Exhuses, Exhuses

I know, it's crazy. I've been a slacka. I have to say it all comes down to the fact that I weaned David some time back. I no longer have to be on my laptop while nursing to prevent sleep, thereby prevent certain house destruction that will occur if certain family members know that I have fallen asleep on the couch.
Now I'm always awake and usually up to 72% alert (except when Davy is in his crib asleep and the kids are plugged in for a quick afternoon cartoon pick-me-up. That's when I know I can let my eyelids droop.)
Still--blogging time? Haven't quite nailed that down yet. But I will try a quick one-night-catch up for now.

Summa Time

Arizona is experiencing unusually cool weather patterns. We are soaking the mid 90 degree weather in like cookies in milk. We'll take it. As much as we can get of it. I think the 90s last until this Wednesday. So we have a few more days of outside play time until 108 hits and we are slapped back inside by the heat.
I feel I'm ready however. I've got a cell phone full of friends with pools. The kids are learning to swim, put their heads under the water, doggie paddle to the edge, make backstrokes in the air while sitting on the side, and watch their mom run around while bent half over, from the edge of the pool, then down the pool stairs, then up again and around the pool circumference--6 inches from the edge the whole time, chasing a confident, little, pot bellied, dough-skinned boy.
We've got some summer get-aways in the works too, so we'll get through all right. We'll prove that we can join in with those pioneers and cave-dwelling Indians and brave the Arizona weather (with our air conditioners and cars and pools and splash parks and indoor fast-food playstructures.) No problem.

FINALLY FREE!!!

Lindsey has at long last come to live to the ripe old age of three and live to tell about it (survival is not something we take for granted in this household). And a what a sweet, energetic and forgiving three year old she is. Granted, she rules the nursery with an iron fist, but some one's got to do it--even nursery kids have a pecking order you know.

Lindsey with her ACTUAL birthday birthday treat, (as opposed to her pseudo-birthday birthday cake, which was consumed the Saturday before the dawning of the big day.)

For days, of course, word of her upcoming pseudo-birthday birthday party event had been the primo topic of discussion between herself, Afton and I. Afton was MORE than thrilled to have another holiday to fawn over (though she did mention quite often that her upcoming birthday would be bigger, prettier and have a larger present yield. . . nonetheless, she was 100% in on the planning) and Lindsey was more than satisfied to be the center of it.

Too bad her mom decided to make the day of the party her LML (Last Minute Lucy) Achievement Day of the year. I don't even remember what I was doing the day before her party, or the day before that, but whatever it was, it was distracting enough that I convinced myself that I could handle all the party prep on the day OF the big day. Then the day came and we decided to make it an evening party and move it to the west side of the Valley to assure cousin attendance, and so I thought it might be fun to slip in a little home pedicure session for me and the girls--since we had ALL that time to wait till the evening party. After all, the party girl can't show up without a little glitz on her toes.

Needless to say, our prep time ran out and I was scrambling as usual. Fast forward a few hours and the fam and I show up at my sister, Emily's house with an unfrosted cake and a shopping list for Jared to run. The party was to start in a short 45 minutes from our arrival at Em's. So . . . naturally, 75 minutes or so later we arrive at the park to throw up the party decor and get ready to Wang Chung Tonight.
It wasn't until we were there that I realized I'd left behind/omitted from Jared's shopping list a few essential B-day party items: plates, forks, a rope to hang the pinata, wrapping paper, tape (oh no, the present was not prewrapped), and I also neglected to bring the one thing for which Lindsey had been most eager for her party: the candles! (and anything that could, in any way shape or form, cause an igniting spark for said missing candles).

So . . . . long story short, FUN party due to an incredibly forgiving 3 year old, a very relaxed group of party guests, (cousins, aunts and uncles, and a sweet grandma-in-law) and enough candy and finger-held cake for all, but decidedly not one of MY shining motherhood moments.

OK--I'll let you look at the pictures now.


Lindsey picked out one of Wal-Mart's most popular pinatas-- the rainbow burro (a.k.a. the two horned unicorn or the bicorn.)




The breaking of the pinata wasn't the usual jaunty swinging sport, but more of a grunting, stick slamming beating of the dead rat affair. (And since I had, in a moment of genius, bought suckers as a main portion of the contents, the candy didn't fare the slaying of the two horned unicorn very well either, but it was scooped hastily up in the red cups anyway and had mostly disappeared by the time we loaded up for home.)





Now, I DO realize a party with it's attendees dancing, laughing and even just hanging around holding "the red cups" might evoke a certain type of reputation. I assure you, however, this red cup party was completely on the up-and-up.





All said and done, Davey got stuck with the paper stuffing from the pinata (and a Dum-Dum he was quick enough to swipe.)
And Jake proudly mounted the bicorn head upon his own victorious head.


