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.
Melanie and her three little guys came over today and we had ourselves a wee little Autumn Fest. We carved pumpkins and roasted pumpkin seeds. We raked the leaves into piles and buried the kids. And of course, we turned a pumpkin into some really yummy mini pumpkin pies. Caleb was super excited to carve his first teeny-tiny pumpkin. When we finished I stuck a battery-operated tealight inside it and he carried it around the house all afternoon (even though he was a little disappointed I didn't give his jack-o-lantern a nose--whoops!) Jericho and Justus loved their pumpkins too and toted them all over the house as well. Denver worked especially hard to clean out his pumpkin and then worked even harder to help Hunter clean out his pumpkin. Hunter spent a good 45 minutes transferring his template onto his pumpkin and I spent another 45 minutes carving it out for him (and doing a little nose job since the original nose fell off.) Noah worked really hard on his haunted house themed jack-o-lantern but got frustrated and left it half done. So, I'll have to finish it up later. Mark has yet to do his, but I'm sure it will get done before midnight tomorrow night. Right, Darling? Right? Anyway, I'm exhausted. I never knew you could cram so many Fall Festivities into one day. But somehow we did and it was great fun! Thanks for coming Me-Me!
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. . . .
Poop on the Floor Mystery
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.
As helpful as you are in the kitchen, there are other areas of the house you aren't so helpful in. Like with the laundry. The other day I was busy cleaning up the kitchen when I heard lots of little feet running back and forth between the two upstairs bedrooms. I went to investigate a few minutes later and you and Caleb had unloaded everyone's drawers full of clothes and had made a giant pile of laundry on the floor. It was the "garbage" and you were the garbage trucks. Then there was Saturday, during piano lessons, when you dumped the huge basket of laundry I had just folded and scattered it all over the floor. But you didn't do it once, or twice even. You did it three times. And you didn't just scatter it. You threw it down the stairs. Twice! And I think the most frustrating thing of all is how dang fast you are. One baby can unload a basket of laundry, sure. But three babies can do it really, really quickly! And it never fails, while I'm cleaning up one mess, you are off making another.
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!
When we finished we had to get a picture of Caleb by the "Statue of Delivery" as he calls it. Last summer Mark took the four boys into New York and Caleb fell in love with the Statue of Liberty. But he never could say it right--for some reason delivery is easier to say than liberty. But the best part is, this summer IHOP had a commercial for their "pancakes around the world" special and they had the Statue of Liberty holding a giant bottle of syrup. Caleb thought it was hilarious. So nowadays, when you ask Caleb what the Statue of Liberty is holding up in her hand he says, "Syrup!"
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.
Then tonight Noah, Denver and I read Leaf Man by Lois Ehlert and we decided this year we're going to make our own version of Leaf Man. Every year we make a leaf book of our own to show off our collection of autumn leaves. Last year we also threw in our traditional "100 things we're thankful for" list that we do every Thanksgiving. Anyway, Leaf Man gave us a new idea for an old book and now I'm excited because I don't have to feel guilty anymore for all the millions of leaves I fall in love with between September and November and then stuff between the pages of my books. Because we need LOTS of leaves this year. And lots of different ones too. So, if any of you come across a pretty leaf or two and wouldn't mind sending us a color photocopy of them and where you found them, we'd really appreciate it. And if you want us to send you some, let us know. I'm so excited I can hardly wait!
Heard this song a few nights ago on the radio and loved it. Just thought I'd share.
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.
The kids have been trying for years to figure out a way to get themselves breakfast in bed and lots of presents for no reason at all. I guess they figure if we get Mother's Day and Father's Day, well then, they should get Children's Day. All week last week, Hunter kept pointing out that Sunday is Children's Day (hint, hint) and last night was no exception. I'm not sure when Children's Day actually became a holiday. Afterall, isn't that what birthday parties are for? And Christmas and Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and Halloween? You'd think the kids get enough special holidays but clearly, they don't. Or maybe they do and the real problem here is that they don't get enough breakfasts in bed. Either way, today we decided to celebrate Children's Day and the kids finally got their breakfast in bed. Mean mother that I am, I refused to give them any presents even though I was tempted to make a picture frame out of popsicles sticks and stick a handprint of mine in it with some cutsie little poem about how they probably get tired of seeing my hand smacking their bottoms but that someday they'd miss it.
So today, on behalf of Children's Day, I give you six reasons why I'm thankful for my kids:
1)I'm thankful for Hunter because he read Fablehaven all by himself and he learned how to give really good backrubs. And on the days when I'm struggling most as a mother and I'm grumpy and shouty and pouty, he doesn't complain. He just quietly sits down beside me and gives me one of the most heavenly back massages a nine-year old boy could possibly give. I've never heard of another little boy that's more loving and caring than my Hunter. I hardly know how his heart fits inside that little chest of his.
