The boys were totally stressed last night about Mischief Night. What if we get toilet papered? What if someone eggs us? What if they smash our pumpkins or even worse, steal them? I thought they’d never go to sleep, they were worrying so much about it. But eventually they did and then, I couldn’t help but do this to their room. Cause hey, free mischief night!
Of course, I was the only one that thought it was very funny.
Sunday I had this brillant idea to make mini blank books for the boys that they could use during Sacrament meeting to write a story in. I thought we’d use less paper that way and that it would keep them quiet. So, I made the books, threw them in my diaper bag with a couple pens and we headed for church. As soon as the Sacrament had been passed, I handed each of the boys their book and pen and told them to “write me a story.”
“What kind of story?” Noah wanted to know.
“A Halloween story. . . anything. Whatever you like. Just be quiet.”
And it worked. They were quiet the entire time except for once when Denver asked how much time he had left and got a little upset because he didn’t think he’d have time to finish his story. After the closing prayer, Noah proudly handed me his book and stated, “I didn’t have time to finish. I’ll finish it later.”
One look at the title page and I knew that while my plan had kept them quiet, it hadn’t necessarily kept them reverent. Here. . . see for yourself. It’s pretty funny (if you know Noah at all) but it wasn’t exactly the kind of story I was hoping for. Maybe next time I’ll suggest a Christmas story. . . .
I found poop on the floor.
“Poop!” I shouted. No one answered. I guess they’re pumpkins.
“How, how, how can this have happened? Poop on the floor?”
“What? I I I just saw something.” So I went. . .
to the next room and I saw a ghost!
It pooped again! Good. . . I had green on. (Apparently Hunter and Noah have heard that ghosts are afraid of the color green. Who knew?) “Oooooooooooooo” said the ghost.
Maybe butter will hurt it. (Notice Noah’s nice butter belt. Whoever heard of butter being used as a weapon anyway? I guess Noah has.)
My plan of doing a birthday post for each of my kids every time they have a birthday. . . well, let’s just say I didn’t have six kids when I made that plan. That said, our two littlest people celebrated their second birthdays on Saturday and I’ve decided they deserve to be mentioned, at least a little. So here goes:
Dear Jericho and Justus,
Happy Birthday! You’re two! It’s been the longest two years of my life and the quickest. I can’t believe you’ve grown so fast and yet it feels like forever since the day you were born. You are growing and changing daily and as I sit down to write all the things you do, my head is bulging, trying to remember it all–the adorable and the not-so-adorable. But I’ll give it my best shot and hopefully someday you’ll find this at least a little entertaining.
You didn’t get a birthday cake for your birthday. But you did get Breakfast Cake. And even better than that, you got to help Daddy make it. Oh, how you love to cook. Almost to a flaw. I can’t crack a single egg or dump a little salt on my plate without the two of you running into the kitchen and shouting, “I want to cook! I want to help you cook!” For little people, you are awfully good at what you do. Of course, Justus, you can’t keep your fingers out of the bowl and Jericho, sometimes you throw a little too much in–like the spoon or whatever else might be sitting close by. But everything we’ve made so far turns out delicious so I can’t complain.
You figured out how to climb out of your cribs at 18 months. I think, Jericho, it was you that showed Justus what to do. Either way, it’s taken quite some time to get you to stay in your cribs at bedtime. Of course, sometimes when we think you are in your beds, you aren’t. Like the other night–Jericho, you climbed out of your bed and into Justus’s and this is how we found you (You are in the skeleton PJ’s):
You do lots of funny and cute things. Like a few weeks ago, Justus had a tummy bug and had a major blowout. So we put him in the bath, before Jericho had even woken up that morning. When Jericho did wake up and caught wind that Justus was having a bath, he didn’t even give me a chance to take his PJ’s off. Nope, he just went and climbed in all by himself. You love your baths and sometimes take multiple baths/showers a day. One with Daddy, one with Mommy and a bath at the end of the day if you get really dirty. You dump lots of water on the floor and smear lots of shaving cream everywhere. I let you brush your teeth in the bath sometimes and the other day, you both brushed for a few seconds and then simultaneously spit, right there in the bathwater. It was pretty hilarious.
