Oh, the Idiocy of Bureaucracy!

So. I am about to pull out my hair and then cram it down the District Person's neck. Or would if I didn't think my hair deserves a much better fate than that.

AGAIN I am forced to drastic measures to get Mr. C to talk to me. I had called about setting up an appointment for this assessment that the Dude was supposed to get and was promptly ignored. The next time I call, I suggest that I just contact the principal and set up a time with her and SHE can commune with Mr. C about all the vagueries of red tape that they want to put up around me. AhHa. Mr. C wants to talk with me immediately.

He gives me the same old line: "thelawisthelawisthelaw" and throws in for some sympathy about not having enough space for the children who actually are supposed to be in Kindergarten according to the law. He relates little testimonials about children that are put up a grade too soon and then their parents have them held back. He listens to me explain again why the Dude is quite ready for kindergarten. He explains that they just don't do assessment tests anymore - that was ten years ago when kindergarten was all about playing. (Which doesn't make sense to me - wouldn't it make more sense NOW to do assessment tests if it's all about the academics?)

His suggestion? Put him in private school for kindergarten and then back to public for first grade with no questions about his age. I explain that as we are a student family, spare cash is not really on hand, besides the fact that all the private kindergartens have been filled and won't have space until 2020, which will be a little late for kindergarten.

Synopsis: No assessment test. Probably no kindergarten for the Dude. I need to write a letter to write down for him everything I've already said (which I'm sure won't get "lost" like my phone calls have been answered).

The Spozo pointed out I've been very conflicted over this whole deal - that if I really wanted this to happen, I would be beating down every door to be making it happen. I confess, I don't really think that this particular kindergarten would have been ideal for him. I'm hoping to find one that will be.

Rejoice with me!

Tonight for dinner, we spooned the refried beans on the Dude's plate and gave the usual shpeel about them being super-duper-excellent healthy food for him (which he has much reason to suspect since for the first 3 and 1/2 years of his life we trained him to avoid ANY contact with them at all!) without much hope that they would actually be consumed. But I guess that "put it in front of them 12 [million] times, and they'll eat it" advice has some truth to it because he ate them and kept eating them without our bobble-headed encouragement for every bite!

He has only one condition: he will only eat them with tortillas. And cheese. With sour cream, too is most preferable. I'm sure this negates a lot of that healthfulness, but I figure the Dude needs fattening.

Yegos

I had hidden the Legos well on a high shelf in the usually closed closet that the children are not allowed in for mostly safety reasons (mainly that something might come crashing down on their head or toe or other exposed body part). But the Dude (after not remembering them for a long time) finally remembered them. And asked about them and kept asking about them untilitdrovemealmostcrazy asking about them.

I had forgotten how creative he gets with his Legoing. His new request upon embarking on an art project (and for him, Legos are an ART), is that I do one for him and he does one for me. Today we started with seussian stairways that combined to create spaceships (or something that blasted around the room) and then ended very prosaically with a little red house.

The Dude is so happy free-forming and so stressed out when he's trying to make it Perfect Just Like the Picture, Mommy. Although the little house is charming and his attention to detail is alarming, I find his own creations to be much more interesting and fascinating. Especially since he's starting to come up with stories and reasons for all the kinks here and colors there and tall towers por aquí.

I'll try to remember all those happy creative juices spouting everywhere when I step on the Legos tomorrow. In my bare feet.

Mistaken Identity

The Sita, Dude and I were looking back through pictures of when they were teeny tiny babies (because that is what the Sita loves MOSTest right now). We played "name that family member" and they did pretty good at distinguishing between grandparents and aunts and uncles- until we got to the Dude's baby pictures! Then they both started consistently labeling the pictures of their Daddy as "Unca Maak!" That brotherly resemblance is much stronger when the Spozo is beardless.

I'm so spoiled

I had an awesome Mother's Day.

The Spozo let me sleep in AND he made me breakfast (fruit salad, hashbrowns, and orange juice!). At church, the Dude very charmingly got up in front of everyone and didn't hurt himself by launching himself off the stand (but didn't do much singing), the Stripling Warriors were only mentioned once (the same amount The Incredibles were mentioned) AND we get an all-women extravaganza where I get to hear wonderfully inspiring experiences from wonderful, inspiring women AND they feed us a lunch (with cupcakes! mmmm!) while I get to talk to even more women!

The Spozo got me a wonderful magazine subscription that I am super excited about because it focuses "on the daily interactions taking place at home. Although these exchanges are often seen as mundane or inconsequential, the sum of our daily exchanges is what shapes a family, for better or worse." AND it has no ads AND it is just gloriously beautiful looking. The Sita got me Emma (and helped me open the pretty sparkly paper); the Dude got me a short story collection of Orson Scott Card's. AND (this is a big and) the Spozo ordered me a Nikon D80 and a 50mm lens! (I think this also part anniversary present and half-birthday present and general because-you-deserve-it-and-i-love-you present).

I do the snuggle and sing routine with the Rosita for her nap, and then I get to have a serious conversation with the Dude which is always enjoyable and entertaining to hear his views on the world as he knows it.

I ask you, can it get any better?

Well, it did. The day ended with a scrumptious lemon pound cake with strawberries and whipped cream on top (courtesy The Spozo).

What a wonderful day!

The Wedding by Nicholas Sparks

I mainly picked this book up because I was desperate to read anything, and I had heard that his other book, The Notebook, was really sweet and a successful movie.

I'll admit, I enjoyed reading it, but I can't help wondering if a man would ever read this and enjoy reading it because the story is so girly romantic even though the main character is a man and it's written by a man. Did Mr. Sparks write this hoping to inspire men to stop it with the working all the time and to pay attention to their families? (The whole book was centered around that cliched axiom "no one ever wishes he spent more time at the office") Or at least that they should never, ever forget their 29th wedding anniversary because it might be the death knell for their marriage? Or was it for women to feel understood and wish that their husbands would read it and get a hint?

Some parts resonated with me, and yes, I too wished for some of that romance. But once it was over, I felt no need to reconnect with the characters. Re-reading it would be boring, and my criteria for a great book is that I can reread it over and over and over again and still love it.

If anyone wants it for an evening fling, it's yours!

1 out of 2 ain't bad

We went to Utah for 2 reasons: to see my Dad and s-i-l run in the SLC marathon AND to see my little brother graduate.

You'd think that after waiting for 3 hours at one checkpoint, I'd have seen Dad go by. But I didn't. Whether this was because I was looking for a guy in a tan shirt and black hat (when he was really wearing a red shirt and red hat), or because I had two small children that were fried by the time he might have passed, or because it was right when I realized that the Sita had erased all the pictures I had taken during the vacation so far from the camera, or perhaps a combination of all three, is not certain. What is very certain is that I did not see him go by. And the brother (cheering on his fit and fabulous wife) did not see him at the finish line, either.

I began pestering race officials about how I would find out if my father had collapsed onto the sidelines or twisted an ankle or had a heart attack, but they couldn't help me. Finally, the brother found an official that could help him and discovered that Dad had finished the race.

Forty-five minutes earlier.

We all congregate at the finish line and spread out in a search pattern to find the missing man. We call all the people we think he might've tried calling, but no one is home. When we find someone home, we only know that he called, but didn't leave any message about where he was or where he would be. I get an irate phone call from my aunt asking me where in the heck I was and why I hadn't picked up my father. I rejoice that she has told him to stay where he was to wait for someone to pick him up -

TWO MILES from the finish line!

We find him (only blocks from where I had been waiting for him to pass for 3 hours!). He stops feeling like no one loves him when he realizes that we've been worrying about him and where he is for 4 hours. We all agree to laugh about it after we loudly and forcefully explain what had been happening to each other.

The graduation was a much easier affair. Cell phones are a most wondrous invention for coordinating with family at large events with many people to get lost between. We listen to a boring graduation speech. We see the brother and hear his name called in the first 10 minutes of the procession. We wait for the next hour and a half for everyone else to walk and shake and shake and smile and get flashed and walk and sit. We smile and take our own pictures then proceed to enjoy some sensuous sandwiches before heading home to collapse in bed.

Well, that's what I should've done. Instead, I went on a date with the SM to get a milkshake and diapers (so romantic!), and proceeded to come down with strep throat the next day. I can't say I recommend doing this to finish up a vacation, but at least I got lots of sympathy (even if I couldn't hold my darling nephew for the first time!)

A step forward

To recap the saga: I've been trying to see if the school district will let the Dude start kindergarten this fall even though his birthday is after the state-mandated cut-off date. I've called several times and gotten reassurances of responses, but haven't heard back from anyone.... since January.

