Zoo

FYI, Hogle Zoo is located on a hill. If you aren't fortunate enough to find parking in the main lot, much of what is available can be found on a particularly steep slope located to the east of the zoo. You can also find rather hilly terrain within the zoo itself. Though there are a few inclines that require the utmost attention to the force of gravity, most of the main path is so gradual that you don't even realize that you've descended several hundred feet by the time you get to turn around and head back to the entrance. Keep in mind that your children will be tired at the end of their zoo experience, which means that the one child who sat in your stroller for much of the trip will be accompanied by another child in the other seat, and a third child standing on the rear platform of your Sit-and Stand. If you're in a hurry when it's time to go, this translates into you pushing over 100 pounds back up the slope that you wish you had calculated in and parking your stroller at the entrance with grandma while you run up the almost-perpendicular slope that you had factored in to fetch your vehicle. You will finish a 20 oz. bottle of water before you even complete your drive from the parking spot to the zoo entrance. Just FYI.

Oh, and half of your kids will be so interested in the animals that they will not respond when you call out their names and request that they say "Cheese" for a picture. But, I suppose, that's probably not such a bad thing. Here's to wonderful trips to the zoo with a bunch of wonderful cousins!

Nice work if you can get it.

Tim asked me last night if I had ever considered having five children in our little (or not so little) brood. My first thought: we've had this conversation before. It always ends the same way: let's just get to number four and then we'll talk.
You see, when we first got married we agreed that four sounded like a healthy number. As we've borne several children, the numbers fluctuate, decreasing drastically if I'm entrenched in my first trimester of pregnancy or in the middle of potty-training and increasing as we watch our children playing happily in the backyard on a sunny afternoon or when they sweetly tell us they love us before quietly tip-toeing off to bed.
I've always left the door open for truckloads of kids, largely because I came from a family of seven (kids, that is) and loved it... most of the time. I also feel that we've been blessed so abundantly to be able to bear children and have the financial means to support them that we should stretch ourselves by having more rather than less. Tim thinks that four is enough of a stretch. Still the struggle to settle on a number ensues.
So last night when he broached the subject, I wondered why he was suddenly so open to having more than four. I found his response rather sweet. He said he finds so much joy in our family. Once he gets past the sleep deprivation, the girls are pretty amazing to him. He also said that when we get together with my family (as we did this past weekend) he enjoys the feeling of having my siblings, their spouses, and their children around. It's simply a lot of people, a lot of fun, and a lot of love.
Rewind about 15 years to my parents pulling their hair out over 4 teenagers (one with Muscular Dystrophy), 2 elementary-age children (with their own struggles) and a two-year-old! The task was probably almost too much to bear at times. But they have a lot to show for it.
So I think we're still holding at four. But we have to get there first. And once there, I'll keep you posted.

A lesson in honesty.

Last week we stopped at the local fruit and vegetable stand to pick up a few, you guessed it, fruits and vegetables. A few hours later, while playing in the backyard, Anna pulled out from behind her back an apricot that she had apparently stuffed into her pocket during our visit. I asked her if she thought it was okay to take something without paying for it. To which she responded, "Well, I thought it was a peach." In which case, it would have been perfectly all right for her to leave without paying... sometimes I think I overestimate my five-year-old's ability to reason.

It wasn't until the next day that we trekked over to the fruit stand a second time to make restitution for what was stolen. That morning, I explained what we were going to do: Anna would bring her purse, we would tell the owner what she'd done, weigh a comparable apricot to find out how much she owed, and pay the agreed amount. It went well. She was thoroughly embarrassed, of course, knowing that she had done something worth being embarrassed about. But I think she learned a valuable lesson about the steps involved in repentance. Still don't know if she fully grasps the concept of stealing, but I think we helped her see the difference between the before and after repentance feeling. I hope.

On the plus side, she came home and asked me what chores she could help out with to earn some extra money. We cleaned all mirrors and glass doors, dusted, and scrubbed all 3 bathrooms. She earned $3 to compensate for the 26 cents she had lost on the stolen apricot. Not bad at all.

We're in the money.

Salary.com just out with the worth of a stay-at-home-mom. Slightly less than last year, but according to them, we should be making six figures for our efforts. $116,805 to be exact. Really, the whole thing is laughable. I ran across this blog post today, which of itself was only average. But the comments? Hilarious.
A few of my favorites (along with my unsolicited opinion):

"I'd gladly stay home, but who can afford that in today's world? The US is now a two-income family mandate. "

Just another sign that America needs some serious lessons in frugality. I have friends living in Southern California and downtown Manhattan (arguably two of the most expensive places to live in the U.S.) who are making it work with one parent at home. Has this person ever considered the possibility that a SAHM could actually save the family money? Try cooking meals from scratch, shopping yard sales or even making your own laundry soap. 7 freakin' cents a load. Gosh, with all that time we stay-at-home-moms have on our hands (note the sarcasm, here), surely we could find something to do besides spend our husbands' hard-earned money.

