Thursday, March 30, 2006
Okay, so this picture doesn't do the dirt justice, but if you saw him you would probably wonder if Denver has ever had a bath, ever. The dirt on his face and hands is astounding and I can't help but wonder how I'll ever scrub it all off. But he sure has had fun getting it there and I suppose what really matters isn't the filth that has consumed him but rather the time he's spent outside drinking in the sun and the fresh air and playing in the dirt. So. . . here's to buckets and shovels, dumptrucks, rocks and sticks, "bad guy stew" (a.k.a. mud pies) and "bug land," worms, bubbles and chalk and everything else that makes a warm spring day so dang fun and sticky.
 
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Wednesday, March 29, 2006
 Things have been falling apart here at the homestead. Not surprising, considering the unexpected news and the morning sickness that often follows such an announcement. Everything...no, I mean, EVERYTHING has been making me sick and I'm so tired, I feel like a walking zombie. So of course, the housework has been suffering and I can't say things have ever been quite so messy. But I just want you all to know that Mark has been nothing but a rockstar these past few weeks. He's been absolutely wonderful. He hasn't complained once about the number of blizzards I've consumed from Dairy Queen or the increasing size of my britches. He hasn't murmured even an ounce, when I hand over the kids upon his arrival home and then immediately crash upstairs in bed for the night. And a few nights ago, he stayed up past midnight until every last dish was washed and every crumb swept from the countertops. He has definitely been putting in some overtime here at home and all I can say is "Mark, I could just kiss you to bits". . . if only it didn't make me feel so barfy. I love you Mark--thanks for your undying love and support, even during my ugly parts.
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Friday, March 24, 2006
I'm pregnant!
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Thursday, March 23, 2006
When you were nine months old I discovered I was pregnant with your brother, Denver. I was so thoroughly enjoying you that the thought of another hadn't even crossed my mind. And yet, Denver came and you immediately became "the middle child." Neither you nor I handled the transition with much grace. Rather, we butt heads and screamed and shouted at each other for several months before we both came to terms with the new addition to the family and the fact that Denver wasn't going anywhere. Slowly but surely I figured out your little personality and just exactly what you needed to feel loved. You frequently ask if you are my favorite and as a mother I'm afraid my reply must remain neutral: I love you all, but for different reasons. You want so desperately to be special, to be unique and special that my answer often leaves you wanting for more. So, in an attempt to help you understand how precious you are to me, I began calling you my "sparkly blue jewel." You love things that sparkle, most especially jewels. And your eyes are so blue and twinkly, they are just like diamonds. And when I said, "Noah, you are my sparkly blue jewel and there is no one else like you," your eyes lit up and your smile grew wider and I knew you finally understood how precious you are to me because what could be more valuable than a sparkly, blue jewel? Certainly not Hunter or Denver or Caleb, right?
You are definitely unique and often feel you don't fit in our family. We are all chubby and you are skin and bones. When we pointed this out, you were devastated at your thinness and were delighted when the doctor suggested that yes, even you Noah, were chubby compared to other kids your age. For sometime you have tried to convince us that you don't fit in because you have two brains while the rest of us only have one and while I have no idea where the second brain came from, it frustrates you to no end, that you are, yet again, different from the rest of us. You play different from your brothers which not always, but often leaves you playing alone, making up your own games and stories. While they drive trucks around the house and build towers out of blocks and legos, you gather small treasures in your fists and carry them everywhere. Each item is priceless, precious no matter what it is and you treasure them as if they were tiny pieces of gold. Foriegn coins, hex keys, acorns, rubber pencil tops and erasers, rocks with sparkles, small see-through pieces of lego that resemble jewels, barrettes, elastic hair ties, marbles, reflectors from bicycles, extremely small sticks and twigs. . . you name it, if it's little, you cherish it. And if it involves all six colors of the rainbows or it sparkles, the value automatically doubles.
