camera woes

Her latest favorite toy


tired girl

and then.... my camera wouldn't focus anymore! I'll try to get more pics later today.

Food blogs

A very kind lady I've had the opportunity to get to know over the 'net has a couple of blogs!

I wanted to share them with you and highlight a quote she used yesterday from President Kimball. "Let us get our instruments tightly strung and our melodies sweetly sung. Let us not die with our music still in us."

Ah, what a breath of fresh air!

Marie's Muses

A Year From Oak Cottage

Marie is a wonderful person, older, personal chef on an estate, and LDS. Don't look there for much in the way of diet food though. ;) You know those British grandma's and their delicious cooking!

Another way to spend money

Beads on Amazon.

And for very good prices as well!

::sigh::

The bead shops around here are so very expensive and the shipping for these is actually going to be cheaper than driving to the next city over to find Michael's.

Also, question for all those moms out there...
Is there some sort of forumla to be following regarding what consitutes a complete wardrobe for any given child? I'm sure it depends a lot on how hard the kid is on clothes and how quickly and consistently I can get them back into their drawers. What guidelines do you follow?

Tag Sound Bites

The other day I was cubing some squash.

Me: "Darn it! I cut my finger!"
Tag: "Off?"

The thing that was a little spooky was how calmly he asked.

Today Pebbles bit him on the rear end. She's 2 now and has some darn sharp teeth.

After examining the wound Tag lamented: "My bottom hurts so bad! Now I can't use it any more!"

We did NOT explore that conversation in depth.

Getting the hang of it

It starts with that sort of grimace they're born with. Then it evolves into the gas grin. After a while, the gas grin happens even while they're awake. Eventually, and after much parental encouragement, they do it -- that first little smile that mom and dad just go crazy over. The crinkley eyes, that toothless mouth, maybe even a little squeak, are all part of a beginning peek into the wonderful personality your little one is slowly unwrapping and developing.

I know someone whose child is having one slight physical difficulty. This small boy is absolutely gorgeous and otherwise developmentally perfect and she obviously adores him. When she related her son's one imperfection I recalled my anxiety over Princess when I first noticed her tied tongue, and Tag with his whole menagerie of difficulties (is the opposite of "minutiae" a "gigutiae"?), then Pebbles who only manifested a couple of tiny blips. Each time I wondered if it was my fault and was almost breathless with guilt until each problem slowly became a not-problem.

Then comes Miss Frieda. She has no apparent blips at all. Not one. Well, ok, a brief bout of jaundice but that's it. So I naturally kept an eagle eye on her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There's one thing I pass on to my children without fail and that'd be mortality with it's inherent imperfections.

The weeks passed and nothing came up. She had all of the learning curve issues of someone getting used to being in an itty, weak, immature body but nothing we couldn't handle. She even sleeps through the night!

Then one day it hit me. My 7 week old baby didn't smile. Or look at me. She was far more interested in lights or colors or a passing breeze or burping to look at me. My heart crumpled as visions of autism, therapy, and a mentally impaired adult child living with me for the rest of her life ran with scissors through my thoughts. Of course, when one is looking for trouble one must find it, hey?

Man, after I demanded his input on my concerns, said she's fine. She's just taking her time and that's ok. I doubled my efforts at socializing with her and, after Man had gone to bed and while Frieda was still bright-eyed at 2230 hours I even resorted to embarrassing things... things I always secretly made fun of other parents for doing. Things like... monkey noises, and sort of "zoop, zoop, zoop!" noises. Nothing worked to get her to smile though she'd occasionally stare at me with her mouth in a little "o", looking at me like I'd gone nuts. Which I guess I had.

A couple of weeks later she finally cracked her first real smile. And who'd she do it for? Her father who had not gone crazy, thankyouveddymuch. She'll now sort of half grin at me occasionally while staring at my face. I think she's holding out to get more stupid human tricks from her old mom.

Sneaky little thing.

So now she looks into our faces and smiles and is otherwise perfect and easy and calm.

I wonder if she's going to be a difficult teenager.

Just kidding!!! I'll let the trouble manifest itself without hunting it out.

Defensiveness

I'm guilty as charged. Some mild language in the below link.

Link.

Keep in mind, Men, that this lady is specifically addressing women who have this problem. So, you can sit back and laugh while [I] writhe in my seat a bit. Yeah.

Time for pics!

Princess and the Pebble:

Frieda in a cute dress from a friend.

Mr. Tag in the early morning. He's cuddled in a warm blanket. These wood floors are soooo cold in the morning.

My nameless friends in passing

We've all heard some form of musing or another on how looking into other cars as you drive along is akin to observing a fishbowl, or a snapshot of someone's life, or peeking into one deceptively simple moment among the whole breath taking parade of moments that make up the mercurial managerie of resume items we'll be presenting in the hereafter.

