The countdown

There are a lot of things we're counting down to. I don't like countdowns.

1. Moving. Yeah, this is actually going to be fun. We're taking 5 days to drive to the next place and planning on taking a good look around on our way. Someone gets to come pack for me, load a truck for me, unload, unpack, and take the boxes and packing material far, far away. We managed to move 7 times in 5.5 years (which, of course, doesn't include my two moves in the year before marrying him) and this is the first time I've had someone pack for me. Yeah, we could make more money by moving it all ourselves but... why?? My back and sanity have to be worth something. The longest we've stayed in one place was the 4 years we spent in the Midwest, but we still managed to move our things 3 times during that period.

2. Man starting his final phase of training. We've had a lot of job changes over the years and now, after almost 2 years of figuring this thing out, another job change, and a prolonged stay in a place where we expected to stay no longer than a year, we're finally ready for the last little bit before a roughly 4 year stay in one place. He's had who knows how many jobs and I'm hoping this one sticks for a while. -sigh- Who knows.

3. School is starting at the end of the month. It starts on Monday here, but I'm going to go ahead and have them enrolled after we move, since they'd only get one week of school here. I'm so freakin' excited to have the older two in school but at the same time it struck me like a ton of bricks that Tag, the YOUNGER of the older two kids is going to be reading and writing and doing math soon. It seemed perfectly natural and right for the OLDEST to go off and do that but now I'm working my way through the ranks and I'm ecstatic and a bit awed at the idea. I have their physicals and shots all up to date and ready to go, and plans for lunch boxes and thermoses and homework time and daily walks after they're gone... ah, dreams.

4. Our fourth child is pretty close to crawling now. She's getting up on hands and knees and occasionally hands and toes and hauls herself along the ground with her arms appearing to act like oars. She's the only one of my children who has become attached to my hair, burying her face in it when she's tired. She burrows into us and hangs on with a fierce tenderness that only babies seem to be able to pull off.

I've started and frogged a knit wash cloth so many times that I'm becoming disgusted with myself. I know how to do the knit stitch, I'm eternally shaky on the purl stitch (because I hold the yarn Continental-like) but can't seem to manage to do anything else. I've tried cabling but it ended up so wonkety and looking like a saggy Swiss cheese that I gave up. I've tried doing some simple laces that looked like limp, mad chicken wire. I've done hats but they all seem to turn out to shallow or too narrow. I finally picked up a wash cloth pattern that looked very simple. Cool! I thought. It's all knit. Right up my alley. I was tricked by the increase though -- it was a single yarn over that ended up making a really neat border! I was shocked and delighted as it started to take shape and my hands started to shake as I knit and I was so proud of myself. Then Tag took my circular needle out so he could have nunchuks and I had to start all over. I was so in awe of my new ability to make a border (a border!!) that I had to start it over and over again until I quit making a mistake every line. Emboldened by this new development I tried another pattern that looked pretty easy that involved things called "ssk" and "b3" which sounds like child's play. Butter fingers that I am, I just couldn't bring myself to push past row 9 when I found that my traveling vine looked more like an cheese grater that had gone through a tree chopper. I found myself longing for the companionship of my more proficient friends, namely Krista and my Grandma B and Friend C who can all knit rounds around me.

So I've been faced with the reality that I'm very mediocre at all of the things I've tried to pick up and labor over. Even with teaching, which I love, I just don't seem to bring the level of professionalism I strive for, and what kind of knitter can't even bloody purl with confidence?

I guess someone out there has to be comic relief, the sort of person who, sadly, just sort of muddles through anything she tries to do but laughs about it, shrugs, and tries again. At least I can heft a mug of rootbeer float with the best of them.

It's just been one of those weeks where I can't do anything right and it's wearing on my confidence.

So, it's noon and I have yet to get much of anything done because I wonder over and over "what's the point?" Spend 5 hours cleaning and what's my reward? 30 mins puts it right back where it was. Spend an hour and a half cooking and then what? 20 mins of family dinner time and another 2 hours of clean up. I've kind of given up. A couple of nights ago I told Man that I would neither cook nor do dishes. He took us to Chipotle. The night before last, I told him that we could either endure one of my half-hearted creations from what was left in our depleted freezer or he could go to Costco and get a pizza. He semi-cheerfully retrieved the pizza because the idea of a pile of slop made from rice, braats, cheese, and frozen veggies on a tortilla just wasn't working for him. I finally cooked yesterday but stupidly cooked the wheat pizza crust the wrong way and made, you guessed it, very mediocre pizza.

Mediocre compared to what, you may ask. Compared to what I've surprised myself with occasionally in the past. Sometimes inspiration hits and something comes out of the oven that tastes like it had been tweaked by angels, and other times I can't even make macaroni and cheese to save my life.