You love to draw and write and every picture you create tells a story. Most of your present artwork revolves around the Nintendo game, Zelda, but you can draw just about anything we ask you to. You have fabulous handwriting and I just know the teachers are going to love you and your penmanship. You are also fascinated by volcanos and rainbows and terrified of lightning and tornados. At five, you know more facts about volcanoes than I've learned in my entire lifetime and love to discuss them with and draw them for anyone that will give you the time of day. You have finally given into me reading you chapter books with not-so-many pictures and your all time favorite so far has been "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe." You are beginning to read and it never ceases to amaze me at what words you figure out all on your own. You have a love for learning just like your father which makes you fit in more than you would probably like to admit.
You love to be tickled. You love to be snuggled in the morning. You love vanilla milk, warmed up just a bit. You especially love fruit as long as it is at room temperature and getting you to eat much of anything else is a challenge. You love Nintendo and movies, your favorites being Zelda and Monkey Ball, Jumanji and Madagascar. You love going for walks, spy gear, kettle corn, white chocolate, making crafts especially if it's slimey or it erupts, frosting, and jewelry. You love flowers, especially your little dandelion weed that grows at the bottom of our stairs because it smells like "honey." I think that dandelion weed loves you too. You still have a little trouble sleeping at night, but with some lavendar oil on your pillow and our little chant(Abra-cadabra, Alakazam, Sweet dreams for Noah, Sweet sleep tonight!), you fall asleep rather quickly and sleep pretty soundly. You love your warm spot in the entertainment center, right next to the heater and although you barely fit, I have a feeling I'll be finding you there everytime the heat kicks on, cuddled up in a tiny ball, for years to come.
You have a strong little spirit and an even greater faith. This past Christmas you drew this picture:
Because I loved it so much you immediately started making copies for everyone you could think of that doesn't go to church, in the hopes of saving their lost souls. You were certain that your portrayal of the Christmas story would move these said individuals to repentance and you bravely and proudly went to work handing them out to the people on your list. I admire your fearlessness and I know you'll be a great missionary someday. And just last week, upon discovery of a cavity, we had to return to the dentist to have it filled. You immediatley began concerning yourself with whether or not it would taste bad (remembering the last time you had a cavity filled) and worrying terribly that we might have to get an ice cream cone afterwards. So, the morning of the appointment I suggested you have a blessing from Daddy so it wouldn't taste bad or hurt. You then matter-of-factly said, "Next time I'll have a blessing but this time I'm testing my prayer." And sure enough it didn't taste bad and it didn't hurt and you didn't have to have the dreaded ice cream cone afterall.
We just registered you for Kindergarten yesterday. I can hardly believe you are old enough to leave me and that you are excited about it too. My heart pounds harder and my stomach churns at the thought of sending you out into the "real" world. And I wonder are you ready? Really ready? And have I done everything I need to do to make sure you know how much I love you? Have I read to you enough? Have I cuddled you enough? Have we sung enough songs and played enough games? And I guess while I know you are ready and that you'll do just fine, I think I'm just afraid of how much I'm going to miss you and I hope you know, that no matter how much you grow up or how different you are from the rest of us--I'll always want to cuddle you and read you books and tickle you and warm you up a glass of vanilla milk and play you a round of Monkey Ball. That you can always count on my sparkly blue jewel.
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Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Okay. . . so he only crawled about not even an inch before he did a face plant all over the carpet, but he crawled! And I'm not sure why I'm so excited because now he can come and find me and pick up every tiny object along the way and shove it in his mouth and I can't stick him in one place and expect to find him there five minutes later, but. . . he crawled! And that, my friends, is very exciting!
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Tuesday, March 21, 2006
 This morning Denver and I were loading the dishwasher together, since that's his chore for the week. He was busy scrubbing and I was loading and wiping down countertops. After awhile, we came to last night's pan that was coated in gook and two cookie sheets with baked on cheese. I took over scrubbing and was scraping some of the cheese off one of the cookie sheets. The following conversation then took place.
