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Inspired by my sister Chris awhile back, I started saving bread crusts so the boys and I could take a walk to the park and feed the ducks. Today was our day–it was warm and bright annd sunny and the fresh air was fabulous. So the boys hopped on their bikes and I strapped Caleb to my front and off we went, down the hill, half a mile to the duck park. The ducks must have been starved to death because they took more than one snap at the boys little fingers and poor Denver seemed to be the tastiest. We still managed to have fun throwing bread to the birds and watching them scramble. Then we walked over to the playground where the boys had about ten minutes to play before the storm clouds rolled in and the temperature dropped about 20 degrees in 2 minutes. I managed to get Caleb in the swing and give him a couple of pushes before his nose turned pink and it was obvious we had to head home. We made it about halfway when I decided it would be much easier if we abandoned the bikes and walked the rest of the way. So we ditched the bikes on someone’s front lawn and walked the half mile home, stopping for a few minutes to watch an excavator at work. As we walked, Denver said, “But Mommy? That bread we gave the ducks smelled really good.” And yes it did. The local grocery store out here makes some super delicious Maple Cinnamon bread that we like to turn into french toast. So, as we were tossing the crusts to the birds I had the exact same thought. After we rescued the bikes, we returned home and had some french toast for lunch, which Denver thoroughly enjoyed and which totally didn’t fit into my daily calorie limit but sure hit the spot. The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. The kitchen is finally clean and I managed to get the floor mopped so my socks no longer stick to it in the morning when I’m running around getting Hunter ready for school. I pushed a load of laundry through and got dinner ready. Neeraja and her boys came over for a little playdate after school and that’s about it. We read some great books at bedtime (from the local library) that you might want to add to your reading lists: Jubal’s Wish by Audrey Wood is fabulous. I haven’t read anything by Audrey Wood that I haven’t loved. And Don’t Be Silly Mrs. Millie by Judy Cox, had Hunter and even Mark chuckling. Dinner was also exceptionally good so I included the recipe here, for your eating enjoyment. I substituted Peach Salsa for regular Salsa but I’m sure it would be great either way. It’s definitely a keeper and yes, it’s simple and easy!

One of my best friends from my college years, Ginny Nelson, just set up a blogging account a few days ago and is now officially a blogger. I’m so thrilled because I think it is the absolute best way to keep track of friends and family and an even better way to keep a history of your life. Another friend of mine, Kim Restuccia, also started blogging a few months ago. It’s simply fabulous and I think you all should be doing it–especially the Henrichsens. All you have to do is visit Blogger and click on the “create your own blog now” arrow. Anyone can do it–it’s very simple and it’s FREE. So. . . what are you waiting for? Quit reading my blog and go set up an account and let me know when you do so I can come read all about you and your wonderful lives!

Today I thought, “Thank goodness I’m not a member of the Higglytown community because to have a baby there you would have to be cut right in half.” And the scariest thing about that entire thought is that I had it in the first place. Yesterday as I started my zillionth load of laundry I thought, “My life would be a lot easier if my kids would quit wearing clothes.” Another absurd thought. And all I can think is I’m losing it. I don’t blame myself. Yesterday I managed to coordinate a playdate for Hunter so I wouldn’t have to drag him to Noah’s karate class, which Hunter hates doing. As an added bonus, Neeraja said I could also drop Denver off on our way to karate, which I did. After karate, we went to pick the boys up and I let Noah play for a bit while I had “tea” with Neeraja. At 6:00 we had to leave to pick up Daddy at the train station and when I informed the boys it was time to go all three of them immediately burst into tears. Denver even took to pinching and spanking my rear end, which wouldn’t have been so bad if Caleb hadn’t been biting me all day–I can only handle so much abuse each day. So lucky girl that I am, I got to drag all three of them, along with an infant in a carseat, screaming and kicking to the car. Later that night Caleb decided to be miserable and screamed and cried for an hour. I tried nursing him. I tried tylenol. I tried gas drops. I tried teething rings, naked time, clean diapers, swaddling, orajel–you name it, I tried it. Then my “super sister” Kathy, took him and within a few minutes he was snuggled into her neck, sound asleep. And I thought that was completely unfair–I’m the one with four kids. I’m the one that sacrifices day in and day out for them and that’s the thanks I get. . . that he prefers Kak over me? And where is she now. . . now that we’re going on day three that he refuses to sleep for longer than 10 minutes a pop and he fusses and cries until I finally get him back to sleep? Where’s his favorite auntie now, huh? Huh?