The lesson from the latest book I've read was "in everything... give thanks." I took some time yesterday to pray about that, searching in my heart for those things I don't want to give thanks for but really should. I got to Man's shoulder, which had been responding to treatment but is now right back to where it was. I cried and said thank you for it, and realized that I don't know why I should be grateful that part of his body is broken. What have I learned from it? What have we gained? I don't even know. It seems like a pathetic thing to grovel in forced gratitude for something I don't even understand, but then realized that, for most of the time over the past few years, I have had to act in faith that I would eventually be grateful for whatever it was that we experienced. When Man lost his job that he had to commute 45 mins for mere weeks before our second child was born, I was angry and scared. He eventually got a job that paid more and was much closer, and then I was grateful. Now, I have to pull a switcheroo and be grateful for the shoulder that torments us both (him more than me, of course), simply trusting that some sort of good will come of it.

Now I suppose I should give thanks for a house whose natural state is the other side of a pig sty despite whatever effort I know how to put into it. Faith can be an uncomfortable thing, but I guess that's ok. Comfort never really got me what I want in life, but it sure is fun to enjoy it every now and then.

More pictures

Yesterday's pictures weren't the best ever, so here are a few slightly better ones.

She's adorable, folks.

So's this one, who is trying to show me how to take a picture.

This one is eating an apple. The shirt says "This is what trouble looks like."

This one refused to give me a nice face for the pictures.

But I caught her anyway.

Despite not wanting a nice picture taken, this is how she reacted to someone stealing the spotlight.

And then the third one joined in. And this is how our morning went, again. Pandemonium!

Getting to church on time

Has everyone heard of "Mormon Standard Time"? For those who havn't, it means that since the thing starts at 9 (or what have you) that getting there at 9:10 will still be acceptable. Church activities have been known to get into full swing a half an hour after the appointed beginning time. Church dances average a full hour of lateness. For church itself, our leaders have asked that we arrive 10 mins early so we can find our seats and be prepared for the actual start time of the meeting. Oh ho, let's see if we can obey this wise counsel, shall we?

This morning I hit my snooze button several times after the alarm went off at 7, trying to wake up after staying up too late reading. Man came in to inform me that he needed to be at church at 8:30 to sing with the choir, so... would he be needing to take the other car? Yep. It was 7:50, at least, before I had gotten out of bed, changed two diapers, fed the baby, and gathered my clothing for a shower. Then I remembered how long it had been since I last shaved my legs, and I didn't own a skirt long enough to cover up that crime again society.

I drew the bath since this shaving job needed more than precariously balancing, glassesless, and feeling my way around the forest of my ankles for whatever strays that hasty, broad sweeps of my razor might otherwise miss. As I was taking care of the business of defurring my poor lower limbs, I contemplated the fastest way I might be able to shower and then heard Man leave. I groaned. Everyone was still in their pajamas, except for me, the Saturday shaver, who had missed Saturday. I thought about just quickly dunking my whole body in the water to make it easier to soap up while the bath drained, and then I'd just rinse in the shower... oh, wait, I just couldn't bring myself to dunk the rest of me in that hairy water. Ugh. And I despise showering with a half-full tub that just doesn't understand the meaning of a hasty drain. -sigh- So I took normal amounts of time making myself clean.

I got out of the shower to find that Man had kindly taken the only child who was ready, because she's pretty good at getting herself ready to go. Unfortunately, she's also the best at taking care of the baby while I try to dress all of the rest of us, put makeup on, find my shoes, and oh dear, I need breakfast. Today was just one of those days where I knew that breakfast was going to be necessary. Ok, bowl of low-sugar, high-fiber cereal. Except Freida decided that she wanted some too, so she used her Ninja Baby Lightning Hands to help herself to a handful of my already half-soggy food. Wow. After cleaning her, me, the couch, and wolfing the rest of my food she declared that she was still hungry. A glance at the clock told me that I would be on time if I were going by Mormon Standard Time. And, you know, if I didn't nurse the baby.

It was nice to have an excuse to just sit and do nothing for a little while, as the baby ate and simultaneously attempted the stretch the neck of my shirt down to my knees. The two mobile kids remaining with me both wanted to wait outside while I finished up. "Absolutely not, don't even think about going out that door," I said as I sat and impotently used my authority voice with them. But go out they did and by this time Freida was just too happy to watch the antics anyway, so I gathered my things whilst carrying the baby who has learned just the right screech to get my attention while I try to do anything but hold her (it's a sort of sobbing, gasping, scream thing that she can do while smiling). I think I made at least 6 full circuits of the house, gathering essential supplies for our outing, went out to the van and buckled everyone in, went back into the house twice for forgotten necessities, and finally headed out to church.

I got there in time to hear the last ten minutes of the last speaker's talk, which was actually great timing. We farmed the kids out to their various Sunday School classes, and then Freida had a melt down when she realized how very hard she had worked all morning with no compensation. The upside? I fed her to sleep and Man took her for the third hour of meetings. Yay!

