it was still stress-relieving with all the laughter and giggles and I think I'll invite the squirts to join me for next week's session.

Oh, Greggy...

My youngest son has sure been growing up and developing lately. Some of the things that he's learned are pretty cute, such as promptly throwing his dirty diaper away in the garbage and then clapping excitedly for himself.

He's also discovering that his older brother and sister are actually pretty fun to play with and many times I'll hear them all laughing hysterically in the next room. I have even taught him how to dust. He's not really great at it, but at least he's trying.

But there are some bad habits that he's acquired. For instance, for some reason he has taken up the paganistic ritual of idol worshiping and his God of choice is, of course, the toilet. He sacrifices many things to the Toilet God. (How a Toilet God would be beneficial to a one year old is a mystery to me.) I have found many victims in the porcelain bowl, such as, toy mermaids, blocks, cars, even a stuffed teddy bear--this one he decided to rescue at the last minute and was hugging the dripping bear around the house. He has even thrown in our cordless phone, which I might add, is the second phone that we have lost to the toilet, the first being tossed in by Roman when he was about that age. Toilets and phones are enemies I'm learning.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not like we encourage this kind of behavior. We don't have flashing neons arrows pointing towards the bathroom. I have seen him run to the bathroom with the nearest object in hand as soon as Brooklyn has come out of the bathroom. Nobody told him the door was open, I just think this kind of knowledge is built internally in the little squirt.

But alas, this too shall pass. In the mean time, I guess we'll just stock up on phones, try to keep the toilet as clean as possible, and try to keep him as busy as possible with a duster in hand.

Until, that, too, becomes the next victim.

Is It Almost Spring, Yet?

Yesterday, there was a family party scheduled at my Grandparent's house in Blackfoot. The plan was for me to take the kiddies in the early afternoon and then Weston would meet us there after work. Before we headed out, I shoveled off all of our walks and driveway and as soon as I finished it started snowing a bit. I shrugged it off knowing you can't prevent more snowfall and the kids and I trudged down to Blackfoot (white-knuckled all the way, I might add. The roads were difficult at best).

After the party, and after Weston finally made it, I decided that because the roads were so bad, we would leave one car in Blackfoot (along with Brooklyn and Roman with Grandma and Grandpa) and I would drive back with Weston. Well, the driving conditions on the freeway were the worst I've seen in a long time. The wind was blowing which made visibility almost non-existant, not to mention the snow and ice already on the road. We passed 6 or 7 slide-offs along the way so you can imagine how grateful we were to finally make it to Rigby.

As we approached our subdivision we wondered if we would even make it inside with all the snow drifts we were seeing. To our extreme luck we were able to squeeze by the many drifts that were fingering the road and it seemed like we had actually made it home!

Well, we turned into our culdesac and immediately stopped in front of our driveway for the huge snowdrift that spanned our driveway. It was as if a huge tree had fallen directly across the way blocking any access into our driveway, except this was snow. I could not believe it because the driveway had been cleaned only hours earlier. The drift had been created from all the wind from that day. So, Weston and I got out and started shoveling. It took us an hour before we could even pull into the garage. In short, we finally made it home from Blackfoot after 2/12 hours!

One piece of good fortune for Weston: he has been trying to persuade me of the neccessity of us getting a snowblower for quite some time. Well, when I saw that huge snowdrift on our driveway, I gladly conceded.

It 's a little difficult to see, but that huge pile of snow is only a small remainder of the drift that was there last night.

You can kind of see where we shoveled through the drift to pull through.