Denver: "I know how you clean greasy stuff. You need Oxi Plus. . . or BAM. (pause) I know how you use BAM. . . you just wipe, wash and squirt."
Mommy: "Don't you squirt, wipe and wash?"
Denver: "Yeah. . . and for Palmolive Oxi Plus you just squirt (pretending to squirt a bottle of dish liquid) and wipe."
A few minutes later. . . "When can we get some Palmolive Oxi Plus?"
I know, I know what you are thinking: they watch way too much t.v. But all I can think is: Man, I love this little man with dishpan hands and isn't he smart for figuring out that Palmolive Oxi Plus is the better choice because it requires one less step.
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Monday, March 20, 2006
Yesterday, Hunter was playing Brood Wars, his latest addiction. Mark and I try and play a game or two with him every weekend, which thrills Hunter beyond his wildest dreams, but during the week he's left to his own devices. (So Uncle Michael, if you want to come out for Easter and a Brood Wars Marathon, Hunter would be entirely delighted!) Anyway, while Hunter was playing, I was making dinner with Caleb on my hip and Noah and Denver wrapped around each ankle. Hunter would occasionally call out some detail about his present game and I would "uh-hum," letting him know I had heard him. During one of those occasions, he said something like, "Did you know you can watch a movie at the beginning of Brood Wars?" I said "no" and he said, "Come and see." So, when I got to a good breaking point, I wandered in and sat down next to Hunter to see this "really short movie" that I just had to see. Now, Brood Wars is a war game, so of course, there is going to be some violence. Fortunatley, the violence is mild and I've never worried about it ruining Hunter's innocence or his future happiness. So, the movie began and there were aliens and fighting and big explosions and I started wondering if maybe he shouldn't be watching this short movie afterall. But Hunter assured me he wasn't scared and that he'd watched it a million times before and it was no big deal. So, we continued watching and Hunter said, "There is a smoking part, but we can skip that part." Smoking part, I wondered. The movie continued and then, all of the sudden Hunter clicked the mouse and it was over. "Hey!" I protested. "What happened?" Hunter then, non-chalantly said, "That's the smoking part." "What smoking part?" I asked. "Well, there's just a guy smoking and he throws his cigarette out the window." Oh, I thought, thank goodness he understands that smoking is bad but aliens and war is a-okay! At least he's got the important stuff.
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Saturday, March 18, 2006
 
 
 
  
 
We had Noah's birthday party this afternoon. Since he doesn't go to school and he's not best of friends with his primary class, he's low on buddies, so we just had a little family gathering. Noah was thrilled just knowing his cousins were coming and Uncle Nate, the all-knowing Zelda champ. Anyway, we had a little craft party and a silly little treasure hunt. The whoopie cushions were the favorite of the day, especially Ben's. Then we had cake, which Noah designed completely on his own (pink, yellow and green flowers because those are his favorite colors, and a flower on each slice because he LOVES frosting!) Uncle Nate let him fire up the chocolate fountain (which was filled with white chocolate--another favorite of Noah's) and everyone enjoyed dipping their fruit in the extra fat. Then Noah opened up his presents and received Madagascar, Jumanji and Wallace and Grommit on DVD, all the spy gear you could ever imagine, a "real" doctor kit from Aunt Kak and cash from the grandparents. Everything ran relatively smooth, except for the part where Mark and Denver spent 45 minutes at Party City waiting for them to find the whoopie cushions and came home empty-handed and I sent Mark back to the store because we just HAD to have a prize for that leg of the treasure hunt and when he returned to Party City, there were the whoopie cushions, right there! I'm sure Mark wanted to punch a few faces in, including mine, but he managed to deal with it all and stay in a good mood. Noah had a wonderful time and I think we got him to five, happy and satisfied, which is no small feat.