2)And there's no one better than Noah to turn my frown upside down. He's funny. He's witty. He's just plain hilarious. Sometimes when I feel like I'm about to commit murder, Noah walks in and makes a joke or does something funny and by the time he exits the room, I'm laughing so hard I can't remember what was upsetting me so much. The other night, I asked Noah to say his prayer and instead of saying it, he sang it. I can't help but smile everytime I think about it. So, I'm thankful for Noah and the joy that he fills my heart with, daily.
3)Denver will probably forever be my biggest lover. Every night when we sit down to dinner, it's all he can do not to barf. He hates what I cook 6 out of 7 nights a week. But, he knows how it will hurt my heart if he lets on. So he does his best, every night, to choke down whatever it is I made and then he says, faithfully, "Thank you, Mommy, for this yummy dinner." And he looks me in the eye with those killer, baby blues and he smiles. And I know he loves me. And for that, I'm thankful for Denver.
4)My Mom once told Mark that I'm hard to love. And I was terribly offended. And then I had Caleb. But really, I'm thankful for him and here's why. One of my biggest regrets as a mother is that I haven't made enough time to just sit and rock my babies. Part of the problem is that I'm a doer--I've always got to be busy. Probably a little bit of my Dad's workaholic in me. But the other problem is that everytime I have a baby, it isn't long before I'm pregnant with another one and I'm so busy taking care of the new baby and pretty soon, BOOM! They're not babies anymore. But thanks to Caleb, I will always have the sweet memory of snuggling him. He insists I snuggle him, daily. And I will forever cling to the memory of his sweet smell and the sound of him sucking his thumb and the way he twirls the corner of his silkie in his fingers and his warm little body, curled up next to mine. So I'm thankful for Caleb and the daily snuggles he gives me.
5 and 6) Because they came as a package deal, of course. Once upon a time, when we lived in West Jordan, there was this girl I nicknamed, Perfect Girl. She was practically perfect in everyway and I hated her. Right about the time Hunter was diagnosed with Diabetes she gave birth to twins. I remember talking to her on the phone and I said, "I'd rather have two kids with diabetes than to ever have twins." That's how much I didn't want twins. Nothing scared me more than two babies at once. One was hard enough for me. Two, I thought for sure, would be the death of me. Then there was Jericho and Justus. And yeah, daily I feel the need to die. But I don't. And that's why I'm thankful for Jericho and Justus. They've taught me that what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. And because of them, I am stronger than I ever dreamed I could be. Plus, they are just so dang adorable--I'm thankful for that too. Like Jarrett McCurdy said, "They are so cute, I could just dip them in chocolate and eat them." And anyday I get to spend with two so adorable little people I consider myself a lucky girl.
I have now and again tried to imagine the perfect environment, the ideal conditions for reading: A worn leather armchair on a rainy night? A hammock in a freshly mown backyard? A verandah overlooking the summer sea? Good choices, every one. But I have no doubt that they are all merely displacements, sentimental attempts to replicate the warmth and snugness of my mother's lap.
Mark's mom gave me this quote awhile back. I loved it because I've always loved snuggling up with my kids and reading a good book and also because some of my very best memories are of my own mother on our old, faded brown couch, surrounded by eight little kids reading us a bedtime story. Anyway, we've come across some pretty great books lately and I thought I'd share. If you're like me, when I go to the library with three small children, I like to know what I'm looking for. And I rarely have the time to look at books one by one and figure out which ones are good and which ones are just okay. But I guarantee, if you take this list with you, you won't be disappointed when you get home. They all are wonderful for kids but they are also good for grown-ups too. And if you can't find them in your local library, check out Alibris. They have old and hard-to-find (used and new) books all priced within reason. We found Kipper's A to Z at the school library and loved it so much I wanted to buy it. But when I tried finding it online, I couldn't find it anywhere. Lucky for me, Alibris had it and I got it for less than $10.00 hardcover, brand-spankin' new.
So here's to good books--thank Heaven for them. And here's to an afternoon snuggled up on the couch with the one's you love best reading some of my new most-favorite children's books ever. Enjoy!