You are twins, so of course you do a lot of things the same and a lot of things together. But you’d be surprised how different you can be. Justus likes to curl up on my shoulder and say, “I’m baby, Mommy.” He saw it the other day on The Animated Stories of the Book of Mormon: The Tree of Life–some mother carrying her baby on her shoulder. And ever since, whenever you are hurt or feeling a little insecure, you cuddle up in my neck and tell me you’re still a baby. But Jericho, on the other hand, insists on being independant and refuses our help regularly with just about everything. He has to put his shoes and socks on all by himself. He has to walk down the stairs without assistance. He’ll take his diaper off himself, thank you very much. Sometimes it makes me crazy. Most of the time I feel proud.
Justus talks in complete sentences. This summer you were eating potato chips and you choked. After you’d recovered I asked you, “Justus did you choke?” And much to my surprise you answered me in a complete sentence, “Yes, I was choking.” It’s the cutest thing and you do it for everything. Jericho talks but not as much. I swear it’s cause he’s so busy trying to figure out how to do things by himself.
You both love to sing. You should hear them. It’s pretty cute. Beware if you sit in front of us at church–you’re bound to get an earful. You also love to pretend play-church. The big boys’ scriptures are your hymnals and the top bunk is your pew. You sit all in a row with Caleb and sing your little hearts out and take turns saying prayer. I think it’s the only time you actually take turns praying because when we ask you to say prayer at dinner, the two of you can’t separate yourselves. So when we ask Jericho to say the prayer, well then Justus says it right along with you. And vice versa. You also love the Teletubbies and have the entire opening scene memorized right down to the belly-bashing and big-hugging! None of the other kids have loved Teletubbies as much as you and it’s one of my favorite things to watch you watch.
You two have the weirdest eating habits I’ve ever seen. It probably doesn’t help that we’ve never been able to get you to sit still. Jericho has figured out how to wiggle out of every high chair and booster we’ve ever attempted to strap you into. And Justus follows closely behind. But it doesn’t matter what I put in front of you to eat, you refuse. But as soon as Daddy whips up a batch of eggs or pork chops or salad, you’re all mouths. And if Daddy’s not around, you just climb up on the counter and help yourselves to whatever has been left out. Today it was cereal and fruit cocktail. The other day I made Beef and Broccoli Lo Mein. It’s pretty good. I only served you up a bowl of noodles cause I had a feeling you’d refuse the beef. You dug into the noodles, much to my surprise and ate a good amount. Then Justus found a small piece of beef I’d missed, held it up and said, “A poop?” Maybe that’s why you turn your noses up at my cooking–you probably think I try and hide poop in everything I feed you.
Well, I’ve rambled on long enough. Of course, there are a million things I’ve forgotten. But you get the gist. You are wonderful–both of you. Having you two has been one of the biggest blessings in my life and one of my greatest challenges. You bring me some of my greatest joy and some of my greatest anguish. I never planned on having you. You know that already. I never wanted so many babies. Not because I don’t love you but because I don’t really feel qualified to be a mother. We watched the Duggar family last night on TV. They have 17 kids and another one on the way. And last night they were hanging out with the Bates family that has 16 kids and another on the way. And my sister-in-law, Anita just had baby number 9. And I watch all these amazing mothers raise all these amazing children and I feel sad. Because I am not one of those amazing mothers. I can’t do it all. I don’t enjoy the rigors of motherhood. I’m not so creative or patient. I’m not consistent or firm. My kids hit me and I spank them. They yell at me and I shout back. They watch too much TV and play too much Nintendo. We eat cereal for dinner and pancakes too. I grumble everytime I have to change a poopie diaper or get up in the middle of the night. I’d rather scrapbook or blog than play trucks or go to the park. I send my kids to public school. And all of my defects, my shortcomings leave me feeling inadequate, unqualified to be the mother of something so perfect, so beautiful, so amazing, so miraculous as the two of you. And my heart breaks everytime I watch you because all I think is, you deserve so much better.