Where’s anybody helpful for that matter? This past summer my neighbor, a cute little mommy with three kids of her own, came over to drop something off at our house. That day she just happened to be wearing a t-shirt that said, “Nanny Deprived” across her perfect little chest. And my eyes bugged out of my head. Nanny deprived? That little neighbor of mine has cleaning ladies come once a week. Two of her three children are in preschool. She has at least two, maybe three, college kids come watch her kids in the afternoons. Her mother takes the kids every weekend so she and her husband can have time alone. Her mother also visits on a regular basis and so does her grandmother, and both of them babysit at least once or twice a week. Nanny deprived? Nanny deprived! NANNY DEPRIVED! My parents fled the state six months after we moved here. My sister works nights and everyone else I know that is babysitter eligible has kids of their own. Mark and I are lucky if we get a date twice a year and even at that it’s usually to company Christmas parties where it’s all about work and not about “us.”

I took this picture and this picture last night.

This is just a sample of the condition my house is in. And all of you who are freaking out at the uncleanliness of it all . . . I would love to see you clean the house and fold the laundry and cook dinner and entertain four other kids with a screaming baby in your arms. I don’t have cleaning ladies. Last night was supposed to be my one night I didn’t have any commitments so I could clean up the kitchen. I was so excited about the prospect of a clean kitchen it’s almost pathetic. Then Hunter’s little girlfriend needed a babysitter and I got totally sabatoged. And the worst part of it all is that Hunter is so “over” this girl, he didn’t bat an eyelash when she walked through the door. He just kept on playing Nintendo like he didn’t know she ever exsisted. So Noah and Denver tried entertaining her but they all kept fighting and waking up Caleb every time he started to doze off. And no. . . the kitchen didn’t get cleaned and the laundry didn’t get folded and I didn’t get anything productive done yesterday.

And that is something else. Over Christmas we spent about a week with Mark’s family. I think there was 32 of us under one roof and 2/3 of “us” were kids! It was just a bit crowded. The kids absolutely love going to Grandma’s house and they had a blast. I, on the otherhand, was a bit overwhelmed since I was already feeling a bit frazzled from the chaos of having a fourth baby. It was like going from crazy to craziest. Mealtimes were the worst–it was like we were all a bunch of locusts. If you made the mistake of blinking your eyes before serving yourself, the food was gone. We were each assigned a bedroom and we were literally wall to wall to wall to wall of beds. Crazy! Anyway, Mark has this sister-in-law named, Anita. Now I love Anita and have always been amazed by her. She and Mark’s brother, Matthew have seven kids. Three boys, four girls. The oldest is eleven I think and the youngest is one. Anyway, if seven kids isn’t enough, Anita also home schools all of her kids. And if that’s not enough, she also teaches them violin. Well, at Christmas time she kept herself busier by making some Marionette dolls. Not just any marionette dolls–these were all handmade by herself and her kids. She made the entire Nativity–Mary, Joseph, the angel, the wisemen, baby Jesus, etc. And she sewed these fabulous outfits for the dolls, without a pattern. Every day I watched her as she read to her kids, conducted violin practices, nursed her baby, tidied up the house and made these dolls. Her kids were always dressed before mine and always fed before mine. She was always there on top of it all, disciplining the kids as necessary and participating in all of the family activities–she even provided ALL of the costumes for the family production of the Nativity. On Christmas day her four eldest children played their violins in Sacrament meeting and made the whole ward cry and when the entire Henrichsen family sang for the ward, her kids knew all the words, even her little 2 year old. (I was proud that Hunter knew the first two lines.) Meanwhile I was sitting in my pew, praising Denver for his “fabulous artwork” (aka scribbling) and trying to make myself feel better by listing off in my head all the great things I can do–which didn’t work cause everything I thought of, Anita could do too and better. Anyway, if that had been all she did I think I would be okay except that it wasn’t. The very last night we were there she was up all night completing the dolls for Grandma. The following morning, around 6:30am (while the rest of us were still asleep) she was up giving Grandma a haircut. A haircut! I just laid there in bed thinking, “and I can’t even get myself out of bed before 7:00!” How come she can do it all and I struggle just to keep us all alive by the end of the day? Anita’s answer: she steals the time from her sleep. My answer: I’d rather sleep.