I've had a lot of hard days lately. Sometimes it's the kids. Sometimes it's myself. But almost always at the end of the day the thought of one more day is almost more than I can bear. By the time Mark gets home from work I'm pretty miserable. I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I'm angry and bitter and resentful. I'm mad and frustrated and overwhelmed. I'm usually dirty and frazzled and smelly. The last thing I want to do is smile and wrap my arms around Mark and kiss him like a good wife would do. Afterall, he did this to me. Okay, okay. . . we did it together, but he helped and I'm really good at blaming him for turning me into a stay-at-home mother of six. But everyday when Mark comes home you know what he does? He saves me. . . from all of it. He doesn't sit on the couch and demand I bring him his slippers and a newspaper. He doesn't shout at me for the fact that his dinner is cold and mushy or worse, all eaten up. It doesn't matter if the kids are a mess or the house is a disaster. Nope. The first thing he does is rescue me. And he knows just what to do everytime. Sometimes he takes the kids away. Sometimes he cleans up the kitchen. Every once in awile he takes over dinner or piano practice. But usually all he has to do is touch me--just wrap his arms around me and kiss me. Or rub my shoulders. And the bad day melts away. And everything that was weighing me down or dragging me under all disappears. And it doesn't matter how hellish the day has been, when Mark comes home it feels like heaven again. I'm not sure what I did to deserve something so wonderful as Mark but whatever it was, I'm glad I did it. And I hope I get to keep him for a really long time. I love you Mark--this one's for you because Rascal Flatts says it all better than I ever could.
. . . are the wild turkeys on the side of the road, the fox in our backyard, the possum eating tomatoes in our garden, the racoons climbing on the Dairy Queen dumpster, the woodpeckers knocking on our house, the owl perched on the neighbor's roof, the deer eating grass at the school, the bright red cardinals that live in our pine tree, the bats and the lightning bugs on late summer nights, the hawk in our tree, the squirrel in our pumpkin, and the baby birds on our front porch.
I've never lived in a place where you can see so many animals in their natural habitat so easily. I mean, once when I was in college, on one of my first dates with Mark, we were driving in Provo Canyon and I saw a racoon. . . yeah, two seconds before I made the little sucker road kill. It was so upsetting, I was certain Mark would never ask me out again. Cause you know, who would want to date a murderer?!
But here, you don't have to kill them in order to see them, although we get some pretty good roadkill around here. Mark says it's because Connecticut is one of the most heavily wooded states in the country. And we're definitely loaded with trees--we can hardly see the sky we're so "wooded." Whatever the reason, I love it. Last night we went out pretty late, in search of a Wii for Christmas. Those are harder to come by out here than a sighting of a wild turkey, no kidding. We told the boys they could not bring their Nintendo DS's and that they'd have to entertain themselves by actually staring out the window, heaven forbid! So on our way to Toys R Us I started mentioning some of the things I love about living in CT. Mark just recently got a temporary job transfer to Utah. He'll still work from CT but should he like the position, there's a very good chance he could stay permanently. And we all know what that would mean. Now don't get me wrong. I like Utah. It's nice. But I love CT and leaving would definitely break my heart. So I've been comparing and contrasting the two for the past couple of days and was sharing my list with Mark as we drove. That peeked the kids' interest, especially when Mark said he saw a coyote on that exact same stretch of road not too long ago. Immediately the kids were seeing things moving in the wooded area just off the road and were buzzing with excitement wondering what we might see.
We didn't see anything on our way there but on our way home, sure enough, we came across a possum, crossing the road. We slowed down, rolled down the windows and all of the boys got to see a real live possum for the first time. Did I mention we saw about eight deer prior to that? The kids were thrilled and Hunter suggested we go on late night drives once a month just to see what else we could see. As I tucked Denver in bed he said, "Mommy, I don't know what to write for weekend news. That we made a cemetery in our garden this weekend or that I saw a possum." Clearly, the kids enjoy it as much as I do.
And then there was the other day, as I was walking Hunter up to his first orchestra rehearsal. There were two deer on the school lawn munching the grass. Several people had stopped to watch, so we did too. A few minutes later one deer got frisky with the other deer and the crowd watching started giggling nervously. Afterall, we were there with our kids. Hunter thought it was hilarious so he shouted out to the first friend he saw that hadn't seen the whole thing, "We just saw a deer try and get a piggy back ride from another deer!" The adults in the crowd chuckled a little harder and I probably turned a brighter shade of red. Hunter's had "the talk." Trust me, he knows how babies are made. But I love that he had no idea what was really going on. Afterall, he does still believe in Santa. But where else would this happen on a Tuesday night at 6:45pm? I really love it. I love that many of Caleb's first words were "baby deer" and "whoa turkey!" I love that the kids talk about the racoons we saw at DQ and ask me to wake them up next time I see a fox. I love living so close to "The City" but feeling like I live next door to Laura Ingalls. I love it and should we ever move, it would be one of the things I'd miss the most.
The boys were all sitting in the family room playing some new really addicting gamethat Mark stumbled across. Noah left for a potty break and when he came back he stopped in front of Hunter, lifted up his shirt exposing his belly and giggling said, "What's wrong with me?"
Hunter barely looked up from the game, shrugged his shoulders and said, "You're skinny?"
"No," Noah giggled even more. "The barn doors are open."
Most days I'd tell you parenthood is joyless. But tonight, my heart is full of joy thanks to these great little kids I've been blessed with. Thanks for the smiles, boys. I needed them.