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Friday, March 17, 2006
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Thursday, March 16, 2006
Noah got one of these Spy Voice Traps for his birthday. It's a handy little contraption that allows you to record a message and then hide it somewhere. It has a motion detector on it so whenever you walk in front of it or get close to it, it plays the recorded message. Anyway, as we played with it today, I decided it is a toy every mother needs about a hundred of. Cause then you could leave one in the bathroom, reminding the kids to flush or wash their hands or put the seat down. And you could put one in their bedroom reminding them to put their dirty clothes in the hamper or to make their beds. And you could put one in the toy room, reminding them to pick up their toys or turn off the lights. And one in the kitchen reminding them to kiss the cook. Or. . . if you have a wiggler like Hunter and you get sick of constantly reminding them to sit still, you could point the sucker on them while they eat or do homework and let the voice trap do the reminding for awhile. The possibilities are endless and the amount of nagging it might save you is priceless! It's definitely a toy worth your investment.
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Tuesday, March 14, 2006
  For FHE this week we reviewed the boys' chore charts and awarded them their hard-earned dollars. We didn't score 100% on all of the chores, but the boys' piano playing improved and they all helped out more and the most surprising thing was how much they enjoyed it all. Hunter actually asked to load the dishwasher several times and even peeled the carrots and chopped the celery for tonight's dinner. Denver does surprisingly well scrubbing dishes and Noah voluntarily practices piano every day. Anyway, they each were applauded and were obviously proud of themselves. After that we had a lesson and then enjoyed frozen banana pops covered in chocolate and peanuts. Mark suggested we give Caleb a banana pop too. He polished off the entire pop in a matter of minutes and refused to hand it over until it was completely gone. I guess that's the real reason Caleb even bothers with FHE--the treats.
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Monday, March 13, 2006
A little conversation I had with Denver last week.
Denver: "What does yes and no make?"
Me: "Maybe."
Denver: "What does maybe, yes and no make?"
Me: "Confused."
Denver: "What does confused, maybe, yes and no make?"
Me: "I don't know Denver, what do you think it makes?"
Denver: "I think it makes 'Aaaaahhhhhhh!' (shouting in a loud, frustrated voice)"
Me: "I think you're right."
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Saturday, March 11, 2006
 I know it's not here to stay and that's okay. We like rainy days too and a cloudy, drab day here and there is always welcome. But today we have sunshine and warmth and my cheeks are a bit sunburned and the house is full of fresh air and the boys have frolicked and played at the park and on their bikes and I must say, nothing makes me happier than a sunny spring day.
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Thursday, March 09, 2006
Three years ago we had Hunter tested for Kindergarten. Out here, as long as you turn five before December 31st, they'll register you for Kindergarten. That means Hunter missed the cutoff by just a few weeks. I had never thought much about it because I've never been in a rush to send my kids out into the real world. But Hunter's preschool teacher had heard that they make an exception to that rule for kids who turn five by February 28th and pass certain criteria (ie they have to be tested by the school psychiatrist and approved by the kindergarten teachers.) Miss Melody's daughter, Grace, who is a few weeks younger than Hunter was going to be tested and since she and Hunter were in preschool together, things were about to become very confusing for Hunter. "Sorry, kiddo. Grace is going to Kindergarten but not you." So against my better judgement, we decided to have Hunter tested for early admission into Kindergarten as well.
To make a long story short, Grace was admitted and Hunter was not. The school psychiatrist said Hunter was a "genius" and that his IQ was well above Kindergarten level and that academically, Hunter was definitely ready for Kindergarten. Then, the dreaded Mrs. B explained that they rank the kids between a one and a three--one being the best and three being the worst. She then proceeded to say, "Hunter is a three all the way across the board." A bit flabbergasted and trying my best to hold back the tears I waited for her explanation. She evaluated him during Kindergarten orientation while 18 little four-year olds were in the classroom for the first time and for less than 15 minutes. Hunter wouldn't sit down for story time because he was too busy playing with the toys. Duh? What four year old wants to sit and listen to a story instead of checking out the new territory? And, when they asked him to draw a picture of his family he drew a rainbow instead. When given a second chance he proceeded to write down all of our names but refused to draw a picture of his family.