Then there’s my jump roping goal, which was going great except that I can’t strap Caleb on when I’m jumping rope like I can when I’m doing step aerobics and that slows me down. And yesterday while I was jumping rope, Noah sat on the couch counting jumps with me only he wasn’t counting my jumps he was just counting and he was about twenty numbers ahead of me. So of course, I kept loosing track of how many jumps I’d done but was trying to be patient with Noah who just wanted to be involved. So then he started doing exercises of his own which is great that he’s being inspired by my activity, but as he was working out he kept saying things like, “Aren’t you glad you just have to jump rope instead of having to do hard exercise like me?” Meanwhile my calves burn so bad I can barely walk and the arches in my feet are completely flat and scream out in pain everytime I jump. And then he’d say, “Look mommy” and show me a pose like this, and everyone knows you can’t jump rope and watch your kids and comment on their flexibility and strength all at the same time, especially when you are having a hard time breathing on your own so when I would puff out a “wow” and keep jumping he’d get mad and say, “Look Mommy!” even louder and demand even more attention.

And last night I whipped out the fingerprint art book for the kids and tried to show them all the things they could do with their thumbs and a marker. Denver didn’t get it at all and Noah thought it was his license to draw all over himself and within five minutes I was left alone with Hunter making the most pathetic thumbprint art I’ve ever seen. Even Hunter was doing a better job than me. So I gave up and started making dinner, a new recipe I found in NickJr. magazine. And five minutes before I was ready to dish up dinner to the kids Mark called and needed picked up at the train station and so by the time we got back everything was cold and yucky and Denver was asleep. And I just wanted to cry and scream all at the same time. And this morning when I got out the origami book and made a paper balloon for Noah he just cried and got mad at me because he couldn’t inflate the darn thing. And when I handed them a paper crane they just threw it on the floor next to them without a second glance. And when I made a jumbo size paper balloon they didn’t even acknowledge my presence or the balloon’s. So much for the quality time I had planned with the kids. At least they enjoyed the other library books we read this morning cause that’s probably all they’re going to see of me today.

And now it’s lunch time and the day is almost spent and I haven’t had a shower and Caleb is waking up and we’ve got Karate tonight and the house is still a disaster and the kids are still in their pj’s and I’m getting a cold and I wonder if things will ever get better and if I’ll ever figure out this parenting thing and thank goodness tomorrow is Friday.

According to an article I found on MSNBC and a conversation I had with my sister Melanie, today is the most depressing day of the year. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. Christmas is over which means so are the parties and family gatherings. The shock of Christmas credit card debt has settled in and most of us have given up on our New Year’s Resolutions. It’s cold and dark and wet and gloomy outside. Who wouldn’t be depressed? Anyway, thinking about depression makes me think about the times I’ve been depressed and since I’m not depressed today, I thought I’d jot down a few of the things I do to help me beat the blues–for future reference.