I love it when those snapshots and moments collide. I mean, not the cars. But what makes that moment something shared rather than merely passing? A turn signal doesn't count as personal communication (though I do consider it a form of vital communication, certainly) and I wouldn't count "driver's sign language" as something I choose to take personally.

Taking Princess to school has opened my eyes to a new sort of interpersonal road experience. I see the same parents almost every day going to and from the school. I know the ones who walk, the ones who drive vans, the ones who can still fit their families into sedans, the ones who bring their bikes and either a tandem attachment or a little house on wheels where the spawn may rest and watch the world go by. There are also those picking up kids for friends, the kids who depart on buses, and kids who stay late for parents unable to come right away on a consistent basis, and people who decide to bring along the furrier members of the clan.

In the morning I know who is going to barrel out of the parking lot because, once again, s/he's late for something. I also know who is going to quickly and quietly drop off the kid, and who is going to stay in the drop off lane chatting. I'm familiar with all their bumper stickers, stickers to get on Post, window stickers, Baby on Board signs, little flags on their bike carriers, and license plates from all over the country (I've personally seen Alaska, Hawaii, Maine, and Florida all in the same parking lot).

But this morning I had the opportunity to wait a bit while someone went around the huge lawn maintenance equipment trailer someone had parked on a curve, mere feet from a stop sign. I see her in the oncoming lane pretty frequently on my way back from dropping off Princess, driving a large, dark blue 'Burb. She wears dark-framed glasses most days and keeps her hair in a looped pony tail. I didn't know if she could see me waiting across the street at the four way stop. But when she finally got up to the stop sign, she smiled and waved. I smiled and waved back.

And a little good deed was rewarded with another passing friend who remains nameless.

late pics

So these Sunday pics are late. In fact, some of them got taken yesterday and today.

Here's Mr Tag (aka, Gippard or Minnesota, depending on his mood). He's broken his glasses, then broke the backups, so we're waiting for his new glasses (including two backups) to come in the mail. It looks like his eye is getting stronger though.



My sweet Princess. At the end of a long week, and a long day, she's chilling in her favorite skirt and a cool shirt Aunt C sent while watching Monsters, Inc.

Miss Pebbles, and the face she makes when she gets caught doing something she shouldn't. She either pulls the huge, sad eyes look or the growly "you won't catch me, copper!" look. Guess which one this is.

Frieda: Peek-a-boo! Her two month is coming up fast. Contrary to what it looks like in the pictures, she doesn't spend her whole life wrapped in blankets and sitting in a seat. In fact she has spent almost all day today awake and getting more attention than I think she wanted. That's the nice thing about being a baby in a big family, I guess. I'm sure it'll backfire one of these days. Like the time Pebbles figured out that if she puts her sippy cup in the baby's mouth, she'll automatically drink from it. Thank goodness it was just water.

Man made this bunch of roses for the girls in Princess' kindergarten class. A total of 14, so our kids and the teacher could also have one.

And here's my special Valentine's Day rose. This, plus some cherry Hershey's kisses, and a nice evening relaxing with the family made a nice Valentine's Day. No homework last night due to special circumstances which had us sort of in a daze, not quite knowing what to do with so much free time.

Mr. Pootiehead

Tag LOVES improv. Especially the singing bit.

So last night I was helping him brush his teeth when he requested a song. Now, we already have a whole wardrobe of songs to work with: ABC's, Snowman (complete with funny giggle at the end of the song), Wheels on the Bus, and my own version of Wheels on the bus but with toothbrushing lyrics.

But Tag decided that I should sing a song about Mr. Pootiehead. I've never heard of this character before but he sounded interesting.

You have to understand, improve is something I dearly love the watch (Whose Line Is It Anyway) but I'm really horrible at it.

But here's roughly what came out in a sort of adventure/ballad melody.

Mr. Pootiehead
What a weird name for a guy
Mr Pootiehead is an accountant
With a house
And a car
And some walls
But Mr Pootiehead dreams... oh he dreeeeeeeeams!
Of being a knight!
Who slays dragons!
And he rides on a horse!
(at this point I got interrupted by a laughing Tag)
But in real life he rides his bike
Because he has to sit all day in his office
And draw pictures of knights
Slaying dragons
And he puts them in his house
On his waaaaaaaalls!

You know, the funny thing is, Princess asked me to sing the same song for her... and she and Tag remembered it better than I did. I had to explain to her how I happened to "know the Pootiehead song". They just laughed and laughed, and then spent the rest of the time getting ready for bed singing their own versions of Mr Pootiehead.

Ah, I love having little kids. I'm sure they'll outgrow it for a little bit in middleschool, but I hope they're part of the Monty Python, ultimate frisbee, debate, choir, theater crowd -- busy people having the time of their lives by living as best they can right where they are.