We can thank Tim for purchasing a gift which he was sure would produce the most trouble in the hands of our deviant geniuses Lindsey and Afton, and for drilling Afton with the fact that these WERE church toys. (and she did sneak them to Sacrament meeting by transferring them to a different bag the next day). Thanks Tim! Nothing like a well thought-out gift.

And a serious thanks to Em. She and I frosted this cake in about 30 minutes (it usually takes hours) and it turned out quite loverly.

Happy Birthday LuLu!---and to put you readers at ease, we did celebrate a la candles on her actual birthday!

Can You Crack the Code?

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For the Record

Earlier this week at dinner we had an important goal setting discussion.

Dallin: "Know what I want to be when I grow up? A guy that works at the Jelly Bean Factory."
We all mumbled some admiration for his foresight between bites of grilled cheese. Jelly beans everyday--how can you go wrong.
Afton: "I want to be a mom!" -- followed by a shy look up at me.
Again, "good choice," we all agreed. And then Lindsey was queried.
Lindsey: "I'm going to be a robot that goes on your floor." (it took 2 guesses before we correctly interpreted it.)
I followed her statement with the same nodding and validation I gave the other two, but Dallin and Aft made no effort to support such a decision.
Dallin: "HOW are you going to do that?"
Lindsey: "I'm gonna go beep, beep, beep, beep, beep (with fully synchronized robotic arm and head movements)."
I guess that shut Dallin right down, because he turned to his chicken noodle soup after that and let it go, until I reopened the discussion.
Me: "So, what do you think Davy should be."
Afton: "He should work at a store."
Dallin: "Which one. . . . like Costco. . . or Target?"
Afton: "Target"
Dallin: (excited now with a new idea) "No--he should work at the pizza part of Costco--you know, with Churros and pizza!"
"And lemonade!" I piped in.
Lindsey: "Day-fee should be a robot too!"

Anyway--so the good news is, it looks like we won't be having to pay for college for anyone (except Lindsey who may need to pursue some very advanced degrees in physics, biology and physiology, etc., and even then. . . . . she may be better off with some cardboard boxes and aluminum foil). And we may also be looking forward to some jelly bean and Costco Eatery perks in the not so distant future!!! Whoo Hoo! Who said parenthood doesn't have it's rewards?!?

Afton expanded on her plans for motherhood to me the day following the above conversation. She intends to have 24 children (or 34), the first one(s) will be twin girls named Rose and Flower. They will be followed by several other sets of twins, mostly girls, with some boys thrown in. I don't believe she is planning on having any single births, but when I introduced the idea of triplets to her, she decided she is definitely going to have some of those too. Oh, and, she is going to be a NICE mom. NOT like me.
Me: "So I'm not nice?"
Afton (and Dallin threw in his agreement): "No. I'm going to let them do whatever they want."
Me: "So what if they only want to eat candy and stay up all night and watch TV."
Afton: "Oh, they can only eat healthy stuff and can only watch one TV show and . . . (she went on about not too many video games, etc)"

So I ended that conversation feeling good and certain and smug in knowing that she would be told eventually by Rose and Flower that they were going to be NICE moms too someday.

The Ends of Eras

If it weren't for that thrilling feeling in my ribcage as I watch my kids do something new for the first time, I would have given up long ago. Given up on teaching them anything whatsoever--not that it would stop any one's progress much. I guess I'm just too much a lover of status-quo or nostalgia or whatever it is, to let these kiddies grow up. But they do.
Davy, in particular, is KILLING me right now. He is so scrumptiously cute I could devour him, revealing myself as the true offspring-consuming arachnid that I am. Instead, I tide-over my appetite with hugs so tight he finally grunts and pushes away from my hunched shoulders--arched forward to incarcerate him with my elbows and forearms. Of course, I am an easily swayed prison master and set him free with only a love paddle on his diapered rump for bail. In return I receive a gapy-toothed grin, a few deep, open-mouthed, laughy breaths and some drunken' sailor toddling steps to clap at.
Just as I am typing this I look up to see Davy pull himself up at the red chair then venture out on his own, the right arm up and out for balance and the left punching the air above him at the beat of four or five punches per step. His face a mix of wonder and trepidation. What thing could I possibly do today to feel so surprised and delighted with myself?
Along with the walking, he is also forging ahead with it's rhyming twin "talking." Earlier during a quick trip to Nordstrom Rack to return a few items (which somehow ended up costing me $28), Davy squeaked out one of his E.T. style "hhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeee"s and the lady at the register looked down in delight to find his big, little eyes staring up at her and his wrist still swivelling it's greeting. She may have thought it was cute, but I got the motherly thrill. Perhaps you've been in love with a child enough to have also felt the thrilling circus inside your stomach that I feel when watching my children's sweet, surprising and always unique progress. It's breathtaking. Other's may smile or take a peak at the leaps of progress, but don't usually care that much. They may be sucking on a lollipop, but they certainly aren't looking at a sunsetting Grand Canyon view like a mother does. I wonder if what I'm feeling while watching him feels as good as Davy does when he takes those steps.
But the REAL purpose of this post (or was at the outset) is to chronicle the sad ache that comes with the end of eras--like the crawling era. It just doesn't come back, ever again, once it is completely replaced with walking. Thus, the memories need to be recorded--memories like Davy getting taken on "walks" with Afton,