Exercising is the fastest thing to pull me out of a depression. There’s nothing like a good sweat and a dose of endorphins to make me feel better. Sunshine and fresh air also work wonders on my mood and there’s nothing a good walk to the duck pond with a loaf of bread won’t cure. Getting out of the home or office is very soothing when you are feeling depressed. Go to the library and get a new book. Walk to the video store and pick up a good movie. Go sledding or build a snowman–just get out and do something. Light is so therapeutic that London is even opening up a Light Cafe where people can go and sit for 20 minutes at a time under these really bright lights. Bright light is used to treat seasonal depression and lots of people start planning vacations to sunny locations right about now. The planning process gives depressed people something to look forward to and of course, once they get there, the sunshine fixes the rest. If I weren’t nursing, I’d even be tempted to hit a tanning booth for a 20 minute soak myself. Doing something nice for somebody else also gives me a little high and gets my mind off my own woes. Baking cookies with the kids and delivering them to a neighbor is easy enough and takes up at least an hour or two I’d otherwise be spending feeling sorry for myself and eating chocolate. Friends also help when I’m feeling blue and getting together with a bunch of other moms who are struggling just like me to hold it all together is therapeutic. A girl’s night out or even going to the grocery store alone works too. Even a little housework can get me feeling better. Sometimes I let the housework pile up and become an overwhelming mess (and a depressing one at that.) But, when I tackle the work I’ve been putting off I always feel miraculously healed. And when things have gotten really bad (and they have)and the above list wasn’t working, I called the doctor who gave me a prescription for Zoloft which I believe saved my life and my family’s.

So right now I’m planning this great summer excursion with my kids, just got back from the library with some books on origami and fingerprint art to do with the kids, and am jumping rope daily, trying desperately not to get kicked off Biggest Loser. And amazingly enough, on the most depressing day of the year, I’m not depressed at all.

Denver was just complaining about how cold he is. Of course, I was right in the middle of nursing Caleb so I told him to wrap up in his “special ble-ble” (or for those of you who have no idea what that is, his “special blanket.”) He said that his special ble-ble was too cold, so I suggested he wrap up in another blanket that was lying close by. Again he said it was too cold. So then, he climbed up on the couch next to me and he said, “I need to wrap up in you!” Talk about heart-melting. . . mine’s burnt to a crisp!

I know Christmas is long gone but I’ve been meaning to do this for at least a month now and just haven’t had time. So pretend it’s the holidays once more and enjoy these silly clips of my kids singing the songs they learned last year for Christmas. This is Denver singing “Stars Were Gleaming,” a song he learned this past year in Nursery. And here’s a clip of Noah singing a song he learned for the Ward Christmas Party. (You’ll have to forgive Hunter for shouting in the background–he had just won something on “Star Wars Lego” and was really excited about it.) And last but not least, here’s Hunter trying to sing, but really feeling a song he learned at school.

Oh. . . and here is the recipe for the cake I taught Neeraja and Enid last Friday and a recipe for one of the most fabulous soups I’ve ever tasted, just in case you are in need of something new for dinner.