And yet, everytime I express these feelings to your Dad, everytime I tell him I’m just not good at this or I should have never been a mother or what a big mistake this is, he asks me what I’d rather do. And everytime he asks me I think the same thing. Nothing. I can’t fathom ever doing anything other than staying home and loving you. There’s no place I’d rather be. And I know how much I’d miss you if I ever left. Your little smiles, your little expressions, your little bodies snuggled against mine, your tiny hands in mine, your little feet dangling off the church pew, your little lips puckered up against mine, your sweet button noses–I’m addicted to every part of you and would surely die without my daily dose. So I hope, someday when you read this, that you feel more glad that I was your mother than not, that my love outweighed my imperfections and that you end up really, truly happy in the end. I love you Jericho! I love you Justus! Happy birthday!
I just learned that this year marks the 25th anniversary of Cabbage Patch Kids. I have one specific memory that was sparked by this discovery. I was in third grade, about eight years old, living in Colorado. Cabbage Patch Kids were all the rage and every girl wanted one. Parents were going crazy trying to get their hands on one and so was I. Then some store close by was advertising that they had some in stock and they’d be available first thing the next morning. I vaguely remember my mom and our neighbor, Vicki scheming, planning how they were going to get a few dolls for us girls. I could hardly sleep that night, so excited that I might be the proud owner of a Cabbage Patch Kid the very next day. But when I woke up that morning instead of getting to go with my mom, I had to go to school. The suspense was killing me. I wanted one sooooo bad. Well, the morning came and went and nothing. Lunch time–nothing. And then, the knock on the mobile door. And Mrs. Chan opening the door and nodding. Then calling me over. And there was my mother, probably more excited than myself, the biggest smile across her face. “We got one!” Oh, I probably died and went to heaven right then and there. I don’t remember much about the day or actually opening the doll. But I’ll never forget my mom at that door, probably sacrificing her precious time, to share the excitement with me.
And I have to be honest, through the years, I’ve wondered every now and then how much my mom really loved me. She was often busy. I don’t remember much one on one time with her. I don’t think she ever sat down and played Barbies with me. She shouted a lot. She got mad a bunch. She was always working–running her own preschool and taking care of us eight kids. She was far from perfect. There are things she did that I wouldn’t have done. But lately, as I struggle with motherhood and fail miserably, that one little memory of my Mom has changed my entire view of her. I can only imagine how tired she must have been. Exhausted, frustrated, struggling to keep her own head above water. Just like me. And yet, she found a way to tell me she loved me in so many little ways. She always read to us. She taught us how to sing. Whenever I was acting moody and depressed as a teenager, she always found a way to sit and chat with just me, even if it was for just a few minutes. She sewed us some pretty great Halloween costumes. She was always there to help with homework. She was always there.
And I think that’s the thing about mothers. We have so many good intentions. We love our children desperately. And yet we are still so human. We make mistakes. We spend too much time cleaning. We just want to read a book without kids climbing on us. We want to pee alone. And sometimes we aren’t the best moms. We shout. We scold. We throw our hands up in the air and wish we never had kids. We have to work. We forget to sing. We watch Oprah instead of playing Candyland. But we try our hardest, we do our best, and we’d give anything just to see our kids smile, just to know our children are happy, just to know they know we love them. And that’s what I think my mom was trying to do for me, 25 years ago when she got in that long line to buy me a Cabbage Patch Kid.
To visit a pumpkin farm around this neck of the woods but we still do it every year. Cause you know. . . Tradition! So yesterday after we mowed the lawn and bagged some leaves and taught a couple piano lessons we loaded up the kids and headed out to find us some pumpkins. We visited a new farm this year since the big boys are too big for Benedict’s hay maze. Plasko’s has a pretty big corn maze that Hunter’s scout group did last year so I figured we’d try it again. We divided into two teams: Hunter and Noah versus the rest of us. I think Hunter and Noah were done in fifteen minutes and when they got sick of waiting for the rest of us they went back in and started helping other people find their way out. Silly boys. Denver led our team the entire way and did a really great job. I was completely turned around the entire time and was glad I hadn’t led a team on my own. I have no sense of direction. . . at all!