And another happy note, Tag broke our dryer last night. Well, the two men broke it together, first when Man decided it was a great idea to put part of his TA50 into it to dry (think: 40 pounds of Army gear) and "didn't notice that burning smell until...." yeah. It has limped and creaked ever since, about 6 months ago. Then Tag reached in yesterday and made it spin while the motor wasn't running and it suddenly wouldn't run at all. The good news: Man checked the internet for while, opened up the dryer, and within a half an hour had it fixed and good as new. He is now forgiven for breaking it in the first place, but that particular stunt will live on in family legend.

This is the sort of morning everyone is having today :


And this one was trying to make growl faces but couldn't stop smiling:

Frieda was so tired today (and I still can't decide if I like "Freida" or "Frieda") and just not having pictures.

Tag, showing off how long his hair has gotten since his last cut. I think he looks great with a "real" hair cut but Man is constantly asking if it's too long. You know, Man, who is so tired of cutting his hair that he actually used hair removal chemicals on his head last night. He looked like a burn victim afterward and had to shave the extras anyway. Ha! We'll have to see how it grows back.

She had a bath but still managed to get some sort of food into her hair before the hour was up. It's a good thing she's so cute.

Go outside

Friend C called today. She was at a pool with her child, getting a nice tan, I'm sure.

Right before we ended our call she said to go outside some time, because she knows we don't go out much when she isn't around. I looked at my skin that's already losing some of its glow, then looked outside where the perpetual overcast keeps everything gloomy.

I know that there are so many people in the US who are sick of their weather, whether it be flood or heatwave, but I'm so tired of weather that isn't so much blissfully at peace as it is just plain too lazy to get worked up. I want to get angry at something and the weather is an easy thing to go out in, lift my face to, and scream at. I can feel hot sun pressing in my face or wind tearing at my hair and clothes or rain seeping into my open mouth and shoes, but here... puh. It's wimpy and weak. We've had "bad" weather maybe three times in the past two years and each time we all sort of woke up and cheered it while it lasted.

I'll come back here after I'm old and can't tolerate extremes. In the mean time, bring on the next station, which is sure to feel like heck after this oasis of blah.

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead.

I wish I could tell you that I understood the whole thing. I really couldn't. I guess it would help if I read Hamlet which, despite reading many other of Shakespeare's works, I havn't yet picked up. We tended to avoid the histories and tragedies while being homeschooled as the comedies were far more attractive.

Anyway, I taught a class this past Tuesday on Personal Relationships. Preparing for it was a very interesting opportunity for me to reflect on how I handle personal relationships, whether with friends or family. I thought about the amount of time involved with keeping up on a very close relationship and also thought about a church sermon that basically said "we spend our time doing that which is important to us."

I thought about my friends and my family, writing in my blog and taking pictures, spending time with my kids and taking whatever time we can to visit whoever we can as we drive from here to our next home. And I realized that I don't always spend much time on the things that are important to me.

Why is this? I was telling Man the other day that if I were to talk to each of my friends and family for one half hour each week, I would be on the phone for at least 6 hours a day, 7 days a week, and I'm sure I'd still be missing someone. I spoke with a sister in law on the phone around the time of Man's birthday and we recalled that it had been since before Frieda was born that we had last spoken. We still managed to have a great conversation.

I find that I prefer relationships that don't require reassurance every couple of days that yes, we still like each other, we still get along, and yes, that running joke still has some life to it. Sure, if Man leaves for an extended period, I expect some sort of communication. Others were shocked to learn that I only speak with my mother on the phone once every several weeks, and that's usually when I have a question I just don't want to wait to ask. I love hearing from friends and even call them every now and again (sorry guys. not one of my talents, especially out here in "the land of no cell phone signals") but really, phone calls are more for delight and enjoyment than need and reassurance, right? The happier and more independent I become, the more I find enough delight and enjoyment in my regular activities to keep me from feeling deprived if I don't have a friend on the phone with any regularity. I wonder what drives some people to be in such a state of constant communication.

Once we're out of here and my cell phone actually starts getting a signal, I'll call more often whilst cleaning or folding or swabbing or what have you.

My mother in law, while she was visiting us after Frieda was born, got phone calls several times a day, every day. I've never seen a lady get called so very often. My phone rang more often for her than for me. I suddenly knew how Man felt: amused, bemused, and not at all troubled about it. I used to wonder if he felt a bit left out. Folks, my right ear gets sweaty after a while, my shoulder hurts, and I have to be doing something with my hands or eyes. So I guess I should get a hands-free to go with the cell then, eh? The mother in law told me that she would do her best to make sure my phone started to ring more after she left, but I don't think she understood that it really doesn't bother me at all when I go a whole day without the phone ringing even a single time. No one around here believes that I really am an introvert who has learned some extroverted skills as a survival tactic. My friend, R, did her best to lengthen my visit to her home the other day but after putting all of my extroverted skills on display for a lengthy class, I just didn't have it in me to socialize for a goodly period of time.