So Hunter attended another year of preschool and not much changed. He still wasn't big on drawing pictures of his family, let alone anything artsy, and getting him to sit still was as challenging as ever. But it was time to register him for Kindergarten and this time they had to take him. So I met with the principal and expressed my concerns that not much had changed since his evaluation and I was worried about his success in Kindergarten. Mr. L reassured me that if Hunter didn't want to sit still for storytime, that it was okay--that's what the first two months of kindergarten are for, learning the school routine and how to behave. And, he said, they encourage self-expression and if he didn't want to draw a picture of his family but rather a rainbow, well by all means, he could draw a rainbow. Hmmmm. . . So what was the problem a year ago?
Anyway, we obviously got some mixed signals from the school but I was hopeful that they wouldn't expect him to conform too much and that what Mr.L was saying was really true. I think the ability to fit in is important but I think individuality is more important and I really didn't want the public school system to squelch Hunter's. Unfortunately, I think it's too late. What do you think? You already saw his Roman Numerals worksheet here.
 He did this worksheet earlier this week and I worried a little when he starting writing out the words that the school wouldn't like it, but he was putting so much effort into it, making sure he was spelling everything right and writing so carefully, I let him do it. He turned it in and obviously, they weren't impressed. There was no "Good Job" or "Great handwriting" written on the top. Not even a "Wow Hunter! Next time do both, regular numbers and the words." Just a "Knock it off, would ya? This makes it really hard for me to grade." And I'm wondering why? What's so hard about giving a little boy some praise for a job well done? He's bored out of his mind. He can multiply and divide and add well beyond a hundred and yet, he humors the teachers and their pathetic math worksheets, every day! Why can't they humor him a bit? He's doing the work and he's answering the questions correctly--he's just being different. Since when was that such a crime?
 Anyway, he brought home this drawing of his family this week and I wonder what they'd have to say about it? How come they don't have arms and legs, Hunter? And what's with the sixth finger? Don't you know we only have five fingers on each hand? And why do you have such a big family? The average American family only has 2.3 kids and a dog. And why don't you have a dog? What's wrong with you kid? Why can't you be like everyone else? Why do you have to be so different? And what I want to know is, why do we all have to be the same?
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Wednesday, March 08, 2006
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Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Denver is my little sidekick. Everywhere I go Denver's by my side helping me do whatever needs doing. He cooks, he scrubs toilets, he feeds the chicken, he washes laundry, he vacuums, he mops, he mows the lawn, he washes dishes, unloads the dishwasher--you name it, he does it. Maybe he enjoys it. Maybe he's figured out that if he wants to spend time with me, he's gotta help me. Either way, he's always there, helping. So this weekend I was folding laundry and he begged me to let him help and I did. And he did an amazing job! And that's when I got the idea--chores! If Denver can fold laundry so well and he's only three, then surely Hunter and Noah can too. And anytime you figure out your kids are capable of heavy labor you assign them some right away.
So thanks to my mom and a great CDROM she sent me, I made these really great chore charts for the kids and we assigned them each a job. Denver helps me start a load of laundry, switch one to the dryer and fold a load. Noah sets the table at dinner and helps me prepare dinner. And Hunter loads the dishwasher and wipes the table after dinner. They also have their other responsibilities like practicing piano, doing homework, picking up toys, and reading for twenty minutes a day. At the bottom of each chart I added a line, "Do something without being asked." The children don't get to mark this box off, but rather Mark and I do when we notice the kids doing something without being asked or they do something quickly without whining or being reminded. At the end of each week, if that particular chore has been marked every day, they earn a dollar. I was actually very proud of myself for coming up with such a fabulous system, so of course, along with the Nintendo thing, I was all gung-ho to get started.