So after trying AGAIN, and making it very clear that I had called several times before and had not gotten any response, I finally got a call back from the district today! Actually, two calls! First from the secretary this morning to see what exactly I wanted to talk about with Mr. C (during which I relate Again all my reasonings) and basically stating that I was leaning towards homeschooling since I was getting so little support from the school. Voila! Mr. C calls back (when I'm out of the house, darn it!) and leaves a message saying that they'd like to set up an evaluation of the Dude by a kindergarten teacher at the school he would be going to even though the law clearly states that the Dude is past the deadline.

This doesn't mean that the Dude will be kindergartening this fall. He still has to "pass" this "evaluation" (ha,ha), and they still need to convince me that what they can offer the Dude will be worth his while. I'm still leaning towards homeschooling right now, but I'm glad that it looks like that won't be the only option open for us.

Sucked into Sudoku!

Last summer, while camping with all the family, my sister-in-laws introduced me to the wonderful world of Sudoku! They took mercy on me and let me borrow their Sudoku books to do a random puzzle poorly (they are so cool, they were doing them in pen!). I didn't have too much leisure time since I was a single parent that week (and yes, there were lots of people willing to help, but the Sita would scream if anyone other than her Grandpa or I would touch her) and sudoku isn't that easy to do by campfire. Or, more accurately, I'd rather be eating s'mores or those wicked croissant with melted chocolate and marshmallow confections (trust me, they're fifty times better than s'mores).

I got home and quickly got my own Sudoku book, but got rather frustrated with how slow I was at getting them done. While unearthing my bedroom floor, I found it again, and since Sudoku-ing is much more interesting than excavating, I've been trying to achieve Sudoku greatness!

I now share with you my Sudoku lore:

1)Starting with the number 1, fill in as many numbers as you can deduced from the given numbers - if you narrow it down to 2 squares within the smaller square of 9 squares, write the number in the top left corner of both squares.

2)Once you've gone thru the number 9 over the whole puzzle, then start focusing on the small groups of nine squares and fill in what you can.

3)After you've done all nine squares of nine, starting at the top row of 9, try to fill the numbers in by starting at one and going up to nine. Go down all the rows. If you can fill in a number, check to see if that can change anything else and then go back to the next number in that row. If you can narrow it down to 2 square in that row, write the number in the lower right hand corner of the squares.

4)After you've finished the rows, start on the columns. Again, if you narrow a number's potential position down to two sqaures, write the number in the lower left hand corner of the square.

5)If you've been writing the numbers in the corner after you've narrowed it down to 2 squares, you'll find that you hit a point where all you have to do is hop from square to square to finish the puzzle quickly! Plus, with all the corner writing, you won't get so frustrated about not being able to write a number in for a long time!

You are henceforth Sudoku masters! Go forth and enumerate!

"With a Hearing Accent"

Last night, I went to a discussion headed by Susan Schaller, who champions the languageless, and author of our book group's book this month,A Man Without Words.

I would never have guessed that a good number of people - even in the United States! - grow up without symbolic language to express themselves! Most of them are deaf children born to hearing parents, and some parents are guided by doctors and therapists to deprive their children of visual communication. I'm assuming this is to encourage (or force) their hearing senses to develop, but it seems so... contrary to what babies are about!Babies seem pre-programmed to like smiles - they recognize facial expressions very early and even know what faces to make when something is sweet or bitter before they can even see all that well! To repeat something from last night: Isn't it ironic that we encourage hearing children to learn "baby sign" so that they can communicate before they can talk, but that parents of deaf children are told to never sign to their babies? That seems like such a no-brainer!

Another interesting thing we talked about is how children seem to have a natural expressiveness that they grow out of around the age of six or seven and become more reserved with displaying emotions. I think a lot of this is because we learn to fear what other people think about us, so we show less and less. I didn't realize that part of Deaf communication is what we "hearing folk" would consider overly-expressive. Every emotion is expressed much more visually than we would do. Just knowing that helps me understand some of my experiences with the Deaf community a lot better. Our more stoic faces are part of the "hearing accent" we have - even when communicating with good sign language. One girl who had taken several semesters of ASL said that she was told that when she got more fluent in sign, she wouldn't even look at the hand signs, she would look at the face of the person signing - and she did!

I'm glad that smiles are still universal for happiness! I can always communicate at least that much! (At least, I hope so - are there any cultures that don't like smiles?)

Easter in Progress

I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm the adult making sure holidays are holidays-y. My parents still did a gianormous Easter egg hunt for my brothers and their wives and kids at their house. Congratulations to the Romgi for winning the hunt with over 40 eggs!

I had a lot of good ideas for making Easter Easter-y, but only followed through on a couple of them. Here's the most shocking of them: We did not dye eggs. We did not even boil eggs. We did not do our own egg hunt (but the one we went to was lots of fun). We did not have Easter baskets filled with toys and jellybeans and chocolate and bunnies and chocolate. Some of this is because I didn't get around to it. Some of it was by choice.

We had backpacks filled with plastic eggs with yummy chocolate and jelly-ish things. And a chocolate bunny. I can't do without the chocolate bunnies! I chose backpacks instead of baskets because: The Sita has been wanting a backpack for a long time and I found her the perfect one, and I wanted to give it to her now. (and) I wanted something that would be useful for a bit longer than one weekend.

We did have a dinner with foods Jesus might've eaten on a special occasion. I went for simple because I knew Easter was going to be exhausting for the first half of the day and didn't want the Spozo to mop me off the floor at the end of the day. We had lamb (oh deliciousness!), lentils, flatbread, cucumbers, apricots (dried), yogurt cheese, feta cheese (which the kids LOVE), olives, and almonds. I think the entire feast was a la Trader Joe's. The Sita decided that the way to eat was to take one bite of everything, chew it for a few seconds, and then spit it back out. Except the cheese. And the flatbread.

We also watched the Lamb of God, which I was kind of hesitant to do because those last few hours of Christ's life were so violent. One thing I didn't forsee was the Dude's laughing reflex for whenever anyone speaks in a different language (which really isn't appropriate when there is hitting and spitting going on). By the end (and with continuous commentary), the Dude got something out of it and the Sita was still upset that we hadn't watched the Baby Jesus movie.

I think I'm going to declare Easter a success because we emphasized the most important aspects of the holiday: Jesus and Chocolate (in that order).

My favorite time of day

My favorite time of day is the mornings. My favorite time of morning is right after waking up but before actually getting up - snuggle time!

The best mornings go something like this:

The alarm goes off at 6:30, I turn it off and nestle my head on the Spozo's shoulder until he escapes to the shower. The Dude exits his room soon after the water is turned on and hops onto my bed. He snuggles with me and then tells me about how he slept and reports on whether the Cita is still asleep. We talk about what type of day it is and what we are going to do and his many virtues and maybe discuss a serious question or two. The Spozo appears wreathed in steam and the Dude starts chatting about when Daddy will play with him. The Cita wakes up about now and the Spozo brings her to me for more snuggling while we wait for the BaBa to be warmed. The Dude has breakfast with his Daddy while the Cita drinks her milk and I admire what a darling girl I have and ask her questions about what she'd like to do which she responds to by widening her eyes and nodding while sucking. Spozo dashes out the door to catch his bus and the Dude returns to the bed for even more snuggling and laughing and hiding and tickling.

I know I should probably be getting more done in that first while in the morning, and sometimes I feel a teensy little tiny bit guilty for being so languorous. This morning, which was one of those deemed most excellent, I was just grateful to be able to simply enjoy Being with my children...

And that the Cita hadn't soaked through her pajamas and bedclothes last night.

"Yucky Poo!"

is the Sita's favorite descriptive phrase right now.

Lovely.

A place of love and beauty

I love going to the temple.

I always feel so refreshed and renewed afterwards. I feel like I've been seeing through a glass darkly and then I get complete vision back with added illumination. And then my lenses get blurred with all those worldly cares and woes and I'm feeling blundering and hesitant about where to go and then Whoosh! I go back to the temple and all that lovely perspective is restored.

I love going to the temple.

Mr. Generosity

The 'Sita Bonita is recalcitrant about getting her nails trimmed, so in the spirit of bribery, she gets Jelly Bellies (jei-BEAN) after the ordeal if she has stayed (mostly) still. Yesterday, as she hopped down to go get her treat, the Dude handed her one of his Jelly Bellies that he had gotten as his potty treats earlier to her and said, "Here, ['Sita], here's a treat for you!"

Then today, the Dude shared his party loot with her! Of his own free will! After already having shared his Smarties with her, I expected him to say, "Oh, there's only one chocolate left - it's MINE!" But he hesitated, and when I suggested that I cut it in half, his face lit up as he exclaimed, "Yes!" and he and the Sita pealed laughter while I chopped and distributed the spoils (I slipped him the bigger half - he deserved it!).

I am so glad he has learned so young the joys of sharing - well, unless it's that unicorn finger puppet during Sacrament Meeting.....

Ok, so honestly, now...