During the class we talked about how to introduce yourself (smile, firm handshake, eye contact) and I went around the room demonstrating with each person. I had each person stand, shake my hand, look me in the eye, and we had a brief conversation. We practiced a free exchange of pleasantries in which each person attempted to keep about 80% of the conversation revolving around the other person. I find that a good first impression means asking more than telling. After doing this exercise and giving a one hour long, multi-media presentation, I just had to go into the cave. Poor R just seemed like she wanted the company and despite my kids' antics, was so gracious and kind as a hostess that I felt bad for bailing early and retreating to whimper in my corner.

(Oddly, each of the ladies in the class said that it was very intimidating to shake my hand and look me in the eye. Honestly, am I intimidating? If so, what can I do to tone it down, besides shrink?)

So, I guess I'm a lot like Man in this regard: I'm a bit of an oaf when it comes to going out of my way to spend time on the people who mean the most to me if you happen to live outside my neighborhood, and I wish I knew how to apologize about that without having to call you all, or call a lot more often.

People, to me, are like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern -- I can understand them and their lives enough to enjoy them, but I always seem to be fuzzy on the larger picture. I don't even understand what I don't understand. Oh, well. Here's to getting a better cell phone once our contract is up, and living where cell towers are allowed.

Traditions

Jenn B posted something interesting recently. It's a post all about traditions and how she feels that her family has very few of them.

I have felt the same way for quite a while, wondering if my kids were somehow deprived because we don't do the same thing every year for any holiday, even Christmas. Our first Christmas, we had only been married for 6 months, we were expecting a baby very shortly, and we had no money. Times were crazy. The next year, we moved right before Christmas so things were in disarray there, too. The following three Christmases we spent at my grandparents' house which we enjoyed, but during the last one of those I was expecting a baby in Feb so that put a damper on things. After that, we moved again right before Christmas and I spent those three days over Christmas in the ER. The next one after that I was postpartum by less than a week.

This year, we'll be moving quite a while before the holidays are upon us and I'll have the added bonus of having half my kids in school. It's also becoming more important to us that we have some sort of solidarity, some sort of grounding element that gives us something to look forward to as well as something that reminds us that where ever we are, we're home. We have no idea how long Man will be in the Army or even how often we'll be moving.

Like Jenn, though, there are some traditions that keep us together and give us daily closure: we have an evening routine in which everyone participates, we have family tastes that we enjoy indulging (like good, fresh fruit or a new, funny movie) and we have TONS of inside family jokes.
And then I think about the movie Jenn cited, Fiddler on the Roof, and recall what following traditions accomplished for the main characters: anger, dissolution of family and community, and a profound loss of trust among friends. If you trust someone completely based upon tradition, or personal character that is based purely upon tradition, then were does that trust really rest? I've thought about the Book of Mormon and the Bible and how the people in it talk about converting the "bad guys" from the "traditions of their fathers" to the true and living Gospel of Jesus Christ. If you grew up with the bad guys, wouldn't it make very little sense to switch one set of traditions with another? Even those who grow up with a strong set of traditionally correct moral values must, at some point or another, evaluate whether those values are based purely on following in someone's footsteps or a truly earnest search for the best way to live and love. Over the past few years I've forsaken the "goose pimple" culture of my particular church, dismissing those stories which are passed around, which may or may not be true, simply for the sake of obtaining a small rush or a tear in the eye, which just ends up being a purely physical reaction to a knee jerk emotion from a glurge. Truth doesn't need sap to convert an earnest seeker. Testimonies or sermons don't require tears in order to prove sincerity of belief. Teaching moments don't always require a lecture or in depth explanation in order to make an indelible impact. While I've found a great deal of personal benefit from eschewing this practice, there are many people at my church who don't find very many ways to relate to me if I don't share the goose pimples with them.

So, why oh why, would I make my kids slaves to traditions that will completely dispel their ability to enjoy what is truly enjoyable about life if those traditions aren't carefully observed? There are some customs that are immensely enjoyable in which I immensely enjoy participating but for the love of mercy, the tradition itself isn't the goal. Our evening routine is simply one way to ensure that we spend at least a half an hour each day together as a family, doing things that are important to Man and me. The things we enjoy as a family are our way of sharing what we feel are positive experiences with our kids. And who doesn't think that eating a field-ripened strawberry, cultivated in fresh, open, cool, coastal air isn't a positive experience? If you don't, cool. We'll find something else to enjoy together, but if you don't like strawberries I'll still be your friend. If you like pickled beets and I don't, but you make our relationship all about pickled beets, then I'm afraid I'll be moving on.