his dirty legs and hands and tops of feet,

crawling and aaaaaaaaaahhhhhing, and shaking his head at the same time,

crawling and pushing things on the floor at the same time (like my now scratched and scarred cell phone),

crawling then stopping to sit and rest and look around until he gets excited then hurriedly crawling again,

knowing that if you lie down on the floor you will soon be crawled upon and conquered by a heavily breathing and babbling soft body that will slobber and gnaw on you and ultimately produce laughter from your own tired body,

and the happy slapping sound of his hands on the hard floor signaling his coming. (Which sound I strategically use for the sweeping competition I have with Davy nearly every time the broom and dustpan come out of the closet. Their arrival in the kitchen arena somehow signals Davy that I will now be sweeping all the crumbs, toys, broken pencil lead, bits of paper, and dried carrot bits that he spends much of his awake time hunting for, into one consolidated and easily accessible pile in the middle of the kitchen floor. His arrival at that pile before I get it into the dustpan and garbage increases his treasure finding efficiency 400%. And he knows that I do everything I can to stop him. The competition has gotten pretty fierce lately. He's got skills and I am constantly having to up my game.)

Add these to a number of other heart alluring traits of a crawler and you've got one foot shuffling, reluctant mama. I will let this baby grow up, but I'm in no hurry to do it.

Lindsey is also turning into a "big girl" who "wears undies" and who loves to tell that to anyone who gives her a moment of their precious attention. We're as proud as punch of her, but she is even more proud to now be in the ranks of Afton, Dallin, Jakie, Violet, Roxy and her other undie wearing mentors. But more on her in the next post, when she takes on the "big three".

Davy giving his soft, tickley snuggles




What handsome bros.




Bad case of crawlers knee and foot




Afton using a yo yo for his walk



Davy gets absolutely giddy when out with his walker on the street while all the kids are riding their bikes and scooters around him. It's soo cool to be part of the neighborhood gang.

We Ain't Ones to Look A Gift Horse in the Mouth or Anything

So, as our Christmas season ramped up to it's max Christmas-Morning-Celebrate-a-Thon, we wanted to do a little giving around the neighborhood. Nothing much, just the usual Mormon culture influenced plate-o-goodies: a few iced sugar cookies, a couple rice crispy treats, some no fail ginger snaps, a scoop of bright colored Christmas candies and two to three cookie airplane treats that needed to be explained upon delivery because they could have easily been mistaken for a number of other things--namely a cigar with a peice of gum strapped to it.

Due to the fact that it is nigh unto impossible for a mother of 3 INTENSLY curious and helpful children--and a very grabby baby--to put together a plate of cookies that have not: been licked, been sneezed on, or been touched by dirty hands that were just licked or sneezed on; and that does not contain: sand, half of a container of sprinkles, or the contents of someones pocket, we kept the list down to a handful of neighbors so mom could stay vigilant over the goodies until they were safe in the neighbors home for consumption/discard as they so chose (it's totally the thought that counts).

Well, delivery proved to be fun for all of us and the neighbors appeared grateful for our humble offering. But little did we know how grateful and generous one cute little family from across the cul-de-sac really was. Upon returning home from our post-Christmas-wedding-snow-extravaganza a week into January the mother and daughter of the family slipped by with a little card. We invited them in and chatted for a while and they explained that they had tried to bring this by before but we were gone. We, of course, thanked them and opened the card later to find this:

Super nice right? Super, super nice and thoughtful, but the front of the card looked like this:

As you may have guessed by the title of this blog, they made a little mistake on our last name. Regift? We wouldn't mind, but we prefer to chalk it up to Jared's name being mistaken for Jerry, then being mistaken for his last name. It's happened before (to someone probably). We didn't let it bother us much last week as we went for the appetizer combo, lasagna plate, seafood pasta, and one kiddie meal to share between the 4 kids (it's not our fault the kids refuse to eat at restaurants). We would, however, enjoy some advice on how to break the name mistake to the neighbors sweetly so we can stay on their Christmas list for next year. Please comment with some great ideas for us!