Hunter gets home just before three o'clock. I let him have until four o'clock to unwind in front of the tv. He and Noah vegged out for about half an hour in front of Nick Gas and then abandoned the television to go play. At four o'clock I informed Hunter, who was no longer playing but nagging me to let him play computer, it was time to start his homework and that Noah needed to start practicing piano. That sent both boys into hysterics, and Noah screamed for at least 45 minutes. I called Denver up to help me match a basketful of socks, to which he immediately began protesting. At this point, Hunter quits crying and informs me that he thinks his blood sugar is low. So I hurry down to the kitchen where I find him falling asleep on top of his homework. Juice, cheese stick, back to work. Noah is now screaming at the top of his lungs in protest which of course wakes Caleb up from his one and only nap of the day. Great, I think, now I get to make dinner with Caleb in tow. So Denver, Caleb and I finish matching socks and I head downstairs where I tell Noah to quit crying (he can practice double tomorrow) and that he needs to wash his hands so he can help make dinner. He and I start making the pie crust for this fabulous quiche and he immediately sneezes a great big slobbery sneeze right into the pie crust. Thanks Noah. At this point Caleb begins whining in his exersaucer (it hasn't even been 5 minutes yet) and Denver enters the scene. Denver is devastated when I tell him that making dinner is Noah's chore this week and that he'll have to wait and help me make FHE treat later. This sends Denver into hysterics to the point where he is about to vomit. So, he joins in. Caleb is now in hysterics and will no longer be content anywhere but in my arms. Hunter amazingly enough, pulls through and practices piano without being asked and does a terrific job. I get dinner in the oven, calm Caleb down and sit down with Noah and Denver to read a few books. Thank goodness, I think, we survived. At that point, Caleb starts screaming again and Mark calls for a ride home and I really start thinking I would rather have someone rip my fingernails off one by one than ever go through this again. And all I was trying to do was teach my kids a little work ethic and responsibility. Thankfully I know the first day is always the hardest and already today Noah has practiced the piano of his own free choice and will and Hunter did all of the dishes last night without a word of complaint.
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Monday, March 06, 2006
Yesterday, I made one request. . . "No TV, no nintendo, no computer games until after church." The boys spent most of Saturday playing nintendo--except for an outing with Daddy to get their hair cut and see "Curious George" while I hosted a Partylite Party for Melanie. Oh. . . and piano lessons and chores. But the point is, when they were home and left to their own devices, they chose to play nintendo--not blocks, not GIJoes, not board games, not lego--just nintendo. And that is fine. It's Saturday, their one day off to do whatever their little hearts desire. But after hearing Zelda and Mario and Star Wars in the background all day long on Saturday I just couldn't bear the thought of listening to it for even a minute, thus my one request.
Now I should hardly complain, because the Nintendo remained turned off all day until after dinner--exactly as I had requested. But the disturbing thing is what my boys did to pass the time until then. We hadn't even had breakfast and Hunter had dug out his hand-held game device that his Sunday School teacher gave him for Christmas. When I protested, explaining that it was the same thing as the nintendo, he said, "But, it keeps turning on by itself and I HAVE to play it." Ummmm. . . NO! Awhile later I found the boys playing upstairs with the Lego and I thought, "Oh, thank goodness, they've found something educational to play." Ummmm. . . no, again! They were building a MonkeyBall racecourse. For those of you that don't know what MonkeyBall is. . . let's just say it's a Nintendo game. So the boys were taking turns making different race tracks and making their imaginary game pieces run the course. I let it be, because first of all, they were being quiet and they weren't fighting, and second, because I can't micromanage how they play. Anyway, we finally got everyone dressed and fed and ready for church and we even made it on-time for church, which is very rare. And we settled into our pew and I passed out the paper and markers and within minutes they were drawing maps of Zelda's world this and Zelda's world that. And it occured to me that my kids don't just like Nintendo. They don't love Nintendo. They're not even obsessed with Nintendo. They are addicted to the darn thing and only drastic measures are going to fix this disaster.