"116,000 Thousand dollars a year? You have to be kidding me, another attempt to make women who don't hold jobs feel more important."

Don't worry, Andrew, those of us who stay at home with our children, love it and do it well don't need Salary.com to quantify it for us. And that is what is so ridiculous about their estimate in the first place. Why are we so bent on attaching dollar signs to things? Is a salary the only measure of success in today's world? Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.

So, if you'll excuse me, I have to go wipe my daughter's bottom. She's had diarrhea for the last 24 hours. It's 3 a.m. now. That'll be 5 bucks per wipe, and an additional $2.50 for the overtime, please.

Dulling the senses.

This afternoon Anna kept asking to watch a movie or play the computer. She had already played the computer for 45 minutes, leaving only 15 minutes of "media time" for the day, which I knew would be more than fulfilled when Lily woke up from her nap and requested a movie herself.
I had bright ideas of filling our days with endless fun this summer by limiting "media" to Fridays and Saturdays, but after the following conversation, I'm not so sure I can pull it off.
Anna: Can I watch a movie?
Me: No.
Anna: (after an audible groan) But mom, I love movies.
Me: Yep, I know. There's lots of fun things to do around here. Can you think of anything you like to do more than watch movies?
Anna: Well, I really like to play Dora (Translation: I like to watch Nick Jr. shows on the computer. In other words, I like to watch movies on the TV and on the computer.)
Me: We went to the zoo today. Did you like that better than watching a show?
Anna: No.
Me: How about going to the park?
Anna: No.
Me: Coloring?
Anna: Nope.
Me: Playing outside?
Anna: No.
Me: Okay. Do you like swimming better than watching movies?
Anna: Yeah. I love swimming.

So I suppose that means we will be spending a heck of a lot of time at the pool this summer.

I do not like them Sam-I-am.

Today I thought how befitting my blog title is. First, it has ties to our last name. And second, the Dr. Seuss book from which I stole the title describes the attitudes of my children to a "T". I feel my frustration mounting that my enjoyment of cooking is diminished by the fact that my children turn up their noses at practically everything I serve for dinner. The only thing I can think of that all three of my children will eat at this point in their lives is mangoes. To be fair, kids are often picky eaters and they go through phases where they eat more liberally than others. But, after a conversation with my neighbor today about our kids' eating habits, I am extra discouraged. I am pretty convinced that my children are worse than the norm. And that makes the next 18 plus years of cooking meals for them very daunting. Ugh.
The good news is, Tim really enjoys my cooking and is quick to express his pleasure by scarfing it down, thanking me, and occasionally adding a bit of drama by inserting a few "mmm"s and "ahh"s in between mouthfuls. He is so good to me.
As for the kids, well, there's always breakfast for dinner on Sundays. A surefire winner every time.

Hodge podge.

A few recent happenings:

1. We began round two of potty-training three weeks ago. Lily has been using the toilet for #2 since September but after a 2 month battle that included lots of urine on the floor and even more screaming, we opted for the Pull-up approach. Expensive, but well worth it in her case. Though we're still hammering out some kinks, round two is going way better than round one.

2. Apparently, Lily has been inspired by her newfound grown-up-ness and has also mastered the following skills in recent weeks: pumping herself on the swings, putting her shoes on without complaint (without complaint being the operative phrase, here) and buckling herself in her car seat.

3. Rachel is starting nursery tomorrow! This is the first time since having children that we will be sending our youngest off to nursery before having another bun in the oven.

4. It seems that Anna is blossoming. This has manifest itself in many ways, but here's a quick illustration. First, she had to display a talent at Joy School a couple of weeks ago and chose to dance. When all the boys groaned and covered their eyes in agony, she continued prancing around without even flinching. Normally, such a reaction from her peers would have sent her running away in tears, but she's developed rather thick skin in spite of the fact that she has no older brothers to beat it into her.

5. Tim and I went on another hot date last night to a Boise Philharmonic concert downtown. They accompanied a couple of pretty amazing Broadway performers singing some of the greatest love songs from Broadway. I was inspired. It reminded me that it is my job to foster a love of music in my children. I often sit down at the piano to sing and am perturbed when my kids immediately run into the room and start banging on the keys. I feel like they've invaded "my time", you know? Consequently, "my time" is becoming less and less frequent just so I can avoid the frustration of being interrupted. I need to do better. Any ideas?

6. We are enjoying our last wave of tulips and are anxiously anticipating the roses and lilies. Tim's babying our lawn to a deep green and it's lovely to relax in the comfort of the afternoon shade on our back patio and take in the view. Now, if we can only keep Rachel from using those sweet little hands to speed up the death of the flowers.

Mother's day.

Last week I got to pick out my Mother's Day chocolates on a family trip to Costco. Yesterday I picked out my Mother's Day flowers while on, yet another family trip to Costco. My husband knows me well. He knows that although I recognize the thoughtfulness of a surprise, I also love picking out exactly what I want.