I'd like to know what you mothers do with your kids to help the time pass away. After the house is (relatively) clean and it isn't that pretty out and you don't have any spare cash.

I am probably a very boring mommy because I figure it's time to teach them something! Letters, colors, numbers, songs... I guess I'd have to admit I don't just play with my kids because... well.... it's boring. I can only pretend to drink fruit soup so many times. My attention span for going around and around and around a train track is extremely limited. After the fifth rereading of the same book in a row, I'm done.

What do you do to keep their abundant energy focused on something other than destruction?

Minutes!

When your child exclaims, "Minutes!" what would you think she was talking about?

It took me a while, but I found out that the 'Sita affectionately calls our microwave "minutes." She knows it makes things warm also and usually calls it "warm!" when it's warming. I haven't figured out why the "minutes" is so fascinating. Is it something as innocent as liking the beeping noises when you push the buttons? Is it something more sinister like the fact that her brother is usually in trouble when the "minutes" is getting used?

Either way, it is now her favorite kitchen appliance.

Beep!

A Moral Moment

While explaining about how we know good actions from bad actions, I said, "..like when you want to push your sister..."

"...Or throw a rock at her!" he interjects with relish.

"Ummm.... yes. Or want to throw a rock at her..."

How you know when you've been playing too much Super Mario Galaxy

While watching her Daddy play, the 'Sita distinctly states, "Bowza, messy! Nonono!"

Renaming

After deliberating about this for a while, I have decided to reinvent the Cita as the Sita. The "Cita" came from a shortening of "Rosita" (little rose), and I put a "c" instead of an "s" because it looked better to me. I forgot about "cita" being a real word in Spanish meaning, "date" or "appointment." I feel that as she gets older, it would be best to not be calling her, "my daughter, the date."

Henceforth and forthwith, she shall be known as the Sita, which name she should have been all along.

An Ah-Ha! (Svithe-ish) Moment

Once upon a time (no one knows precisely when) I listened to a talk by one of the Twelve Apostles (it could have been Elders Holland, Oaks, Eyring, or Maxwell), and it changed my life. I'm really quite sorry I don't have a better memory of who gave this talk or when it was - I know it was during my freshman year at college.

In it, the speaker told us that we were always being prompted to do good things, and that we should act on any good thing that came into our minds because it came from God. We shouldn't worry about offending the person or worrying that they wouldn't want our help, if it was potentially good, then we should just do it. I was struck by that thought then, and it still influences me now.

I remember that slightly after that talk, I found someone trying to get down a rather slick walkway (ok, so I can narrow it down to wintertime). She was a disabled girl that I had seen around, and she was doing ok, but I felt that I should go and help her down the slope. Immediately I thought, "But what if I offend her because she doesn't want help or pity?" Then I remembered that exhortation to act on any good thing I could do.

I helped her.

She was very grateful and said that I was an answer to her prayer. That seemed a little strange to me because I didn't feel like I was doing anything especially wonderful - it was just a random thought that popped into my head - not a burning desire or anything spectacular.

That experience was liberating somehow - because I could fear my own doubts a little less.

In that moment of enlightenment, I also began to understand how Heavenly Father can use us as His instruments; how small and simple things really can bring great things to pass. Perhaps not great things in the eyes of the world, but perhaps in the eyes of the person who we can help in that small moment.

But I want it!

The Spozo most Maravilloso got me a new digital camera for Christmas. He did a very good job reading reviews and getting the best one for the price range it's in. Unfortunately, I still prefer my ancient one over the newcomer. I (regrettably) threw several hissy fits over the new one because it wasn't what I was used to, and the pictures I took were miserable. (Sorry to family members that I was supposed to be taking portraits of!)

The Spozo philosophically realized that he would never, not ever want me to pick out a gidget for him without much consultation and well, picking it himself; in short, that he had committed the cardinal sin of buying a me-specific gadget without my input. More, he agrees that the new camera's picture quality is not what he was expecting. Now that he has confessed and repented of this most grievous gift-giving sin, he is quite ready to let me get the Camera of My Dreams.

Within reason.

I would love to buy one of those thousands of dollars beauties, but being a (somewhat) rational creature, I have focused in on the Nikon D80. It is almost a completely irrational attraction, but I cannot deny it. Yes, yes, I know that the Canons are quite nice, too. (And having gotten to play with one recently, I can say they are very, very nice indeed!) But that doesn't change the fact that I want a Nikon.

Please?

Hack, Hack

Of course one of the few Sundays we both had to be at Sacrament meeting, both of our kids are very very sick. Much of the night they spent coughing in their sleep.

So what do we do? We dress them up and bring them with us.

I don't know if I'd recommend doing this again.

Thankfully, we have wonderful friends that helped us out during the bit that we were both occupied. Thanks, friends!

Don't worry, the kidlets went (happily) home with Dad after the meeting was over. I guess some bug is taking out all the kids the Dude's age because only 2 of the usual 6 kids were there in his class today. I guess they're just exceptionally good bug sharers.

I guess I am bloodthirsty

I just heard on the radio about some parents that actually .... I don't want to say encouraged ... but allowed their son to have sex with his girlfriend in his bedroom. Knowingly!

So now, if the Cita ever wants to visit her boyfriend at his house, I must have met his parents and had a nice cup of (herbal) tea with them while I get them to sign in triplicate that they will neither encourage or consent to our children being alone in a room with a closed door at all. And that if anything does happen, their son will be celibate. By force. Permanently.

Would that provide enough incentive, do you think?

Rant no. 2

After wobbling between not sending the Dude to Kindergarten at all in the state of California, homeschooling, and sending him "early" (he's just past the deadline), I decided that I should at least see if I can get him in early. I wrangled the Dude and Cita to a kindergarten open house to see if I could get some questions answered.

I didn't expect that we were going on to visit every single classroom on the school grounds. The Cita panicked because of so many new faces and environments, and the Dude lost interest after 3rd grade, so we ended up staying in the halls and learning the names of the states and their capitals and looking for stars.

I did learn two valuable things: which kindergarten teacher I would trust my son to, and that his reading level was easily in the 3rd grade and perhaps in 4th grade (although my elementary-ed sis-in-law told me it was 5th-6th last summer).

The meaningless question and answer period - first with the PTA, then with a teacher, and then with the student council and then with the principal. Luckily, we were in the school's library and the kids amused themselves by reading books. Or becoming a ghost to haunt the student council and crash into folding chairs. The Dude pulled out a Dr. Seuss tome and sat at the same table as the principal to read it.

Finally, after everyone had finished asking their insipid questions about school lunches and recess and filed out, I got the principal's attention. She admitted to being impressed with his reading, she also thought that he proved himself to be emotionally ready for kindergarten and greeted with surprise the fact that he hasn't gone to (formal) preschool.

As I explained the reasons why I wanted the Dude admitted to kindergarten this year rather than next, she very agreeably agreed with most of my points. 1)the Dude can read already 1.5)he is just past the deadline 2)he is starting to do simple addition 3)he knows his numbers to 100 (mostly) 4)he's just past the deadline! She very sympathetically said the law is the law is the law... but let me give you some phone numbers.

I am so frustrated with this. I understand the need to set some limits, but I am really frustrated (see those italics?) with how the system only deals with outliers in one direction. There are a plethora of programs for "Special Education." But the Special part is for the kids that are struggling. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm glad that they have safety nets for kids that don't handle normal schooling well.

BUT.

It seems like the really smart kids are just expected to make do with the normal education. I think that is as unfair as expecting a kid that has problems learning to make do with normal education. It is NOT fair.

Should we be surprised that a lot of gifted kids are the ones that don't do well in a "normal" classroom environment? (Here's where we trot Einstein out.) I knew a couple extremely bright people that did horribly in "normal" classrooms just because they were extremely bored - or because they were always thinking outside the box, and the teachers only rewarded the inside the boxers. Once they got among their true peers (in age AND ability) they really shone. (Especially with outside-the-box-appreciating-teachers). A recent issue of Time Magazine focused on truly brilliant kids that dropped out of school for various reasons - mostly because the system neglected them in some way.

Now that I've talked to the District person once, he's promised to get back to me, he didn't, I called again, his secretary reassured me he'd get back to me, and he hasn't, I am leaning toward giving His Districtness a Severe Lecture and then opting for "homeschooling" the Dude through kindergarten. I want him to have the social fun of kindergarten, but having him sit through "A is 'a' like 'apple'" is ridiculous when he can read this: (which he did tonight without any help)

And after this manner was the language of my father in the praising of his God; for his soul did rejoice and his whole heart was filled, be-cause (hyphenated because of a line break) of the things which he had seen, yea, which the Lord had shown unto him.

Contested Territory

The Dude and Cita have a new game: Who's Got Mommy?