Traditions, traditions. Sometimes they are simply a way to bring out something you don't get to enjoy very often like the beautiful advent wall hanging my mother made for us. I look forward to pulling it out this year and using it again not because my Christmas would be ruined without it, but because it greatly enhances my enjoyment of the time leading up to it, and it's a way to share my mother's love with my children.

Sometimes traditions are a form of dependency. It all depends on what you allow them to mean to you.

It's so quiet in here!

Have you ever tried to get 5 kids to smile all at the same time? This one was taken after I told them to say "hairy armpits" and "green monkey goobers" a few times.
The kids were in bed before 8 pm (uncommon during this, our first summer since Princess started school), Man is ill so went to bed around 7, Frieda is starting to sleep between 8-9 and sleeping until 6, and I only occasionally have the TV on in the evenings. I was reading the news and it hit me: it's quiet in here. I don't know the last time I've been able to say those words while we're all under the same roof.

Today, friend C moved. I'm totally bummed. I watched her son, Boy Wonder, while the movers loaded the truck and she and her dad cleaned the house. He's such a good little guy and we enjoyed him. You can tell that even though he's social and fun to be with, he's an only child. He expects there to be occasional quiet and I think it's still bewildering to him to be here and find that there is nowhere in this house where alone time can be found... sometimes not even when you're on the pot. Hugging C right before they left today was such a bitter-sweet thing for me. She hugs like no one else I've ever hugged -- she puts her enormous heart and glittery soul into those tan arms and isn't afraid to put her arms all the way up and around my neck, even though I'm at least 6 inches taller than her. The number of dear friends I've invited to live on my cul-de-sac in heaven has officially exceeded a handful, which I find marvelous, mystifying, and a thing to celebrate.

(Brian and R, you're invited to. Remind me to extend the invite in person some time.)

(Family of any kind, you're automatically invited.)

(Everyone, my house in heaven is a shoe free zone. Don't forget.)

So, after watching Cute the Wonder, cleaning my house in every spare minute, dealing with a sick Tag, a mild poop emergency from Pebbles, two full loads of dishes, at least 6 loads of laundry, and my despondency over having another friend move away, I realized quite suddenly that I had a class I signed up for tonight that started at 4:30, FRG which started at 6, and Enrichment which started at 7. I ended up skipping Enrichment because Man was feeling too poorly to manage The Tribble Troupe on his own, so here I am blogging.

-twiddling my thumbs-

What do you guys want a monologue about? You all know I'm pretty good at monologuing despite the fact that I'm definitely not the arch villain-type (I'm sure my kids would disagree occasionally) and, though I like to spill my thoughts through pen, as it were, I find my wellspring of creativity to be a bit dry nowadays. Fatigue and some anxiety over the impending move are not helpful in this area but I'm sure they'd both make for some good comedic ramblings if I could organize my thoughts through the haze of astonishment at finding down time. Many remarkable things have transpired over the past few weeks but, at the end of the day, it all sort of swirls together.

I'm still looking into college, but will have to put it off now that we'll be moving with Man. I actually have dreams now where I'm my current age but I had to go back and finish up high school. The kids there all ask me why I even bother to go when I realize that I just wanted to finish my education but I'm always surrounded by brainy, young, angry people who resent me. I hope that isn't what college is like. High school. Blech. We watched High School Musical the other day and I gagged through the whole thing.

I'm teaching a class on Tuesday but have yet to secure babysitting. I havn't even gone over the lesson plan yet, which I definitely should do since it's a level 2 class on personal relationships. The program manager is giving out AFTB polo shirts which look sort of funny on me, but oh well. At least it's periwinkle instead of that Christmas red lots of team building polos end up being.

My latest genius trick (which, with puddin' for brains, I really shouldn't take credit for) concerning organizing the kids stuff for the trip has been to acquire more number/letter/math flash cards but this time I've taken each category, hole punched them, added hole reinforcing stickers to each hole, and put them on loose binder rings. Hopefully they'll last longer than a couple of weeks this way.

School supplies are thick on the shelves over here and I'm so tempted to get notebooks, pens, erasers, glue sticks, etc... but I know everything will be cheaper once school starts. School starts here three weeks before school in the next place starts, so I'm going to cheat and make supply purchases here when the glue sticks are 10 cents instead of 29 cents. Ha! Go me. Beat that system!

But seriously, getting Tag a more age appropriate backpack, lunch box and thermos, plus classroom supplies for two kids is going to cost quite a bit. At least they don't need scientific calculators yet. Maybe I should have them start saving up their allowances.

Speaking of which, I'm finding that allowances are starting to be some pretty good incentive to keep their things nicer. They lose stuff or break it at a rather disconcerting pace, so I've told them that I'm happy to provide for their basic needs, but if they lose their toothbrushes after only one week, they have to buy their own new brush. The same goes for Tag and his glasses after he decided to bounce a ball off the wall and smash himself in the face with it. He laughed and said that all I had to do was order some more from the internet. I rounded on him and told him that he could order his own darn glasses after the ones I bought run out. He has been so very tickled with his Lightning McQueen t-shirt he bought with his own money and it's been nice to show the older two how fun it can be to use money wisely and conserve resources.