Next up, we boarded the hay ride around the corn maze. Thank goodness we had that to bribe the babies out of the maze because right after the last post they both refused to walk any further. I already had lugged Caleb through the entire maze on my shoulders and there was no way Mark or I could carry them both the rest of the way out. But as soon as we mentioned the tractor, they were off and running. We sat there for awhile, waiting for the trailer to fill up, and the boys entertained themselves by digging through the hay looking for lost tickets. Hunter actually found two and if it hadn’t been so cold, I would have let them go again.
We finished up the evening picking out our pumpkins which cost us $70.00! Holy cow! It doesn’t help that we all like big, scary looking pumpkins but the worst part was when we stopped by the grocery store on our way home and found that they had a “three pumpkins for $15″ sale which included any pumpkin, any size. Dang it! But like I said before, traditions are important even if they are expensive and the kids had a good time. Except maybe for Hunter who kept picking rotten pumpkins and had to try three times before he found one that wasn’t rotting. Caleb insisted we buy some cider donuts before we leave and they were the cherry on top of the entire outing.
Melanie and I took the babies to Benedict’s today to play in the hay and feed the animals and pick some pumpkins. You know, the usual autumn festivities.
May the angels protect you
Trouble neglect you
And heaven accept you when its time to go home
May you always have plenty
The glass never empty
Know in your belly
You’re never alone
May your tears come from laughing
You find friends worth having
With every year passing
They mean more than gold
May you win but stay humble
Smile more than grumble
And know when you stumble
You’re never alone
Chorus: Never alone
Never alone
I’ll be in every beat of your heart
When you face the unknown
Wherever you fly
This isn’t goodbye
My love will follow you stay with you
Baby you’re never alone
Well,I have to be honest
As much as I wanted
I’m not gonna promise that the cold winds won’t blow
So when hard times have found you
And your fears surround you
Wrap my love around you
You’re never alone
Last week school was cancelled for Yom Kippur. We didn’t do a whole lot of anything. Denver had a playdate. Noah and Hunter overdosed on computer games. And I dealt with the babies as usual. But, I did remember this science experiement that I mentioned a few months ago on this post. So while I made lunch I had the boys decorate their rockets and when they were finished eating we set them off. They worked way better than I expected and they were practically free, thanks to a donation of film canisters from Wal-mart. You can see our rockets blast off here. Happy Rocketeering!
I went to the dentist this past weekend for my routine cleaning and checkup. All’s good. No cavities. While I was there the hygenist mentioned she was going to plant some bulbs this weekend before it got too cold. And I thought, Hey, good idea! Later on that evening, after Mark and I had an actual, honest-to-goodness date, we hit BJ’s for our week’s supply of milk, bread and eggs. And as we meandered up and down the isles, guess what. Bulbs! So we got some.
Life here, as we used to know it at the Henrichsen household no longer exsists. I’m not sure why. Maybe I’m trying to do too much. Maybe I’m tired of trying to keep up with myself. Maybe it’s just the simple fact that I’ve got sick kids everywhere I turn and the fussing and the whining and the lack of sleep is wearing on me. Whatever it is, I’ve felt disorganized and frazzled and just plain crazy the past little while. So today I decided to give “Molly Mormon” a rest and let the house fall apart and take the babies outside to plant some bulbs. They rode bikes for awhile while I tried to dig through a bunch of rocks and roots and junk. Then, one by one they wandered over and started helping me plant the bulbs. Eventually we were all working together, digging up worms and raking leaves and having such a nice time. I don’t know why it’s so hard to get ourselves out that back door but I’ve really got to do it more often. Maybe that’s just what I need. A little reprioritization in my life. Maybe I’m feeling crazy in my head because I’m worrying way too much about things that hardly matter at all. Perhaps I need to remind myself of the basics that make the most difference in my life and the kids’–reading, singing, fresh air and some good lovin’. Because today, just a couple of hours outside with my hands in the dirt and my arms around my kids made a world of difference in the way I’m feeling about everything else that seems to be dragging me under.