The rules seem to be that you can play at any time. Bonus Points for being the one who starts it.

Once you have successfully gotten Mommy to snuggle with you, you turn to your sibling and laugh maniacal laughter to indicate that you have won that round.

The unsnuggled sib then comes to the mommy and tries to get possession of half of the Mommy Lapspace so that they can join in the maniacal laughter and then the jumping starts.

This lasts until the mommy goes crazy from all the bouncing and laughing and general craziness and finds something that Has To Be Done Immediately so she can jettison the children with good reason.

Out with the old....

...and in with the new!




The Spozo Maravilloso has been desperate to get me a new pair of glasses. He abhorred my old Cynthia Rowley frames. I didn't think they deserved such scorn. The story is that when I tried on these Norma Kamali frames (even though I picked them out mostly to be silly), he immediately Knew These Were the Frames for Me. I didn't quite believe him, but trusted that he saw me more often and knew what I would look best in. And I think he might be right. Maybe.

My son, the Outlaw

The Dude is interested in familial relationships right now, and we started discussing what an "in-law" is. After I explained that I was his Nonna's daughter-in-law, and Uncle M was my brother-in-law, he thought for a second and then said, "Then I'm your outlaw!"

Cue much riotous laughter.

In loving memory

By now, you all know that President Hinckley died last night. He was a man of energy, optimism, and love. I always felt better after listening to him speak because of his unfailing confidence in us. He inspired me to try a little harder to be a little better.

He will be missed.

Magic Disappearing Chocolate

While at See's Candies the other day claiming our Christmas present (thanks, Auntie C!), they gave us our usual sample chocolates. Being preoccupied with picking out which ones we wanted, I held my sample in my hand. After we had finished making the See's employee run back and forth and debating whether to get the raspberry truffle or the raspberry cream, I reached to taste my sample and found only an empty wrapper!

I immediately rounded upon the Spozo and demanded to know where my chocolate had gone! By his look of bewilderment, I surmised that he hadn't taken it. I looked mournfully to the ground and didn't spot it there, either. A little perplexed, I looked around a bit more - and then I remembered: I had a chocolate-loving Cita on my hip.

Now, chocolate is one of the few foods you can name and the Cita will immediately purse her lips and say "ooo!" while doing her happy kicky feet.

And yes, she had dexterously snitched the truffle and had already taken a dainty nibble (I told you she knows how to eat chocolate!). Obviously, the butterscotch caramel had not appeased her. I snatched it back and let the chocolate melt in my mouth, noting that it was especially tasty. I tracked down which flavor it was: Kona Mocha.

MMMMM.

Since the only time I get mocha is by happenstance, I enjoyed it thouroughly. I only hope we don't have another Mocha convert on our hands.

Conversation

As I scrub the table the Dude prances in, "Hey, Mommy, I can pull [the Cita] up onto your bed!" (He likes showing off his strong muscles.)

"Hmm." I scrape off some cemented-on breakfast cereal, "That's pretty cool. Why would you do that?"

"Because I was up on the bed..... and she loves me!"


   

Your Highness

During reading time today, we came across a lot of words that are not in the Dude's usual vocabulary. The words immovable, independent, miraculous, privately, century and anxious among them. (I admit to a little thrill of Parental Pride when he piped up, "And four centuries would be four hundred years!" - especially because he just got the concept of "one hundred" last week!)

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how to describe what "with dignity" meant to my four-year old without confusing him even more. My best stuttering attempt, "like a king or queen," didn't fly because he's never really seen a king or a queen, and he literally starts crying and flees the room when we (try to) watch Disney fairytales (those villannesses are quite nasty!).

Finally, I jumped up and tried to show him how not to walk with dignity (I'm very good at that) and then attempting to walk with dignity. Of course, he wanted to try - and did so.... decidedly without dignity. Professor Higgins would've been aghast.

Long story short: I failed to describe "with dignity" with dignity, and I won't be cast as Eliza Doolittle anytime soon.

Who's more wonderful?

While cleaning, the Spozo Maravilloso prickles as I lord my superior cleaning experience over him.

He waves one of his cards, "I took out the trash!"

I counter with a full house, "I washed, folded AND put your laundry in your drawers!" Smugly thinking I had won this round, I moved in for my victory kiss.

He took the wind out of my sails with this straight flush, "You're right. You're more wonderful than me."

Yea. He's right.

So he won that round.

Darn humility.

Advantage to sparring with spouse: You get a victory kiss no matter who wins.

Excuse me while I laugh in your face

I admit I knew I was pushing my kids beyond their endurance when I took them into Michael's the other day. My mission was to find some yarn for belated Christmas presents. I didn't expect the trouble to begin before we had even entered the doors.

The Dude started to stage a sit-in protest due to the fact I would not let him push the wobbly Michael's cart with his sister inside. Because I wasn't taking what he considered proper action in regards to his protest, he decided to add a more vocal protest as well. Quite vocal, indeed.

We started getting attention from other customers, so I stopped completely ignoring his protests. While admiring the new Martha Stewart Crafts line (it is so divine), I explained in a neutral voice that he was in NO WAY going to win me over when he was acting like this, and that if he wanted to ride in the cart, I would be happy to put him inside once he stopped his current actions, but that he was Not going to be pushing the cart that day.

I think he's learned that I'm a pretty tough negotiator, so after some token whining he capitulated sooner rather than later. As I wheeled through the store with reformed protester in cart basket, a gentleman stopped me to say, "I was impressed with how you handled your son over there."

Blank staring from me ensues. He passed me, saying, "You must have the patience of Job."

Here's where I start laughing. Not just a little smile or titter, I am belly laughing in the Christmas clearance aisle of Michael's.

I'm still not sure if he meant it as a compliment or not, but I'd like to say, "Sir, Thank you for giving me a good laugh when I needed it, and I hope I didn't offend you."

That "House of Order" thing might have something to it

I've been meaning for months to put a schedule together for the week. Mostly just for me to say, "Gee, today is Laundry Day - I'd better do some!" or "Even though the bathtub is not growing red algae yet, I shall clean it to be Ahead of the Game!"

Over Christmas, my dear Mother-in-Law suggested that I put things like naps and potty times on a schedule because the Dude does much better when he knows something is coming and when to expect it. When she started speaking, the light started shining and that cool wind started blowing my hair all around and then I knew it was Inspiration.

Accordingly, I've drawn up a "schedule" and getting him to sit on the toilet for five minutes or relaxing on his bed and quietly reading his books is now as easy as asking, "Well, what's on the schedule?"

Just because I inscribed "poo time" and "REST" on a piece of paper seven times!

The Begging and Pleading and finally Ordering on Pain of TubTime associated with getting him to sit on the throne to make a deposit have vanished AND he has actually Taken a Nap Without Prenaptual Tantrum.

My faith in scheduling is restored.

Amen.

Now THAT is Generosity

Now that the Dude is four, he is aware that he will be going to school in the next couple of years. A couple blocks after we had dropped his Dad off to work (for the first time in three weeks), the Dude said, "Mama, when I'm five, then I'll go to school and I'll give all my money to you and Daddy to help pay for things."

Hmmmm...

Apparently he's aware of more than going to school.

Apparently we need to stop discussing finances in front of the Dude.

Christmas, New Year's and Home Again WITHOUT getting sick!

Hallelujah!

I never believed in Santa Claus

Ever.

My first Christmas memory is finding my presents (accidentally, of course!) and thinking, "Oh, that's where they are this year." I do not, never ever, remember believing in Santa Claus. He was persona non grata in our house growing up. Mother seemed to have a personal vendetta for the the red and white jolly little old man. Instead of Santa Claus, we did a different country's Christmas tradition every year. One year, we had clogs instead of stockings. I got to be Saint Lucia one year with the pretty white dress and poinsettia wreath in my hair (I think we left off the candles) and bring sweet rolls around to everyone in the morning. As was preached in our house: Saint Nicholas was a nice man, but in NO WAY to be associated with SANTA CLAUS that conniving mercantilistic creation of Coca-Cola (the Devil's Very Own Beverage).


That said, I still enjoyed the silly Christmas movies with Santa and Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer and I don't remember trampling on the precious beliefs of my friends. Maybe I was smug in my knowledge, but I didn't ruin it for them!

I do confess to never really liking 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. (Now The Nightmare Before Christmas is an entirely different story!)

When it came to how I was to bring up my own kids, I had a relaxed attitude towards Santa. If relatives want to give "Santa" gifts, that's fine. Just don't expect me to take the time and effort to explain who he is and what to expect. The Dude has been young enough to not really take notice of the Man with the White Beard.

Until this year.

One day last week our neighbor innocently asked him what he wanted Santa to bring him this year. He stopped pedaling, looked up at her, and asked, "Who's Santa?" She turned an incredulous look on me, and I... started explaining.