-sigh- Ok, I'm all rambled out and turning into a pumpkin. It isn't even 10 yet, but 6 seems to be coming awfully early lately.

Sleeping

We put Frieda's bed in the living room and let her cry.

The first night, we went to her every 20 mins as she cried to check her diaper, let her burp if she needed, and let her know we didn't abandon her, but no feeding at all. In the morning she was tired and a little clingy.

The second night, she woke twice but didn't cry long enough for us to go get her.

Tonight, she actually woke up before we went to bed but since she's behind a couch and can't see us, she soothed herself and went back to sleep despite having lights and some music on. Yay!

There's hope in sight, light at the end of the tunnel, the home stretch... you get the idea. I'm still so used to waking up every 2-3 hours that I need to relearn how to sleep through the night myself, but not having to get up will sure help with that.

-sigh-

Last baby!! Once this one is settled in for sleeping through the night, all we have to work with to get her up to speed with the others is potty training and feeding herself her own solids. I'm sure she'll be crawling within a few weeks after today's little display of diapered butt wiggling semi fake crawling stuff. And Pebbles has decided, of her own free will and choice, to start peeing on the toilet. Time will tell if this is a phase or the real deal, but we're ecstatic at the idea of having only one child in diapers.

I love newborns, and babies, and all of that stuff. But it's so exciting to watch them grow and achieve milestones. Especially the milestones they choose.

Over heard today:

Tag: Eeeny Meanie Miney Moe, If you catch a tiger let his toe go. (maybe you'd have had to have been there)

Pebbles: I am a child of God, and He has sah sah here. Has gimminim eary home... chitty bang bang love you!

We sang The Ants Go Marching in the van on the way home from church (I LOVE singing with Man while we drive places. He is so good at accompaniment.) and Princess couldn't get enough of that song. She asked if we could have a verse where the ants stop to pick flowers. I tried to explain that it should rhyme. We got stuck on 5 since Man and I are such goofballs.

The ants go marching five by five, the little one stops to...
... raid a beehive.
... give a high five. (this one got vetoed)
... take a nose dive.
... he likes to Jive.
... go for a drive.
... try to survive.
... ah, ah, ah, ah stayin' alive.
... try an' derive.
... the little one stops because he's arrived.

We put Freida on the floor at church during the last classes and by the time we were ready to leave, she was getting onto her hands and knees. Which just means, of course, that we aren't putting her on her stomach enough at home considering how physically able she is to just pick it up so quickly under more favorable circumstances. Say it with me: AAAAAAAACK!!

I was talking with friend C and some friends the other day (-waves at C-) and we happened to be talking about dead people. Why this came up, I have no recollection whatsoever. Anyway, I brought up that Bill Cosby bit where someone has died and he suggests that you make up an audio recording that you could play from the casket to personalize your viewing and make people feel more at home. His example was "Hi, Herb. How's the wife and kids? Don't I look natural? Don't I look like myself?"

We had a good time thinking of other things we could record for our own viewings such as (but not limited to, this is a family friendly blog) the following:

- Fred, nice to see you. You still owe me $50 and don't you think that you're getting away with it just because I'm in this box.

- Hey, this is actually quite comfortable. You gotta get in here and try it out.

- Hi, Larry. Can you do me a favor? My nose itches.

- (silence, until a loved one reaches over to hold the hand of the deceased) Gosh, your hands are warm. Don't forget to wash them after you're done here. I am dead, you know.

It was nice to joke around with a medic. Death is something that I have almost no experience with but she's been in the med business for years. Somehow, this sort of thing makes it seem less scary. We joke about birth, puberty, college, marriage, divorce, moving, jobs, and every other life occurrence but I don't know if I've ever joked about death before. Maybe it's because I've never talked to someone face to face who has ever experienced it before.

What would you have your little recorder share with those attending your viewing?

sleeeeeeeeep

Freida wakes up 5+ times a night. We have three bedrooms, each of which is occupied. She sleeps in our room, so I get her every time she cries so Man can get as much sleep as possible.

I'm tired.

So, I'm going to put her in the living room tonight and let her cry. We have fans we're going to set up in the back of the house so we don't hear her.

I feed her solids a few times a day, she's never poopy, and I give her pain meds before bedtime. She wakes to nurse for a couple of mins or to try to play with me which I never do but she keeps trying anyway.

What else can I do? I entertain all suggestions.

All three other kids had to cry at this age to sleep through the night. I feel bad each time.