But if they happen to be accountants... maybe they'll at least have a house, with some walls... and dreeeeeeeeeam!

Things I love about NOT being pregnant

1. Sushi!!
2. Medium-rare steaks.
3. Eggs over easy.
4. Brie.
5. Situps.
6. Bladder control.
7. Stomach sleeping.
8. Running (not like for miles or anything, but I can run after a kid if I need to now).
9. Knowing the clothes will still fit in a month.
10. The best reason of all... getting to enjoy our sweet little Frieda.

No school today!

So we're watching Mythbusters today and the kids wanted to know why you can mix powdered jaw breaker with some powdered cleaning agent, add water and heat, and create a big huge fire. Ha! Time to feed the little brains that want to know about chemistry.

So, where to start? Of course we did the vinegar and baking soda thing. They were all very impressed especially when I added too much vinegar and overflowed the bowl. Pebbles was less than pleased though and was all scienced out all too soon.

Anyway, the next one was an expirament that will take longer. The egg in vinegar. And since we were talking about calcium and vinegar together we also tried some calcium tablets as a sort of race.

Our two little cups containing our expiraments.

Here's our egg after about 20 mins. Very pretty.

And here are the calcium tablets! 20 mins and these babies are falling to bits.

Thoughts on Clutter

Last night I stayed up late, enjoying some absolutely quiet time to myself. Ah, bliss... no one asked a single thing of me. No noise that I, myself, did not make. A small bowl of ice cream (shhhhh, don't tell). And reading. Yes, my addiction that I love. To read, acquire information, to remotely see so much of the world.

Anyway, one of the places I love to go to check out someone's version of reality is The Straight Dope. It's peopled by all manner of folk but the general attitude is apparent in the board's slogan: FIGHTING IGNORANCE SINCE 1973 (IT'S TAKING LONGER THAN WE THOUGHT). Haha. Ain't that a hoot? Because everyone but us in the know is grossly ignorant, right? Ironic.

Anyway, they often have threads called "ask the....", in which someone who has had a strange job or unusual past is available to answer any and all questions we've always wanted (or never knew we wanted) to ask.

Last night I found one entitled "Ask the Adult Child of a Hoarder/Clutterer".

There are fives pages of posts in this thread, at 50 posts per page, of people who either knew someone who has lived/is living in squalor or was jolted into reality from reading the thread that they were headed that way themselves.

It was touching and shocking to read about so many homes filled with so many inappropriately loved things, lives taken over by stuff to the exclusion of their children or health, families burdened by having to take care of the stuff leftover from a lifetime of hoarding and filth. I've seen shocking photos before (warning: the links to photos take a long time to download, even with DSL, and some photos of extremely unhealthy living conditions may be disturbing) but I had no idea that this problem was so very common. There are entire companies who specialize in cleaning up the homes of those with this problem.

So, last night, after reading just a few posts, I ran to do my small pile of dinner dishes. I looked around, just to make sure that all I had in my living room was "lived in" caliber mess (one stuffed animal, a couple of papers on the floor, the remote displaced to the couch) and I breathed a sigh of relief that I had done a massive dump'n'straighten in the girls' room yesterday.

But what really struck me today, when I went back and read a few more posts was the following:

Posted by lisacurl

- a point about perfectionism - this ties into the feeling of being overwhelmed by the size of the job of uncluttering or cleaning up. I am a huge perfectionist and I got it from my mother, who is a bazillion times worse than me. I think a big part of her problem was feeling that she didn't have the time or resourses (mental or physical) to clean up "properly", so she couldn't bother to start.

Posted by cwthree

I'll second this. It seemed very strange to me the first time it was explained to me - how can someone demand perfection but insist on living in a mess like that? But "perfect" doesn't just apply to the end result. It applies to the process as well.

cwPartner [name for cwthree's live-in significant other] is a clutterer and a hoarder (not nearly as bad as some of the descriptions here, but historically irrational regarding the acquisition and keeping of stuff which is of no actual use). When he does try to clean up, it can be absolutely painful to watch. He has to determine the absolutely best strategy for dealing with a mess, then he has to lay out all of the items to be dealt with, then he has to examine and reminisce over each item, and only then can he seriously consider disposing of it or putting it away (in the absolutely best possible manner). When I try to help, he tells me I can't because he knows exactly how he wants to do it.Basically, he has a very hard time with the concept of "good enough." For instance, we had a couple years' worth of old newspapers. I wanted to cut to the chase and throw them away. But to cwPartner, old newspapers can't just go in the trash, because it would be better (in this case, less wasteful) to recycle them. But we don't have curbside recycling, so we had to take the newspapers somewhere. The recycling center wasn't open when we had the time to go there, so we needed another option. Fine - his workplace has recycling bins. But that was imperfect, because he felt that bringing all of those newspapers at once would be an imposition on their recycling program. On the other hand, bringing a week's worth of newspaper in every couple of days wasn't perfect either, because
it would "take too long." Net result? The piles stayed where they were, and continued to grow as newer newspapers were added.