Later, the Dude asked me about this Santa character, and I knew the Moment of Decision had come whether to impale myself on the North Pole or not. With a bit of mom-istic license, I told him about St. Nicholas being a man who was trying to be like Jesus and treat the children nicely (the Dude likes this story a lot right now), and so he gave presents to them. He died a long time ago, but people like to remember him as Santa Claus. How long that explanation will last, time will tell. At least it got us through one Christmas Party!

I do lament the secularization and commercialization of Christmas. The tradition of the Christchild (Christkindlein - eventually Kris Kringle) giving presents is a sad one to have lost. In (mild) protest, I don't think I'll be perpetuating a belief of Santa in our home.

So, Santa, St. Nick, Kris Kringle: you are welcome in my home, but you must be de-deified to enter. There's really only room for one Deity this Holiday.

You know you're sick when....

After your bath to clean the puke off, you wrap up in your towel and fall asleep on the bathroom floor. You know your mommy's sick too when she just leaves you there.

I'm a Mean Mommy

Today while the Dude and the Big O were playing, they decided to start playing Advanced Peek-a-boo, and of course, I was the audience. I spiced things up by lunging to tickle them before they could hide under their blankets again. The Dude protested, saying, "Don't be a Mean Mommy!"

I reclaimed my seat on the couch and resigned myself to making silly faces at them as they surfaced for air. Until Big O exclaimed, "I want you to be a Mean Mommy!"

I considered this my license to tickle them both mercilessly.

It is beyond wonderful to have the energy to play with the kids again! (The neighbors might not be so appreciative - the joyful shrieking has incrementally increased according to how recovered I'm feeling.)

If you're planning on wishing me a Happy Birthday,

you're too late.

Lost!

During the Sick Days, the Spozo Maravilloso was emptying the car of groceries or trash or car seats or some such thing, and the Dude and Rosita were both wanting to follow him back and forth. I was curled up on the couch trying to forget that everything hurt.

The Cita was quite distraught that Daddy had left her, and was crying in the stairwell. After a while, I noticed that the screams had stopped and I didn't hear her anymore. I assigned the Dude to go look for Rosita and bring her back. A couple of minutes later, he returns shriekingly sobbing that the Cita had escaped out the gate into the Wide World and that he couldn't get her. I try yelling out the window for the Spozo Maravilloso without much success.

My inner Mother Bear takes over at this point and I find the energy to sprint outside and yell at the SM that Rosita has gone missing. I stumble back inside as the neighborhood is mobilized to search for my wayward girl. After watching a couple of minutes of frantic yelling and running around, I hear a voice in the kids' room. A decidedly girly, singsongy babble.

I rush in and find the Cita playing happily oblivious to all the panic her docility has inspired. I call off the search by yelling (successfully!) out the window that all is well.

I try to feel like not too much of an idiot for starting a Search and Rescue operation for someone that is perfectly happy and safe.

what's love got to do with it? (a svithe-ish post)

Today our class was in charge of the Primary Sharing Time. Since I've been gone a lot this month and my class is a bit younger, it was pretty much the 'Sposita Show. It was so much fun. I have to say, I love teaching, and I love teaching Primary.

The main attraction was our re-enactment of Nephi getting the Brass Plates. Half the Primary had parts (ah, the advantages of a small Primary!), and everyone else got to whine the Brothers part, "It's too hard!" or sing Nephi's part, "I will GO, I will DO the things the Lord commands!" at various points. The Dude got to be Sam, but he kept running back to the Wilderness instead of sticking with Nephi to get those plates. Lehi also didn't want to stay in the Wilderness and kept popping up in Jerusalem at random times. Laban was very good at being villainous and playing dead.

But really the whole point of this was that if we love Heavenly Father and Jesus, then we will follow their commandments (even the ones that seem impossible). And they give us the commandments because they love us and want us to be happy. It's just one great circle of love, man. Groovy.

Goodbye, Paranoia!

We've been such diligently paranoid parents when it came to the Dude eating peanuts and beans. He wasn't even allowed to HOLD beans because we feared a reaction. We have conditioned him very carefully to check to make sure if something has peanuts in it or not. He cried on Halloween because he ate a bite of a Snickers bar (he checked with his friend to make sure it didn't have peanuts, first, but......). Not because anything actually hurt, but because he was so scared something might happen.

And then.

We got him tested.

It required much blood and wailing and gnashing of teeth and "Are we done now?"s.

And the results?

Negative. Nada. Nyet.

Not allergic to anything we tested for. Not beans. Not peanuts. Not peas. Not a LOT of things. Just a teeny tiny bit to milk. (And we already knew he couldn't have too much or else we get to play "How to Get the Dude to Stop Screaming in the Middle of the Night.")

So on one hand, we pass a hand over our brows and say, "Whew! Glad to have that off our list!" and the other, we say, "But really! He did have nasty reactions to peanuts and beans when he was younger! Really! Just smear some peanut butter on and see the rash!"

So what have we done to celebrate? Given him peanut butter, of course! Let him finish that Snickers bar! Introduce him to the wonderful world of beans! They have lots of fiber and protein! What I'm most excited about is that I can make chili and burritos and minestrone soup again.

After that minor matter of reversing this psychosis that we've carefully cultivated.

Thanksgiving

Today I am most thankful for feeling Really Almost Completely Better after a month of waffling between Please Put Me Out of My Misery and Tolerable Enough to Live.

I look forward to not feeling constantly hungry and enjoying mashed potatoes and stuffing in the near future.

Blessed are....

...the mother-in-laws who extend their stay to nurse their sick daughter-in-laws back to health and well-being for they shall be exalted.

It's like riding a bike

My rolling-Playdoh-into-snakes skills are undiminished even after 20 years of neglect.

My rolling-Playdoh-into-poisonous-snakes skills have greatly improved.

Surprisingly, my rolling-Playdoh-into-balls skills need some brushing up on.

I should have been a sculptor.

Or is that sculptress?

Strong Muscles

A normal morning in our household:

6:00 am: silence.

6:15 am: the first chirp of the day

6:30 am: laughing and chatting leaking out of the children's room

6:45 am: The Dude exits the room to report that the Cita is ready to be rescued from her crib and fed her baba


This morning:

6:00 am: silence.

6:15 am: the first chirp of the day

6:30 am: laughing and chatting in the children's room - perhaps a bit more than normal

6:45 am: The Dude exits the room with the Cita in tow


Upon questioning, the Dude reveals that he helped the Cita escape from her crib. Upon further questioning, the Dude declares that he used "my strong muscles" to liberate her. The mama decides that she doesn't really want to know more about this and wisely focuses on being grateful that neither child is injured and they seem to be quite happy. Until the mama is two seconds late in getting the Cita her baba, that is.

Primary Program Drama

Our Primary Program included screams. Not on purpose. Not the screams of overtired Sunbeams that have been on their best behavior for too long. Not the screams of nursery children that were aggravated by the extra time in Sacrament Meeting. All screams were courtesy of The Dude.

Not that I blame him. If I had gotten my hand smooshed as the motorized podium lowered to accommodate my friend as he recited his line in the program, I think I would have screamed, too. If my mother kind of just hovered for a bit because she wasn't really sure how bad it was, how to abandon her class on the stand, and how to exit gracefully, I might have been upset, too. If my hand looked swollen and purple and alien (and I were nearly 4 years old), howling would definitely be in order.

But the worst part was avoided entirely. The true tragedy would have been if the Dude had not been able to give his little talk that he had worked on for the past couple weeks. After he had calmed down a bit, he declared his intentions of giving his talk. A sympathetic counselor inserted him as soon as he returned, and he clearly wowed everyone in the congregation with his resilience and vocabulary.

By the time we got home, the purple had faded to pink and was completely forgotten. That's more than can be said for his latest Primary mishap. He has a lovely bruise on his cheek from a run-in with a bench.

Raccoon Wars

They come in the middle of the night.

Outside your window they howl. They hiss. They fight.

Hissing, howling and fighting for an hour. Or more.

And then - silence.

Who won?

Who knows?

Who cares?

All the (New) Books I Read While Sick

the higher power of lucky by susan patron

yes. it uses the word scrotum on the first page. it's not graphic. it's not even understood by the character until the last page of the book! so get over it people! totally recommendable. sweet, quirky, and a happy ending! plus, the bonus of all that french thrown in. lovable characters, transparent plot.

water street by patricia reilly giff

historical young adult fiction! cool! i liked the Mallon family - a non-dysfunctional family! huzzah! also, i have a weakness for stories about irish immigrants. it is a mostly character-driven book - nothing much "happens" to the family, and although i liked the Mallon family, i didn't feel drawn into their lives as much as i wished.

