House Rules

1. Never eat anything in front of the toddler that the toddler cannot also eat.
2. Never eat in the family room (she WILL call you out on it)
3. Never say 'stupid' (see above)
4. Also, Never say anything that will sound inappropriate coming from a toddler's mouth (ex. Last night, while watcing March of the Penguins, Neil said, "What is this, penguin porn?" Toddler promptly asked, "Why is it penguin porn?" Now for all those that are worried, March of the Penguins is a wonderful documentary, with nothing that I would call graphic. S has watched it many times and enjoys the baby penguins.)

So, I've determined that my household operates under its own set of rules, something akin to Murphy's Law perhaps. Every situation will end in a "What on earth?!" or a "For heavensys sake!"

For instance...

After spending a better part of the afternoon sweeping and mopping my huge, tiled kitchen floor (which is a pain and I hate doing it!), S will spill apple juice everywhere at dinner.

My 7 month old baby will sleep through the night but my almost three year old will wake me in the middle of the night for no good reason.

A little girl will sit on the potty chair for ten minutes just to wet her panties six minutes after getting off said potty chair.

S's imaginary friend, Gallo, has taken up residence in my grandfather clock, which is strictly forbidden for all little hands, but will be unable to vacate the premises because Beast is already living in the coat closet.

Both children will soak their beds on the same night.

M will eat just fine until the pediatrician urges that with the introduction of solids, his formula consumption not decrease. Now he won't finish even half of his bottle.

And the list could go on and on and on. Now this is not to say that days around here are dreary or depressing or inordinately difficult. We're quite fine. But sometimes you just have to wonder.

High Acheivers

Our big accomplishments for the day?

I vaccuumed the stairs.
Boo convinced me to have preschool this afternoon.
Lil' Boy took one 6 ounce bottle.

What's yours?

It's 8:30 in the morning and I've been awake since 5:30, "officially" up since 6:45. I've changed two sets of soaked diapers/pajamas, two dirty diapers, given one bath, and dressed two squirmy children. I have made one bottle, one milk cup, and three bowls of cereal. I have taken out trash, brought the garbage can in from the curb, gathered dirty laundry, and cleaned up spit-up more times than I can count.

Can it be nap time yet?

Pictures from Yesterday

My Handsome Face eating his lunch. I love that he holds his own bottle. Oh, and he's five months now. And he sat up by himself for the first time Sunday. It was only for a few seconds and not very deliberate, but we're working on it. I'm hoping for real sitting up action by Christmas or New Year's.
Cuties, aren't they?
S with the rainbow we made today.
Going for a walk in the not really cold weather but nonetheless wearing our "the wind is too much for us" gear. Oh! And S put this jacket on all by herself. I came downstairs and she had done up the zipper and everything! I told her to put it on but I had no idea she could handle the zipper alone!
Only here do you see chili peppers as lights at Christmas.


Thi is M after his nap. When he went down, he was swaddled and turned the other direction.

This is what usually greets me at the end of sleepy time.

ok, these are for Rachael, to make her feel better about life.

My house mid-morning.

Now, for redemption, this is what it looked like before I went to bed.

Kids: For Sale

So, do your kids ever drive you crazy?



This is a rhetorical question. If I posed it seriously I imagine by inbox would be overflowing by noon.



I think it is a prerequisite that all children must receive training on "how to make your parents nutsy" before leaving the hospital. At the core of this training is this basic principle: just when your parents think things are going to settle down a little, switch tactics.



For example, my dear, sweet, precious, darling (yes, I'm trying to convince myself), little S took a very long time this summer to start staying in bed. She had been able to climb out of her crib by herself for a long time, but she usually only did this at playtime. When she was in her crib for sleeping purposes, she stayed put until we came to her, no matter the circumstances. Sounds sublime, right? It was. Then she decided to change things up a bit. She started getting out of bed. ALL THE TIME. We tried everything. The most outrageous was putting her twin mattress (we weren't using it yet) on TOP of the crib (which was turned around so the back was facing out) to make a sort of box. She got out of it. Finally N turned the doorknob around so the lock was on the outside. She still got out, but she was trapped. And amazingly once she realized there was no getting out of this one, she would go BACK to bed and fall asleep. Wonderful! Problem solved you may say.



The problem is NEVER solved with a two-year-old.



So our story continues. S did really well for awhile. We didn't even have to lock the door anymore. She just stayed there - or at least only got out once. But then something changed. She's now waking up two to three times a night and coming into our room for no reason. I have to get up, put her back in bed, along with the random requests for more drinks, songs, etc. And if Dad tries to do it she screams and wakes up her brother. Between the two little ones, it all adds up to me getting out of bed four to six times a night while their papa gets to sleep away (not that it's his fault). On the weekends he tries to let me sleep in at least but S screams cause she only wants Mommy and that makes M scream too. And then she's whiny and cries all day long. It's REALLY irritating.



But every now and then she redeems herself. I was huffing around the kitchen, feeling thoroughly annoyed with her and trying to cook my breakfast (because everything simple is on the off limits list) when I got burned by hot water from the pan lid. I was silently cursing my fate and running cold water on my hand when S comes up and wraps her arms around my legs, patting the back with her hands, and telling me it'll be alright.



And maybe she's right. It could be alright. Now if I could only get into the shower...