Another sunset

I've always wondered what a sunset would look like when the whole world seems to be laced with smoke. Today, the wind was just right to waft it everywhere. I felt like I was in a beehive and it was time to harvest.

There's a wonderful ocean view just a couple of blocks away, and this is what we found:


The color isn't doctored.


I couldn't decide which one I liked best.


Over to our right there is a view of some old bunkers. There's something so lonely about this picture, with smoke, no sun, and old suspicious fear. The white spots against the green at the bunker entrances.


You can barely see where the horizon on the water is, and you can see where the sun was starting to disappear. There were some amazing lines of darkness on it as it set.


This is the afterglow about 20 mins after the sun was gone.


Don't forget that you can click on the pictures for a large view.

Smoke... wait, smoke?!?

This morning I was denying the inevitability of getting out of bed by cuddling with this:

Even though when she cuddles she also grabs whatever parts of my face protrude and either twists or pulls with all her might. I know it's just her way of saying "mom, you look awful in the morning. Here, let me help you."

But then I started to smell smoke. Immediately the two older kids blamed this:

for this:


Which didn't seem so bad until we saw this:


-sigh- Good morning.

Driver License

I've always called it a Driver's License. My little paper here calls it a Driver License. Go figure.

A few months ago, I looked at the expiration date on my DL and noticed that it occurs on my birthday of this year. "No problem," I thought. "We'll be moved out of here before I need to renew. I don't have to worry about it here at all."

Then Man's orders got extended. "No problem," I thought. "We'll be out of here before I need to renew."

Unfortunately, I misjudged the time frame. Or, rather, the Army managed to take long enough to give Man his orders that my time frame got warped.

So, there I was, just a couple of days from an expired license, with the following conundrum:

1. I've lived most of my life in State A.
2. My current DL is from State A.
3. I'm registered to vote in State A.
4. My immediate family all live in State A and that's where I've given birth to half my children.
5. My military home of record is State B.
6. I have rental history in State B.
7. I have inlaws in State B, and therefore a familial claim of residency.
8. I was born in and have relatives in State C.
9. I currently reside in State C.
10. I have a vehicle which I purchased and have registered in State C.
11. My DL was to expire in 2 freakin' days so I didn't have time to mess around with mailing things to and fro. It was faxing to and fro or nothing, and stinking State A wasn't answering phone calls or emails.

So, where to get a valid license? State C, of course.

So I farmed out my kids to various friends, packed Frieda up, and off we went. I waited in line to get a number, then waited for my number to be called, got sent to the wrong person, who sent me to the right person, who said I'd have to take the written test all over again since I was getting a brand spanking new DL/ID in this State. So, there I was, studying for a driving test like a teenager, hoping that common sense would see me through since I hadn't time to go through the whole driver's booklet. After I got done with the test I waited yet again to get it scored, then waited to go get my interim license. Bad news: it can take up to 60 days for the real one to mail, and we're leaving much sooner than that.

"Great," I thought. "Just peachy."

Good news: I won't have to get another one for 5 years. Go, me. I guess that means I'll spend an average of 46 mins and $5.60 per year to have a DL. That's cheaper than some luxuries.

I missed two questions out of 30+. So, if you see some mom with fuzzy hair in a van and she's either going too quickly across railroad tracks or totally puzzled over a poorly worded question concerning double yellow lines, intersections, and turning left, wave. Because that's me.

Being a Park Mom

I took my kids and a little friend to the park the other day. We encountered a family who were all playing tag together, even the mom. It's always touching to see a dad at the park with the kids, but I find that though they aren't as common as mom units among such kinder play lots, they are more likely to actually participate with the kids beyond pushing a tyke on the swing with one hand, while reading a novel in the other hand.

I sat on the bench, caring for the baby and doling out my kids' picnic supplies, and got up a couple of times to take care of disagreements among my various cubs. After watching the dad explain the idea of tag-backs to one of his 5 kids, I thought about how often I bring my kids to play at the park, versus playing with my kids at the park.

Hmmmmmm... the numbers aren't looking good.

What park games do you know of? I need a good repertoire next time I try out my "cool mom who actually plays with her kids" thing. I know of tag, and hide and seek, and "can you guess what I just found under this bench and am now nibbling on before you squeal, snatch it from me, and throw it away?" What others can you think of?

Is Happiness the Bermuda Triangle?

My friend, R, asked me if I was having a good day.

I paused to think about that. "Um, well, taking all things into consideration, I guess I'm not. But I feel fine." I paused again. "I guess it's a bunch of those punches you just learn to roll with."

That morning had been a farce. Man woke me at 8:30, saying that I should get ready quickly for our 9am church time. I struggled with my irritation over how late he woke me up, especially when I started hearing that none of the kids were ready to go either and I needed time to put dinner in the slow cooker. I rushed through my morning routine, thankful that Frieda's new morning regimen doesn't demand an immediate feeding. We were only 5 minutes late and (thanks to a holiday weekend) found some pretty good seats. Unfortunately, the kids (especially Mr Tag) need a bit of a slower pace, especially for breakfast. They were all a bit on the grumpy side which doesn't work when you ask them to participate in a raging tornado of activity and then sit quietly for an hour.