So, it looks like I'm going to have to be brave and restrict Nintendo time to Fridays and Saturdays like our Dentist did with his kids only he restricted all "screentime" to the weekends and of course, I'm not that brave cause if I can't put them in front of the TV for a few minutes of downtime everyday I'd just die. . . plain and simple. But the truth of the matter is, Nintendo has consumed my family and it's not healthy. My kids would rather sit in front of the TV and play a game than play in the snow with me, ride their bikes, read a book or build with blocks and as ashamed as I am to admit it--it's the truth. And now. . . I've gotta fix it.
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Sunday, March 05, 2006
Denver loves Caleb. . . to an extreme. Most of the time I worry for Caleb. Denver always means well but he hasn't quite grasped the concept "be gentle." And yet, these two little men have an unexplainable, unbreakable bond and every so often I'll find Denver caring for Caleb in the most kind and gentle way, it seems they must have known each other before they came to earth. Denver seems to underestand and sympathize with Caleb in a way the rest of us couldn't possibly do and Caleb always seems grateful and relieved to have such a great friend built into the family.
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Saturday, March 04, 2006
**Please note: the following blog contains nudity as well as correct terms for anatomical parts. Please stop reading now if this concerns you.
 This is me in high school. The important thing is--this is me in high school when I was running three miles every day, spending two hours every day after school cheerleading, and I had just recovered from a lung infection during which I had lost several pounds. This is me at my thinnest, ever! The sad thing is, in this picture, I didn't feel beautiful. I didn't feel skinny. And I didn't feel good about myself. But I should have.
 This is me now. Well, sort of me. This is me six weeks after having Caleb, in the humid hot heat of Florida after walking a mile or two in that heat, lugging my newborn infant and dragging three other children through the crowds of Disneyland. Things have changed a bit since my high school days. . . obviously. I no longer have healthy meals prepared for me or my parents making me feel guilty for eating a whole thing of Haagan Daaz in one blow or my mom constantly reminding me that she weighed only 117 pounds when she got married and grandma only weighed 98 pounds when she tied the knot. No, now I'm in charge of the healthy meal planning and while it's definitely a priority for my children, I rarely have time to prepare them for myself. So sometimes, a whole pint of Haagan Daaz covers breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as the boredom and monotony that sometimes comes with motherhood. Then there's the whole exercise thing. It's a bit different when you have nothing but time to focus on yourself, cheerleading with friends, jogging in the beautiful English countryside, breathing in the fresh air and doing thousands of situps in the privacy of your own bedroom. Now I'm lucky if I only knock out one kid while I'm doing aerobics in our family room and my time spent with friends is usually spent sitting at the park talking about poop and boogers and "hey! Quit fighting you two or we're going home!" And fresh air. . . there's not much of that living next door to New York City or in a house full of boys! All the time I used to spend styling my hair and tanning my gorgeous young skin and working out and brushing my pearly white teeth and applying make-up is now spent on homework and playgroups and dinner preparation and laundry and cleaning and paying bills and reading picture books and changing diapers and so forth. And the wrinkles are setting in and my skin isn't so beautiful anymore and the numbers on the scale are alarming and my hair is falling out and my breasts aren't so perky and my self-esteem is suffering and I hardly recognize that girl in the mirror anymore. And it got me to thinking. And here's what I think:
Back in the day, obesity used to be associated with attractiveness, strength and fertility. It also used to be a symbol of wealth and status. So way back then, if you were a little plump it was okay. Actually it was more than okay. . . it was great! If you were overweight it meant you were pretty and the men liked it. It also meant you were strong and back then, strength was a matter of survival. And men didn't want women that were gonna drop dead with one famine or one 'bout of labor. Which brings us to fertility--big hips and big bottoms meant big, healthy babies and lots of them and men wanted women that would guarantee lots of heirs and lots of namesakes. Then of course, the wealth and status thing--if you were important you had money and if you had money you had food and if you had food, well then everybody knew it. And the more I thought about this the more frustrated I got because--what changed?