Victory is...

...having a clean family room for the first time all week.

...getting in the shower before 10am.

...winning the nap battle.

These are the little fingers of the girlie who finally passed out.

Oh to be well-rested again. And to have a clean kitchen floor. And to not wash bed linens everyday. Or to search the house for extremely bland foods.

My kids are sick.

Really sick.

Like S has thrown up five times in three days sick.

And M won't nurse sick.

My house will never be clean sick.

And I will never wear clean clothes again sick.

And tonight I will spend more time out of bed than in it sick.

Again.

Our Sabbath

Oh, what a day. Whoever said that Sunday was a day of rest didn't have kids. Or husbands. (But I love mine dearly.)

For reasons I have yet to comprehend, we can never seem to make it out of the house on time on Sunday. Now, we are rarely actually late to Church, but I never get the seat I want. Well, today was no exception. We were fifteen minutes late leaving for Stake Conference. Then when we got to the car I asked N if he knew how to get to the Stake Center. He said he knew about where it was, having carpooled to a Stake Priesthood meeting. So, off we went, already late. Well, it turns out that the Stake Center was not where N thought it was. After cruising up and down the wrong road we stopped at a gas station to check a phone book. We had two addresses to choose from. Of course it was the second address we checked, in another part of town. But he did get us there (35 minutes into the meeting) and for that I am grateful. Luckily, the kids were pretty good and my darling husband put M to sleep for me.
The one talk that I got to listen to was our Stake President. He had some interesting comments to make on being thankful for what we have. He related the following story which I liked and decided to share a bit of. It was originaly in The New Yorker.

Kurt Vonnegut to Joseph Heller, while having dinner at the home of a very wealthy man:

I said, “Joe, how does it make you feel to know that our host only yesterday may have made more money than your novel ‘Catch-22′ has earned in its entire history?” And Joe said, “I’ve got something he can never have.” And I said, “What on earth could that be, Joe?” And Joe said, “The knowledge that I’ve got enough.”

And so, with the season of thanks being upon us, I am trying to "know" that I have enough and to be grateful for that. Like husbands who try to cheer me up when we're thirty-five minutes late to Conference. Or a sweet baby who smiles at everyone sitting behind us. Or a wise two year old who starts singing "Jesus Said Love Everyone" when her daddy gets mad at the motorist who just pulled out in front of him. I really do have enough.

Joy in Little Things....

.... gathering dirty laundry from around the house and catching the scent of sweet, clean baby.

.... S's eyes going as big as saucers when I tell her there's a Tootsie Roll (her new favorite candy) in the middle of her sucker.

.... while S was jabbering away during lunch, I caught the words "I'm thankful." So I ask what she's thankful for. "My mom."

Survival Mode

What do you do when dinner's not made, everyone's cranky, and Dad doesn't come home for two more hours? Everyone gets in the bathtub!!!!!

Why the guilt?

Why is it that we, as mothers, are so stinking hard on ourselves? So often at the end of the day, right before my husband gets home, I feel like a failure? My house is a mess; I didn't spend enough quality time with each child; S didn't eat a single vegetable; I gave M a bottle because I just couldn't stand to hear him cry anymore; and the list goes on.
Now, I saw/heard of a study... Now, I should preface this. I don't remember where this came from. It was probably a segment on the Today show, which I'm addicted to. I hate it when people start quoting things that they don't have references to (especially in Sunday School), but I'm going to do it anyway. So, back to the beginning. I saw something on the Today show probably that compared the amount of time mothers spend with their children. Just for illustration (these numbers are NOT right), let's say in the 1950s women spent 10 hours a week with their kids, and today women spend 14 hours with their kids. Yet, women today feel much guiltier today than 60 years ago. WHY is that?!
Typical day for us: I get woken up at 5 to feed a baby. Go back to bed. S gets out of bed before I go back to sleep. Put her back to bed. Go back to bed. Before I get back to sleep it's 6am and S's up again. I get her up and ready for the day. M wakes up. I get him ready for the day. It's now after seven. I help N get off, put M down for a nap. I know get to eat finally. It's 7:30 or 8:00 and I've been awake and starving since 5. I try and watch the news while eating breakfast but S is all over me, putting her fingers into my cereal and getting whiny and mischievous. I feel guilty and frustrated and turn off the news. Why?
And the day continues in a similar fashion. Much of my frustration stems from the fact that my darling little girl won't be separated from my side for a second. She's constantly following me, even if it means leaving her snack or tea party. It doesn't matter that I tell her I'm just going to put M's pacifier back in or go brush my teeth and I'll be right back. Nor does it matter that I'm already going back downstairs by the time she reaches the top. So, for instance, today while I was cleaning my room (which needed to be done very badly) she insisted on being there instead of playing by herself. This resulted in nothing being done satisfactorily. I wasn't working effectively because I was constantly pulling S out of something that I had already cleaned up and telling her 'no.' She was getting frustrated because I wouldn't play or let her play with anything. Never mind that I would have time to play with her if she would just go away and play by herself while I finished the job. And in all of this I feel guilty.
So why do we do it? Yes, we're not perfect, but no one expects us to be. So how on earth are we supposed to find a balance between taking care of and playing with our kids and working and cleaning the house? Oh, and maybe do something for ourselves every now and then - preferably guilt free.