Penny from Heaven by Jennifer L. Holm

Another Historical young adult fiction book - this time focusing on the prejudice against Italian immigrants trying to make it in America. The mystery surrounding Penny's father's death is what drives the book, and it is sad to hear about the way Italian-Americans were treated during World War II. I love her extended Italian family, and I love the contrast between the grandmothers. (Of course, the Italian one is a great cook!)

Give Me Liberty by L. M. Elliot

Set in Virginia just as the War for Independence is starting, Nathaniel is an indentured servant about to be sold into slavery when an old man rescues him. The old man happens to be a passionate patriot and loves to listen to Patrick Henry and teach his charge music, reading, and 'rithmetic. You get to bump into Thomas Jefferson and George Washington, too. A much more fun read than a history book, but still feels contrived (which the author's afterward cements).

Gossamer by Lois Lowry

Lowry excels at finding a haunting way of telling a seemingly simple story. Ever wondered why you have bad dreams - or good ones for that matter? This story will give you a new perspective. The storyweaving is great, and I only wish the story went on for a bit more. I guess that's part of the appeal - everything is not tied up prettily at the end, but it is not messy, either.

The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place by E. L. Konigsburg

Konigsburg still has it after almost 40 years! I love her stories of young people feeling empowered because they decide being different can be a good thing. Told with her wonderfully quirky style, you'll be singing "God Save the Queen" for a couple days after reading this. The eccentric uncles, although outrageous, are completely believable and Margaret is deliciously self-centered until she finds a greater purpose enter her life.

AND just so you know, I DID read grown-up books, too. One.

The Ladies Auxiliary by Tova Mirvis

A delightful glimpse into an Orthodox community that is put on its head by the coming of a recently converted young, Hippie-ish New Yorker widow. I enjoyed seeing the struggle between Tradition and Action because of Faith. Mostly a book about not judging others and seeing the mote in your own eye, I found a sub-theme to be that you can't expect your children to grow up embracing your faith unless you really live it, not just do the surface things. And even then (as we sadly see) not everything turns out perfectly. Definitely worth reading again.

I feel a Svithe coming on!

Being (very) sick this past week, I have had a lot more time to ponder things than I usually do. Mostly I've just been thinking "this hurts" or "this hurts ALOT," but I've also gotten to read and re-read a lot and I ran across one of the quotes that greatly affected how I think about life. I think I was 14-ish when it sank in for the first time.

Anne (Anne of Green Gables Anne in a later book, Anne of the Island) has a dying friend who is afraid of passing on because "it won't be what I'm used to!" Walking home from that visit, Anne reflects:

"When she came to the end of one life it must not be to face the next with the shrinking terror of something wholly different - something for which accustomed thought and ideal and aspiration had unfitted her. The little things of life, sweet and excellent in their place, must not be the things lived for; the highest must be sought and followed; the life of heaven must be begun here on earth."

The last phrase, "the life of heaven must be begun here on earth" resonated strongly with me because it made the whole "death is just a continuation of life" make more sense to me. Heaven had always been this outlandish glassy bright orb with trumpets galore and I wasn't sure if I'd really fit in there, but something clicked as I understood that I would feel comfortable there if it would be what I was most used to. And if I didn't feel like I belonged, I would probably be happier in Another Place.

Since I've been convinced that it's the place I want to be, I work on trying to fit in there.

Even when I'm sick.

A bit early, don'tcha think?

Today while reading about nudibrachs (sea slugs), the Dude misread the meaning as, "naked girls" instead of "naked gills."

Hmmm.

Wishful Thinking

When we were in the doctor's office (yes, again) yesterday, the Cita and the Dude were having a grand old time zooming around the room on the doctor's stool, climbing up on the examination table to kick their legs and hear that lovely rustling sound, and generally amusing themselves (the Cita only got to wash her hands once, though).

As soon as the doctor smilingly opened the door, the atmosphere changed from fun to terrifying. I think people in white coats are going to be on the Cita's blacklist for a while (well, if one of them made your mommy hold your hands down and another person to hold your head while they shined bright lights into your eyes or stuck many pricks into your leg, you might be wary, too).

Frantically waving her hands "goodbye, Goodbye, GOODBYE!" she scrambled into my lap and huddled there like a cold puppy. The doctor was a good sport and didn't take it personally. Rosita whimpered and struggled against getting her eyes ("goodbye!") and ears ("goodbye!")and throat ("GOODBYE!!!") checked. For some reason, she didn't mind getting her chest listened to or her tummy squished about. Maybe she thought the doctor was as interested in her bellybutton as SHE is.

Diagnosed as "nothing much to worry about," the Cita vigorously kept waving the doctor out the door, extremely satisfied that she had (eventually) succeeded in getting the nasty lady in the white coat to go AWAY.

Alien Spaceship Engine Causes Strange Effects Near Santa Cruz

Yes, I have finally visited the famous Mystery Spot.

Yes, a lot of the weirdness of the site is just tricks with perspective, but I can't explain a ball rolling DOWN a PERFECTLY level board.

Yes, I will be returning with my own level and compass and Extremely Skeptical Spozo.

Soon.

Thank you, Sister Beck!

Listening to General Conference today, Sister Beck made my day. Sometimes, especially living where I do, and even occasionally at church, I feel that being a full-time mother just isn't "enough." She just reminded me that what I am doing is what I am supposed to be doing. And I feel inspired to do a better job (especially that "house of order" bit) instead of feeling weighed down by more expectations. I look forward to reading and re-reading her talk in a month.

Also, thanks to Elder Dallin H. Oaks for the "good, better, best" - as it applies to using the internet (ahem!), and other ways of distracting ourselves from using our "free time" to the "best."

It's a little late.....

So it's been 10 years since I graduated from high school. In honor of this most momentous occasion, I publish for the first time ever a poem that one of my good friends wrote me as a going away to college present (she's now getting her PhD in Children's Literature - not surprising since she was writing stories then that were cousins to literature even then!) I ask her to forgive me for any typos that I make.

old blue pianos and unbrushed hair

just as expressive gestures
span oceans for a second, then
falter and die,
and laughter fills a belly with bread, then
becomes a stranger,

ancient keys and wild locks,
globes we palmed for a moment,
limp listlessly from us
full-grown and faded,
like all fleet things
we think we understand

and the significance of sometimes
hardens into a grayish golden hope that
rests within the instep
and hangs loosely from the joints that
persist in remembering it all

vividly.

Is anyone else excited

when they see the Family Resources catalog that accompanies the Ensign every October?

Being Neighborly

I always have grandiose plans of meeting all my neighbors shortly after moving in by bringing them a freshly-baked-something and this opening the doors to us being great neighbors. This of course, turns the neighborhood into a friendly community and we all get along splendidly and have block BBQs in the summer.

Well.

It's been 2 years.

This past week I introduced myself to the first neighbor that 1) does not share yardspace and a laundry room with me, and 2) does not go to church with me.

And in exchange for some freshly baked cookies, I got fresh figs off her tree! She's already learned my children's names by heart, invited us into her home, thinks it's great I'm a full-time mom, and smiles whenever we see her.

So the freshly-baked-something tack does seem to work. It helps that I have dang cute kids, too.

Enjoyment is a State of Mind

At a recent baby shower, I was invited to give "parenting advice" for the mother-to-be. I gave advice that was useful, but not very insightful. As the evening wore on, I wished I had said something entirely different because I felt that motherhood sounded more and more like an ominous burden.

So, my advice to all the mothers-to-be out there would be: Enjoy your kids! Yes, they're going to be screamy. Yes, they're going to be poopy and drooly and gooey in general. Yes, you're going to need a break every so often. But don't let getting away from your children be the highlight of your life - because then being with them becomes drudgery.

I think what is hardest about being a full-time mother is how many different tenses you have to live in at once. You have to be in the present to enjoy it fully because if you're always rushing here and there and needing to be on time and life is generally just filled with Things To Do, you often miss out on the tender, wonder-filled, charming moments that pop up most frequently when you're not "doing anything" but Being with your child.

You need to live a bit in the future to remind yourself that everything passes to keep perspective on the relative smallness of all the disasters happening daily (your shirt is peed/pooped/burped on for the 317th time in one day; your child decides that it's a good time to experiment with heights and decides to throw his cup, your plate, and himself off the table; your child is feigning deafness when you ask her to pick up the toy/book/blanket). But not too much in the future because if the things you planned on don't get done, frustration inevitably sets in.

It would be nice to always live in the present perfect tense and the future perfect tense, but those imperfect tenses are also necessary, useful, and yes: enjoyable.

First Primary Talk - check!

The Dude and I have been working on his Primary talk all week. After brainstorming and crafting his talk on service together (I asked him leading questions; he answered them in his own words), we selected visual aids. He helped me pick "pretty" pictures of Jesus, of people hugging, and also contributed some artwork:



(a very abstract picture of Jesus that I decided should remain unlabeled), and handwriting:



(He wrote it all himself, but decided to ask me for help in spelling "you" and "thank").