 
I mean, why did we have to go and "westernize" things and start believing in things like dieting and size 0's and anorexia and bulimia and exlax and liposuction and diet pills and lettuce and water? And that got me thinking, nowadays some of the cutest girls I know are going to some of the ugliest extremes to look. . . ugly. I know they were shooting for slender and sexy and gorgeous and trendy but they sort of went overboard and missed the boat completely. And now they are just plain ugly. And if that isn't bad enough they aren't just ruining themselves but all of us women. Everyone expects us to be skinny and wear size 0's and look 21 forever. And it's not really making us attractive or healthy, but rather sickly and scary. And the silly thing is, the doctors alway told me I should weigh 115 pounds and that's what they say I should weigh now but I've never weighed that little, not even at my skinniest and I just wonder what extremes I would have to go to to obtain that kind of weight. And what sorts of things I would have to sacrifice in the process like my health and my bone density and my strength and my fertility and I wonder if it would really be worth it. And that makes me think? Is it really worth it, what we're doing to ourselves? To be skinny?
 
 
And ultimately, I think our ancestors had it right and we've got it wrong. Ugly, starving, brittle-boned, binging and purging women aren't going to do much for our future or our survival. And I personally would rather see a little bulge here and there than miss a person completely cause they're so dang skinny. And instead of feeling like I'm less of a person because I actually wear a size fourteen I should feel like more of a person because I am, literally and figuratively. And ultimately, the judge of our health shouldn't be the scale or what size pants we wear but rather, how we feel physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally and let that be our guide for change. And maybe we shouldn't be so hard on ourselves when we have a bad day and eat too much chocolate or we can't make it to the gym on a regular basis--because there is so much more to being alive than how we look and what we wear. And maybe we should quit letting so many people tell us how we should be and feeling terrible because we aren't that way, and start feeling good about who we are, the way we are. And I'm not exactly sure my purpose in writing all of this except that my sister's husband is constantly nagging her to look a certain way and he's so focused on what size dress she's wearing that he's missing the beautiful person she is on the inside completely. And someone else I know is sacrificing a whole lot more than calories to fit into a smaller pair of jeans. And my niece is feeling down on herself cause she doesn't look like the girls on MTV and she can't wear the clothes her friends wear and yet she is more fabulous than ANY other teenager I know. And then there's me--who has never worn a size smaller than a ten and who has never weighed even close to her "ideal" weight--and I'm struggling to like what I see in the mirror and not let my weight affect my self-esteem. But it's hard and what I've really been thinking is we should all loosen up a bit and remember while it's nice to be thin it's not everything and true beauty can't be purchased in a size 0, but rather lies deep within us. And. . . just like the Star Belly Sneetches went out of style so has fitting into a size 0. Real women wear a size 16!
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Friday, March 03, 2006
My sister makes me c.d.'s regularly in order to keep me up-to-date on all of the latest music. This week she brought me a fabulous c.d. with a song by SheDaisy called "God Bless the American Housewife." It's a great song and I just thought I'd share. You can listen to the whole song and watch the entire video by clicking here and then clicking on "God Bless the American Housewife" under videos. God bless us Mommies as we struggle to do it all. And God bless our husbands and our children that they might survive despite us crazy women and our frantic attempts at holding it all together! Enjoy!
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Thursday, March 02, 2006
 Yesterday, while we were waiting for Noah at karate, in a desperate attempt to keep the other boys out of trouble, I suggested a game of "I Spy." So Hunter, Denver and I took turns spying and guessing. When it's Denver's turn to play, he mostly likes to give lots and lots of detailed clues so we guess it right away instead of wasting time answering our silly questions and telling us to guess again and again and again. It's the same when we play hide-n-seek. He does a great job hiding but then he repeatedly calls out, "I'm in here! I'm in here!" until you find him. Anyway, it was his turn to spy and he gave us this hint: it's black and cars go on it. So I immediately guessed the road and he said, "no." So I guessed 'the street' and because I was obviously wrong again, he gave me two more hints: it's up high and it's a way. Guessed yet? The highway. It was the highway that you can't even see from karate but it was the highway nonetheless and I guessed it right.
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