Caleb turned three yesterday. He waited and waited all day for cake and presents. And I waited and waited all day for him to finally take a nap so I could wrap his presents and frost his cake. Eventually I gave up waiting and tried frosting what looked like a simple cake to make, with three babies and a very hungry Denver underfoot. Then I locked myself in the bedroom to wrap the presents. And almost as soon as the cake was complete and the presents were all wrapped, he fell asleep, kaput, right there on the couch. But Mark made it home early and as soon as Caleb's eyes popped open we called the kids in from the trampoline so Caleb's birthday could finally begin. He really wanted a train for his birthday so Mark managed to find him a new Lego Duplo engine that we didn't already have. Recently Caleb also fell in love with camouflage so we got him some army clothes too. Of course he thought it was underwear and thought it was the silliest present ever. After dinner we lit the candles on the cake, sang "Happy Birthday" and according to Caleb, that was the end of his birthday. Melanie tried singing "Happy Birthday" to him an hour or so later and he said, "Stop it! Stop it! It's over!" And so there you have it. The kid is officially three. Now he just wants to know when he'll be four so he can sit in Denver's booster seat.
In honor of the birthday boy I give you this: The Laughing Witch This little man has more spunk, more personality, more love for life than any other kid I know. I love you enormously, Caleb! Here's wishing you another year of love and spunk and an extra pair of Guardian Angels cause God knows you could use as many as you can get.
Since my post about the rally up in Hartford a few days ago I have been pummeled with comments and emails that have been a little bit harsh. I've had angry lesbians, disgusted family members and LDS friends slap me on the hands for saying what I did. I feel like I've been totally misunderstood and I feel like I need to defend myself a little bit. First, you should know that I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Mormons. We believe that homosexuality is wrong, plain and simple. And as long as I believe in God, I will continue to believe homosexuality is wrong. You cannot convince me otherwise, so please don't waste your time.
Second, due to recent happenings in California and Prop 8, the First Presidency has addressed same-sex marriage specifically. If you want to know where the church stands on the matter you can read this: The Divine Institution of Marriage. Mormons believe marriage should be between a man and a woman only.
Third, because of the First Presidency's message, our Stake did change our meeting schedule so we could attend this rally specifically. We were all urged to be there and to stand up for marriage. There were no church funds used for the trip. We paid for the bus ourselves.
Fourth, Connecticut has already passed the Civil Union law (or whatever it is) for homosexual couples. I am not denying any homosexual health insurance or rights to visit their loved ones in the hospital. They've already got it! I am not a homophobe and I don't have problems with them. If they want to live together and have babies that's not for me to decide nor judge. Like all of you, I also believe they should have their rights.
Unfortunately, in Connecticut homosexuals have not been satisfied with their Civil Unions and they are now seeking to change the CT constitution and the definition of marriage. Currently in CT you can get married if 1) you are both adults, 2) you are not closely related, 3) you are not already married, 4) you are both human and 5) you are of the opposite sex. Homosexuals obviously want #5 changed. I'm not certain what they will gain by doing so or what their motives are but, they want it nonetheless. My concern is that once you change #5 everyone and their dog is going to want a change. Polygamists are going to want #3 changed. And Pedophiles are going to want #1 changed. And then some guy that really loves his dog is going to want #4 changed. And then some brother who really, truly loves his sister is going to want #2 changed. The LDS church is very strong on this issue. Marriage is to be between one man and one woman only. And the rally on Sunday was in support of this only. Not denying homosexual rights. Not hating on homosexuals. Only in support of a constitutional convention which would possibly allow us to vote on the matter of how marriage should be defined in the CT constitution.
You know, it wasn't that long ago that us Mormons were practicing a way of life that America told us was unacceptable. And we accepted it and moved on. I honestly think homosexuals need to do the same. They need to take their civil unions and be happy. They've been given much more tolerance and freedom than we ever were. Why do we need to change the definition of marriage for them? And if we do, then what? The possible consequences are frightening to me. You can read about some of the possible consequences here: When Gay Rights and Religious Liberties Clash
I hate this feeling. I am definitely a lover, not a fighter. I feel guilty when I kill a spider. I don't wish any ill on anyone. I want homosexuals to be happy and enjoy the same freedoms I do. Unfortunately, it seems that even the people who know me best are convinced my motives are hateful and hurtful. I am not rallying against civil unions. I'm not denying anyone their rights. I'm not rallying against homosexuals. All I'm trying to do is keep the definition of marriage in the CT constitution the way it's been defined for the past 200 years and the way God has defined it for millenia. That's all. Hate me if you will, I will not stand down on this one.
There. I've said my piece. I think I feel better. I will say no more on the matter and I would prefer you who are hating on me now do the same. Voice your opinion on the November 4th ballot.