He's been increasingly excited about giving the talk all week. We practiced it a couple of times, and he woke up this morning ready to Go! We made it into Primary uneventfully - but during the scripture, the Dude bonked his head on the bench and proceeded to howl. He bleatingly made it back to where I was sitting and sobbed into my shoulder. Certain that he would be asked to give his talk any minute, I tried to calm him down because I did NOT want to end up giving his talk. Thankfully, they decided to insert all sorts of announcements right then, and he was raring to go again by the time they announced his talk.

As I knelt by him, I immediately regretted all the cautions I had given him about speaking too closely to the microphone because he spoke quietly and too far away from the microphone (it didn't help that his sister decided to raise her voice about then, too). After urging him to speak louder after every couple of sentences, by the end of the talk he was audible. He did a great job reading (even though I inserted one last-minute change on him), and was so sweet and earnest and eager that I almost started crying a couple times.

I think giving a talk in Primary was an important milestone I hadn't even realized was a milestone, but it made me very aware that my little boy is getting less little every day. When I take the time to really look at him - observe that his face is looking more boyish and less babyish, I am just overwhelmed with the thought that he is going to be gone before I even notice that he's grown up.

Right now, I think I'll just content myself to looking forward to the end of his current obsession with dying. I think the Big O will be grateful, too.

Sheared Son

The Dude desperately needed a haircut. But it is always so sad to say goodbye to my fluffy-headed darling and meet the growing man-child that appears after the haircut, so I put it off as long as possible. Interpreted: he starts screaming a lot because his hair keeps getting in his eyes.

So here he is:

Before




After



Yes, he is rubbing his eyes. It is because he's fake crying to avoid getting a picture taken, not a hair-related cause.

Carrots, Roasted

The Cita has always loved carrots.

She doesn't like them to be in little pieces, raw or cooked.

She just wants to gnaw them.

And suck ranch off of.

Mostly suck ranch off.

Tonight, she discovered the joy of roasted carrots. She's had them before, but her mama committed the cardinal sin of cutting them up. They were tossed to the floor with great vim (Joining the dregs of cheerios, half-chewed raisins, potatoes, chicken, and sprinklings of rice).

This time around, the Rosita got them whole (I figure it's easier clean up if nothing else). And she loved them. She ate at least 10 baby carrots (which for a one-year old is pretty impressive). At first, she just enjoyed being able to bite through a carrot on her own, but soon she spotted some excess dressing on my plate and demanded that I dip her carrot in it. Six carrots later, she took a break for a couple bites of brownie, but had to finish her meal with 2 more ranch dipped roasted carrots.

The moral of the story: There are better things than chocolate?

Happy First Anniversary!

A whole year of blogging under my belt. Wow.

Thanks to all of you that have stuck with me for all that time, and thanks to all you who have joined in since then (whomever you may be).

This hasn't turned into the blog I was expecting it to be, but I think I like it.

What?

An anniversary present for me?

Oh, no I couldn't.

Really.

Well, since you insist: for my anniversary present, I think I'd like you to tell me which post you like best.

Just go back to sleep..... or not

You know the day might be tough if: you were up reading The Diary of a Whimpy Kid online until 2 am (blame Roni), your children wake up around 7:15 when you were counting on them waking you up earlier to be somewhere by 8 am, your three-and-a-half-year-old spends the first 10 minutes awake shrieking like you bullwhipped him when all you did was comment, "I heard you yell this morning," and your 1-year-old decides to latch onto your leg when you're trying to do a roundhouse kick (no injuries).

You know the day might have been worth it when: the new dinner you tried was delicious (and it uses squash!), the two children are in bed by 7:30 pm, they laugh themselves to sleep, Netflix delivered a the start of a new series to watch, and there's Hagen Daas Amazon Chocolate ice cream to share with the Spozo.

There's a reason the Big O still wants a sister...

Thank you, Jesus!

I have heard people say, "Thank you, Jesus!" many times and many places. I never expected to hear it as part of my exercise routine. Maybe I should have been wary when I got the Tae Bo believers' workout, but I really wasn't expecting Billy Blanks to exhort me to shout, "Thank you, Jesus!" whenever I threw a punch.

I apologize in advance to anyone who says,"Thank you, Jesus!" around me. I might just punch you in the face. Nothing personal, of course.

Bi-Weekly Blood Rite

The Dude seems determined to draw blood from his own body at least twice a month. His biological clock must have an alarm labeled "bloodletting." When it goes off, a hormone is released that makes him clumsy enough to fall or fly or jump or dodge just the wrong way in order to fulfill the requirement.

Usually it involves teeth and lips; very rarely does it involve knees or elbows or any other easily scraped up or bangable part that would normally be associated with childhood accidents. (Although I am very glad he did not inherit his uncle's alarm labeled "stitches needed.")

Innovation of this week: involving the tongue. I can't say I'm attached to this addition. It meant a lot more blood. Which got on him, on me, and on the cement. Which meant more panic. Which meant more screaming. Which took more time to calm down to actually see the damage. Which turned out not to be horribly bad.

Yes, the tongue was not bitten through and did not require stitches. Although not severed, it still requires some special care. The poor darling has to have more milkshakes than usual. (I'm hoping this doesn't fall under positive reinforcement.)

On the bright side: now I know what bloodstained pavement looks like! Can't wait to bite my own tongue to have a good excuse to have a (chocolate) milkshake of my own!

Ratatouille!

I shucked off the motherly mantle for a few hours this morning (gracefully draping it across the Spozo's shoulders before I left) to go see Ratatouille with Jane Dough. I haven't had a girls' only activity for a very long time, and it was so nice to just laugh and talk without having to have one part of my brain keeping Constant Vigilance for dangers lurking nearby that I need to distract the Rosita and the Dude from enjoying.

I was infinitely glad to have a friend along because otherwise I would have been laughing alone quite a bit of the time, and I wouldn't have had anyone to make asides to during the movie.

Favorite scenes: the granny with the shotgun. linguini dancing while bitten by remy. the documents chase. the flashback scene. the rollerskating waiter in a snooty french restaurant. hmmmmm.... everything?

Be warned: you may have an irresistible urge to visit The French Laundry afterward. Luckily, the waiting list is over 5 months long, so you'll probably get over it by then.

Unless you watch the movie again.

I don't know if we can afford to own Ratatouille!

Life's a bit rosier now

I taught the Rosita "Ring Around the Rosy." I didn't, however, tell her it was all about the Black Death.

So I've been dizzier than usual this week.

But not as dizzy as when I get spun in this.

Apple of my eye

Considering that I married a computer nerd over 5 years ago, the fact that I have resisted the siren call of new gadgetry for as long as I have is somewhat astounding.

And now, it has happened. I am in the throes of passionate computer lust for the first time in my life. I might have wistfully envied before, but now I am desperately longing for the new mac mini with iLife 08 on it! The new iPhoto is just amazing. I can't wait to get my hands on it.

And of course, since I'll have such a cool new photo program, a new camera is imperative.

Insecurity

I want to thank Lady Steed for making my day yesterday.

All it takes is one compliment (and a cake stand) then I'm putty in your hands.

still on a YA fix

A Summer of Kings by Han Nolan

I recognized the name of Han Nolan, but I still can't remember what other book of hers I've read. Darn. A good book. Set in the 1960s at the height of civil rights with a young black man teetering between following Martin Luther King or Malcom X. Felt a bit preachy at times - a bit strained. But I enjoyed the relationship between Esther and her friend King-Roy and especially the tension over how they felt about each other individually as opposed to how they felt about each other's race.


Nothing but the Truth (and a few white lies) by Justina Chen Headley

This. was. hilarious. Headley made me believe in Patty Ho and all her worries, crazy mamas, belly-button divinations and not-fitting-in-ness. I loved the Kung-Fu hi-yah! and the Proofs she did. A great coming to feel comfortable with yourself and be strong girly book. Definitely going to be on my list of books to have the Cita read when she's a teen.


La Linea: A novel by Ann Jaramillo

I am all for novels that try to capture immigrating from Mexico and the hardships, but the few I have read so far have been lacking. Add this one to the list. The characters were wooden and the author used no imagery and evoked no emotion. When Miguel was mad, the description was, "Miguel felt so mad." I mean, really! An infinitely more entertaining (and non-fiction!) quick read on the (illegal) immigration issue is Coyotes by Ted Conover. Much more worth the time.

The Work and the Glory

I admit to one nasty laugh when I read, "'the work and the glory' isn't simply a set of serialized LDS novels but a sprawling, global effort that involves many more people than the Steed family and their 'Who's Who among Early Latter-day Saints' friends." (Trenton Hickman, Assistant Professor at BYU).