And in that last paragraph I saw myself. I have three boxes of books and two garbage bags of things that have sat there for a couple of months now because I can't bear to put them in the garbage but also can't be bothered to dispose of them in the "best" way. I don't want to drive to a book seller with three kids during the week, havn't remembered on weekends, and it didn't occur to me until last night to just find a library and donate them but it's an abomination to THROW AWAY books.

Now I understand why FlyLady tells people to just throw stuff away.

Another example is with spending money. I havn't bought macaroni and cheese in months. Why? Because I can never remember if it's a better price at Costco or the Commissary. I finally bought some off-brand over at a place called The Grocery Outlet but it was so disgusting and frustrating to make (different measurements for the sauce than Kraft) that I just chalked it up to a bad macaroni and cheese experience and have since not felt like buying it at all anyway. All because I couldn't find the BEST price and therefore couldn't bring myself to buy any at all.

I didn't realize that people would actually go to therapy for such a thing. Perfectaplegic, indeed. Compulsively finding the BEST way to do stuff which consumes so much of our time and relationships that we can't even have healthy relationships or enjoy simple leisure time... ack!! I do that!! Well, I'm a lot better than I used to be. But here I am, angsting all over my blog again, ruminating over my failings and that I can't do things the BEST way all the time! Irony, again.

I get rid of stuff all the time in one way or another. But something about living with other people has made it very hard to do so regularly since it isn't all my stuff. I can't just throw away Man's pile of papers he hasn't touched in months. Or his college text books that he'll never use again (thanks to Man though, for finally agreeing to let go of them!).

As I gradually come to understand my home and self, and bit by bit claim mastery over it and self, things are starting to slowly come together. Small solutions start making more sense and now even the overall vision is something I'm starting to see.

-sigh- Now I just need to figure out what I need in order to feel absolute peace in my home. What sort of home would I just be able to love and feel welcome in?

Laundry

The two largest jobs in any home with children are food and laundry. Now, to just say "food" is an unfair understatement. There is every task from planning, to listing, to shopping, to storing, to preparing, to feeding the family, to cleaning up dishes and storing some more. There are recipes to be found, leftovers to use creatively, cooking methods to plan for busy days or lazy days, nutrition and appeal to consider, etc. It's a huge, endless job in one tiny little word.


But then there's laundry. Add a baby, live in a place where the towels get nasty very quickly, start potty training a toddler, have a boy, and a soldier, and the laundry gets bad and I mean fast. I took a couple of days off of folding and look what happened.

This is my queen sized bed. That pile is as tall as Pebbles. The sheets had been stripped because Pebbles dumped a whole bottle of berry-scented hand sanitizer on my side. The frangrance absolutely had to go. This pile does not include the three loads still in the process over in the kitchen, as well as the two loads that magically appeared the very next day. This also doesn't include bed linens or the blankets on the asthma-kid's bed. I have a high effiency washer that washes about twice what a normal washer can handle.

Princess asked me an interesting question on the way home from school once: "Mom, would it be nice to have servants?"

I gave an internal cry, and pondered that. If I had someone doing just one of these jobs... ah. To not worry about food! Ah!! To not worry about my clothes going from clean all the way to clean again! Those two jobs!! Just! Two! Freakin! Jobs!

Her question arose from watching old movies (Mr Hobbs Takes a Vacation, Cheaper by the Dozen) and these super moms who are either drop dead gorgeous or have a fantastically huge number of children both have house help.

"Yes, honey, it'd be nice to have some help."

I sit here, typing this, with three loads asking to be folded (this is two days after the mountain above got resolved) but my kitchen is clean. Man's lunch is ready for him. Breakfast will be eggs and toast and fruit. Tomorrow's dinner will be homemade rolls and bbq beef we cooked up and stashed before Frieda was born.

I wonder if it'd be better to have one of these jobs completely figured out, or to have both of them kinda, sorta juggled.

Sunday Pictures

I realized that I havn't been posting enough pics of the kids. I'll try to do so more often. Sunday's a good time, since they tend to be better groomed then, but not always. ;) Today we all stayed home sick.

She's getting to be more and more her own person, but I still think she looks a lot like Pebbles.

Any caption ideas for the following photo? 1 rule: no diaper captions. That's too easy. ;)

Here's Pebbles. You'll see her full "outfit" in the video at the bottom.

Believe it or not, this is a candid. lol

Princess is the only person who got done up today since I promised her we would curl her new hair cut and take pictures of her in her Sunday dress. Her hair doesn't accept curl terribly well and this is some time after we had done it... so it's very slightly flippy, much to her disappointment. She wants perm-caliber curls. I think the haircut is extremely cute anyway.