This morning when Denver said prayer at breakfast he prayed that we’d all have a good day. A few minutes later I was snickering to myself, thinking “Why do we always pray for that? It’s not like people pray for a bad day to help them be thankful for the good days. I think it’s safe to assume God knows we want a good day without having to ask for it. . . .” I don’t know why I was snickering about such things except that I woke up with a stiff neck and that is never a happy thing. Anyway as the day progressed, my day got worse and worse and so did my attitude. By 2:00pm I was totally fantasizing about being single again and how much better my life would be if I didn’t have a family to take care of. I started daydreaming of my college years when all I had to make for dinner was a bowl of Marshmallow Maties or Raman Noodles and no one was around to complain about it and tell me how disgusting it was. And after it was eaten, all I had was one bowl to stick in the dishwasher. And after I had spent all day cleaning the house, it actually stayed clean for at least a week or until I wanted to clean it again. My laundry only needed done once a week and if I didn’t feel like doing it all I had to do was go out and buy some more underwear. I could stay up late if I felt like it and sleep in late on Saturdays. I could take a long, hot shower without rushing or worrying about whether my kids were going to kill each other or suffocate the baby while I’m in there. And my legs never got so hairy and I never forgot to brush my teeth because I was too tired and I always looked nice and smelled nice–now I’m lucky if I get my hair in a ponytail and if I smell like anything besides baby barf. And I had all the time in the world to read books and scrapbook and knit and go to movies and shop–I mean really shop for nice clothes, without an audience of little boys watching and asking if I’m going to get “all the way naked or not.” Now my entire wardrobe consists of t-shirts and athletic pants (with elastic) from Walmart. And I felt so smart back then studying math and chemistry and stimulating my brain and writing essays that made my teachers so giddy with excitement they just had to have copies for themselves. Now I struggle with my son’s first grade math and wonder how I’m ever going to help him through second grade and he already gets fed up with my lack of knowledge and has corrected me more than once on things I thought I knew but really didn’t. I was going to be a nurse, maybe even a doctor someday. I was going to be somebody important and make the world a better place single-handedly. Now I’m important but only when it comes to clean underwear and what’s for dinner and should I up and leave, I’m totally replaceable. And I had things to talk about back then–I’d traveled places and I was always learning something new in school and I was interesting. Now all I have to talk about is poop and penises and what I’m going to make for dinner. And the more I thought about it today, the more I wished I could go back to those days and do it all over again, minus the children. And Mark, smart man that he is, packed up the three big boys and fled to the toy store for refuge. And I plopped myself down on the couch with some chocolate chips and my computer and Caleb and tried to blog but Caleb was fussy and the power went out and my cell phone wouldn’t work and the day just got worse and worse and here we are and all I can think is “Thank goodness for candles and fire and batteries and warm breastmilk for the baby and blankets and four kids to keep me warm tonight in our big king size bed and yes, even for the bad days to make us grateful for the good ones.” And I may have lost a lot of brain cells in childbirth, but at least I’m smart enough to know that the grass may look greener on the other side but it’s really not and if I didn’t have my kids and this hectic life of mine I’d be totally missing out.

Hunter turned seven this weekend. Because he had a “friend” party last year, he had to settle for a “family” party this year. So we invited his cousins over and they made their own pizzas and watched “Herbie Fully Loaded” and ate cake and tore the house to pieces and watched Hunter open his presents. I think everyone had a good time, despite the tight space, and Hunter was thrilled with the celebration. Happy Birthday, buddy! We love you immensely!

He’s growing up fast!

One thing that is really great about living in Connecticut is the diversity, especially at Hunter’s school. He’s got Indian friends, Chinese friends, African-American friends, Catholic friends, Jewish friends, friends that speak French, friends that speak Russian, friends with two mothers, friends with divorced parents, friends that can’t eat pork, Vegetarian friends, friends that don’t celebrate Christmas, friends with diabetes and friends just like him. Through Hunter I’ve become friends with two women from India–Neeraja and Enid. While the kids play at the school playground, we stand around and chat about our kids. A few weeks ago, Neeraja mentioned that she would love to learn how to bake a cake. Apparently, where she is from in India they don’t have ovens. Her mother has this thing that she plugs in on the countertop which has no temperature control and it’s all a guessing game as to when the cake is done and how long it will take to cook the thing. So I told her I would teach her how to bake a cake and she took me up on it. When Enid heard what we were doing she said she wanted to come too. So today Neeraja and her two kids and Enid and her daughter came over and while the kids played I taught them how to make Cream Cheese Pound Cake. Then we ordered pizza and ate cake and sang Happy Birthday to Neeraja and we all had a really good time. The great thing is, we’ve decided to take turns teaching each other how to make food from our different cultures, sort of like a multicultural playgroup/cooking group. Then maybe when you all come to visit I can cook you some really yummy Indian or Chinese dish! Wouldn’t that be fun?