I further confess that I have read all nine (at least, I think there were only nine!) of Gerald N. Lund's Work and the Glory series AND his Kingdom and the Crown series.

I enjoy them for what I understand their purpose to be: making Church History a bit more accessible (and enjoyable) to many members that wish to know more about the founding years of the church (in both dispensations) but find it hard when faced with a list of boring dates and facts.

BUT

They are Not Great Literature. They are the Soap Opera version of Church History; the only reason I read all of them was because I had to know how they ended.

My question is this: Does anyone know of a Great Mormon Novel? One that explores the Saints' experiences without trying to make everything.. so rose-tinted? The closest thing I've encountered so far is Orson Scott Card's (appropriately named) Saints. But I'd like to think there are more out there.

Hypothetically speaking....

Say someone very nicely changed a dirty diaper. Say that same someone lobbed said diaper across the house just for the fun of it. Say the diaper is still there because it is beneath someone else's dignity to properly deposit it in the trash (especially when the someone else was the intended victim of said lobbing).

Hypothetically speaking, of course, do you think blogging about it would make someone decide to place the diaper into the proper receptacle?

Update: It worked!

Accepting Christ: a svithe

One of the hardest things for me to do used to be to accept help from people. Anyone! I was very self sufficient, and had complete confidence that I could get through anything on my own (which is generally true). I didn't realize how that very self-sufficiency created a barrier with other people or how well-rooted in pride it was.

Now, I know self-sufficiency is one of those good things we're supposed to work towards, but let me just put forth that excessive self-sufficiency is just another form of pride.

Obvious example: There is no way to salvation without Christ.

Yes, we're supposed to be working as hard as we can to Become like Christ, but we cannot forget that without him, no matter how good we are, it is not sufficient.

The phrase, "I will give away my sins to know thee" intrigues me because it seems so counter to what I understand as part of knowing God and accepting Him in my life. Why would He want all my sins? Weren't those the things he wanted me to do away with? How would giving them away help me?

I think the key here is humility. Simon Peter shows exactly how dedicated to Christ we can be, but how unwilling we are to actually partake of His great sacrifice. When Jesus was washing the apostle's feet, Peter declared that he would not have Jesus do it for him. Peter, more vocal than most apostles in declaring that they understood Jesus was the Son of God, still did not understand that to truly accept Him, he had to let him touch his most dirty members so He could wash them clean.

That unwillingness to let Christ to clean us is that old enemy, Pride. We all shrink from letting others see our weakness, our "dirty parts." It takes a lot of humility to admit that we are not completely clean - that we are not entirely self-sufficient. It is hard enough to admit it to our fellow men with all their own weaknesses; it is harder still to admit it to those Perfect beings who know it anyway.

But that is what we must do - admit our weaknesses, submit to humility, and surrender all our sins. Then, and only then, can Christ make us clean.

Finished: 7 am

After waiting in line (and helping it move along) and making it home by 1 am, I stayed up all night reading. I haven't done a true all-nighter (no naps at all!) for 10 years. I'd hear some small noise, look at the clock and realize two hours had passed since I last looked up. I cried a lot. I laughed a lot. I feel smart because some of my guesses were right and some more were almost right. Some I had completely wrong.

My brain is a bit fried, so I'm going to bed. I'm not going to say more than this because I don't want to spoil it: It ends the only way it could. Now finish it so I can say more!

More Rapid Reviews (Young Adult Version)

I like Young Adult Fiction. I like that I can read a book in a couple of hours. I like that there's less swearing and sex and violence. And if there is any, it's pretty tame. I read a lot of it. So here's my take on the most recent three (not counting re-reading favorites).

A Step From Heaven by An Na

I picked this one up because it had a pretty gold sticker on the front. Imagine being the immigrant daughter of an abusive drunk father. It doesn't sound pretty. But An Na's wonderful prose as she takes Young Ju through childhood into the cusp of adulthood is worth all the melancholy and bittersweet ending.

Kingdom of the Golden Dragon by Isabelle Allende

You don't need to read City of the Beasts first, but I'd suggest you do. Action! Adventure! Mysticism! Fighting ascetic Tibetan monks! Treasure to protect! Girls to rescue! Kings to save! It's all here, and it's great fun. I really need to read it in the original Spanish. I'm still glad Allende decided to take a stab at writing YA fiction even though it's not quite as good as her other works.

The Princess Academy by Shannon Hale

As usual, the awkward girl of the village gets to save the day as she sets her mind to win the Academy Princess-ship and first chance at wooing the Prince. Only she doesn't get the Prince! (To her relief.) Wary of all things "princess," I only read this because of the pretty silver sticker on the front. And as princess things go, it's a good one. I'd like some of that linder stone!

You will lose... everything

The new Harry Potter movie isn't perfect. But it's pretty gosh-durned excellent! Book purists will probably not like it, and people who haven't read Book 5 (yes, you!) will be confused because it doesn't take your hand to guide you into the world.

I remember thinking when Prisoner came out, "Wow! Dan Radcliffe can act!" I felt a similar sort of leap in ability when I saw him in this film, "Wow! He can ACT!" The same cannot be said for Miss Watson. She's using the same huffiness and eyebrow twitches that she's been (over)using for the last 3 films. I don't believe her - ever. Ok, I believe her when she's laughing during the post-first-kiss chat.

The sets were beautiful and amazing. Especially the Ministry. And everything exploding in it. The effects for the wizard battle were cool. The montage of the D.A. meetings (and outsmarting Flich) were great fun.

Times I laughed out loud: Many. Especially when Umbridge announced that students must maintain an 8 inch distance from each other. (Ever measured that BoM length?)

I liked Evanna Lynch as Luna Lovegood, and I agree that Imelda Staunton almost stole the show.

What most disappointed me was the music. Goblet of Fire had glorious music. I had hoped Patrick Doyle would be back again. This time, the music was fine when it was well in the background, but when it was being showcased, I cringed. It clashed with the general tone of the scene and lacked an epic quality which I've grown accustomed to (starting with John Williams).

The 2 scenes that fell far short of my expectations were when Umbrige gets carried off by the centaurs and when Harry and Dumbledore are talking in D's office after the Ministry. But I've never really liked Michael Gambon as Dumbledore anyway.

Most interesting additions that weren't in the book: Voldemort egging Harry on to use Avada Kedavra on Bellatrix after she's killed Sirius and Harry telling Voldemort he felt sorry for him.

Go see it. And then see Ratatouille!

Just like Magic!

After laboring like Cinderella after a hard day, the Wife hopes to hear something like:

"Wow! The house is clean! And you washed, folded and put away everyone's clothes! And there's dinner on the table! And the children are alive! May I just say that I am not worthy of you! Is there anything I can do?" and then perhaps get a kiss on the nape of the neck.

What really happens: The Husband walks in, wolfs down the food, then meanders into the living room to collapse in front of the Screen. The next morning, he's getting dressed and he thinks, "Looks like the Laundry Fairy visited again! Cool!"

Center of the Universe located in the Bay Area

Today the Dude proclaimed himself the "winner" of the "race."

Never mind that it was against the Cita, who just started walking 2 weeks ago.

Never mind that she doesn't understand the idea of winning. Chasing, she's got chasing down. She thinks she's winning if she's being chased.

Never mind that he made it so only he could win according to his rules.

Carpe diem, my boy! Your days of total supremacy are numbered!

Beauty of the Earth

Camping in the Redwoods was wonderful. Hiking through them was even better. Something about being surrounded completely by God's creations without too much tinkering... and thereby distancing from the original was just thoroughly relaxing.

I hadn't even thought of myself as particularly tightly wound until I began to unwind. One hike in particular, I felt all my anxieties and frustrations being siphoned off into the Greatness that I was surrounded by - like some type of stress osmosis. An overwhelming peace with simply Being that I don't find in my day-to-day life in the hustle and bustle of Getting Things Done.

I feel refreshed, and that is a lovely feeling. It makes me appreciate why God called His prophets up into the mountains to speak to them. I also appreciate all of our modern (in)conveniences, but there is something irreplaceable about being somewhere His work is so abundant that I don't feel in the urban jungle, no matter how well-tended it may be.

Jiggity Jig

No, we haven't dropped off the planet. No, we were not brainwashed to believe that computers are evil. We actually have been doing things. Interesting things. Really!

The most impressive one: We lived away from the internet for a whole week, and not one head imploded from withdrawal symptoms. (Although a lot of books were read and sleep caught up on.)

Then we lived in a house with only one computer for 6 internetting adults. And we didn't get into wrestling matches over whose turn it was. The Princess Tent provided the necessary incentive for us to behave decently.

America the Beautiful

"Whose birthday is it today, Mommy? Is it Daddy's birthday?"

"No, it's our country's birthday."

-Blank look-

"It's America's birthday."

"Oh. Is she coming over to share the cake with us?"