I thought carefully about how I could talk to Man about this. Taking the cautionary road, I said "love, mornings really do work out better if you wake me right after your shower. It'd be easier on both of us."

He looked confused. "But, I did."

I looked even more confused. "Wait, your alarm was set for a little before 7, right? Did you get distracted or did you take a 90 minute shower?"

"I showered, woke you up right away, and then you went back to sleep. So, I figured you could use the sleep."

My heart instantly softened in gratitude for his kindness. So, it was with conflicting emotions that I said "thank you, maybe next week I can set my own alarm so you won't be burdened with my waking up issues." I honestly had no recollection of him waking me at all.

Then he got a little hesitant, but forged forward with typical Man honesty. "You sounded weird last night."

I laughed. "Ok, I know I snore. Was it funny snoring? Maybe I was dreaming in Pig Latin. Hahaha!! Get it?"

He said, "no, well, of course you snored but it was funny." Then he tried to demonstrate how I sounded. I laughed, blushed, said "thanks", but he looked serious. "No, it sounded almost like choking, then you stopped breathing, and then startled almost awake. Do you think you could get tested for apnea? Maybe I could record you sleeping so you can hear."

I thought about listening to a recording of my own snoring and something inside me was totally squicked out at the idea. How would I ever fall asleep again, knowing that I'm either keeping him up with my "funny snoring" or maybe driving the neighbors down the street nuts with the symphony from that darn house over there? "Um, no thanks. I believe you. Please. Don't record me. Ever."

Getting back to rotten days but feeling fine, I thought about mommy moments and how they balance out the difficult moments, and then I thought about what the neighbors (two single guys with no kids) would think about the noises coming from my house. My kids are loud. Very loud. Sometimes I yell at them. Very loudly. Sometimes they get in trouble and go to their rooms yelling and screaming about how mean and evil I am. They can't understand what's wrong with taking the bottom mattress off the bunk bed and jumping from the top bed onto their new ski slope. Or, they can't understand how it could be their own fault if they get hurt while trying to use the 2 year old as a step ladder to the top of the closet, where that box of games that turns out to be a lot heavier than it looks falls on their noggins. Further, it's incomprehensible to them how painting the screen door with Jello might upset me. Yes, it looks just like a beautiful stained glass window and NO you may NOT use the hose to clean it from the OUTSIDE with the glass door OPEN go-to-your-room-now. How do you let them clean up their every mess when the cleaning might be a worse tragedy than the mess itself?

I remember being a younger person with younger kids and wondering how awful a parent could be to constantly have their little ones decrying their every fault and grievance at the top of their wee lungs. I remember feeling a chill while watching a parent lose patience with a tiny, cute child and want to hug that child and say "it's ok, I'll protect you" and take it home and love it. I knew I'd be a better parent, I knew I'd be kinder, more understanding, and more loved by that child than ever that mean parent could hope to be.

And then my own kids got older. And I wonder what sort of chill goes through the hearts of my neighbors when my kids yell and scream.

It's been an interesting opportunity for me to listen to myself with new ears, and watch myself with new eyes. What do they hear, what do they see in my face when I lose patience with them? How often do I make them "wait, just a minute" all day long?

I'm not too worried about how bad of a job I'm doing, but I do know that I sometimes take them for granted, and I definitely take for granted the fact that they are supposed to be well behaved. I know that some adults can't even live with each other with equanimity, and yet we expect our young ones to do so with patience and obedience, and wonder what's wrong with them when they don't. Princess is getting to be a real snot nowadays and I couldn't imagine where she was getting it from until Man saw me rolling my eyes at someone and he said (once again, in typical Honest Man fashion), "you know, Princess is just imitating you." I was thunderstruck and a bit grumbly at being caught doing what annoys me so much coming from a 6 year old.

My task this week is to peel off the old way of looking at things and try to see what I am from their perspective. Of course that doesn't mean I won't be consistent and insistent when it comes to being good little citizens, but what if... what if I helped them know that I know they are people, too? That's gotta be good for the self esteem.

So, back once again to feeling good despite rotten days (are you getting a feel for how a real life conversation with me must be like?) I really do feel good. I think the post partum depression is completely gone, I'm loving the dramatic decrease in hormonal disturbances since getting that endometrial ablation, and though life is still as stressful as ever my capacity to laugh at it and dig in anyway is increasing.

(please, now that I've said I'm doing ok, please Karma, please don't smack me upside the head.)

(btw, Brian, feel free to be my grammar police officer. After that "data is a plural, you silly" incident I fully expect you to catch my every discrepancy and grin about it.)