Tim served me buckwheat crepes with strawberry syrup, fresh berries, and whipped cream for breakfast this morning. It was delicious. Anna cooked up some scrambled eggs to add savory to the sweet. Lily screamed the whole time we were eating about what a mean mom I am. Then she peed on her bedroom floor just as we were walking out the door for our 9 am church meeting. Dang, that girl has got timing.

In sacrament meeting, the youth and primary kids sang the most touching rendition of "Love is Spoken Here". I fought to control the tears, partly because it was the first time that Anna had been brave enough to make the walk up to the stand and join a Primary performance. Somehow she's made it through 1 1/2 years of Primary without mustering the courage to share her beautiful voice with the congregation. Until today. It was a sweet moment.

The kids played without incident all afternoon while I worked on my part of the Primary activity we're having this coming Saturday. It's been hanging over my head for weeks now, so it feels good to finally have something concrete rather than just ideas floating through my head. Tim grilled up some hamburgers and hot dogs for dinner. Again, it was delicious. And again, Lily told me what a mean mother I am. Anna reminded her that she shouldn't say such things on Mother's Day. I reminded Anna that no one should say such things any day.

We capped the evening off with Tim's famous strawberry shortcake. Lily fell asleep in my lap at 7:20, a pleasant end to a turbulent day with her. Tim's a bit frazzled at having played mom most of the day, but who wouldn't be? I can't wait to see how it turns out when I leave him with all three girls to take a 5-day trip to Boston in three weeks. Bless his little heart.

Lunch is served.

The other day I dropped by the bank to make a deposit after a visit to the park. The bank is in the neighborhood of the local high school and it happened to be lunchtime. There's a snow cone shack right next to the Wells Fargo so I spent a few minutes watching the high school kids on their lunch break. They were all well-dressed, the cars they drove much nicer than the Chevy Sprint I drove as a high school student and their meals far more hearty than the tiny Hardee's twist cone I sometimes spent my lunch money on. In their case, the snowcone was the dessert, not the actual meal as my Hardee's cone was for me.

I couldn't help but reflect on my days as an AF High Caveman (woman?). You see, I only got money equivalent to one day's worth of school lunch per week. The objective: make your own lunch from home the other four days of the week. Fair enough. Sadly, I was too lazy to do so. After squandering my hard-earned afterschool job money on Hogi Yogi or Del Taco during my junior year, I opted for the more economical approach my senior year. I served my fellow students lunch in the cafeteria every day.

You laugh. Let me tell you why this was perhaps one of my most shining moments. First, I got out of my third period class early every day. Second, I got free lunch and instead of borrowing money for food, I was pocketing the few dollars a week I got for a net gain of probably hundreds of dollars over the course of the year. Third, I learned that it is possible to be a cafeteria worker and still be cool. Did wonders for my self-confidence. Fourth, I got more than one vegetable a day (the other furnished by my wonderful mother, who fed me dinner daily). And fifth, I became a recognizable face in a school of 2000 students. (In fact, two elders in my mission placed me as the girl who served them lunch their sophomore year... hahaha)

My parents did me a great service by allowing me to want for something. My days as a cafeteria worker were more than a funny story. They were a pivotal moment, a point of reference to bring me back to earth when the tugs of affluence seem too strong to resist. Maybe a bit on the philosophical side, but true.

Doctor knows best?

A few weeks ago a strange rash appeared on Anna's side. A few days later, a similar patch of red made its way to her knee. The itching was impossible for her to ignore, so I scheduled a doctor's visit, but not until after I had done a ton of online research to pinpoint her ailment.
This has become a habit of mine. Researching the illness, narrowing it down to one (or two, but usually one) possibility, scheduling a doctor's appointment, painfully listening to him tell me that I am, in fact, correct in my diagnosis, and filling the required prescription, that is.
This time was a bit different. The doctor announced that what I'd passed off as ringworm was actually a really bad case of eczema. Eczema? I doubted. She is the only one of our children who has not inherited her mother's dry skin. So eczema? He explained the unlikelihood of ringworm, given the climate, the season and the fact that we don't own a pet so I reluctantly took her home and followed the prescribed treatment for two days until I could fake it no longer and started treating her for ringworm behind my doctor's back. I saw improvement almost immediately.
And so I draw the following conclusion (at the risk of sounding prideful, dear doctor): Doctor, for all your training, you have got nothing on mother's intuition. Sure, I'll still come to you to deliver my babies (whether you make it on time or not), I'll still pay you the big bucks to repair my broken bones and I'll still let you cut into my heart, if need be. I lay my life at your feet in such situations. But, excuse me if I'm getting a little tired of paying you 100 bucks for less than 10 minutes of your time when all I get is a diagnosis that either confirms what I already knew or is completely wrong. I realize it's not completely your fault; it's just getting really old.

It's about darn time.

We've lived in Boise for almost 5 years and none of us has ever made the trek up to Table Rock, a must-do for all Boiseans. It's only 1.5 miles to the top, gaining 900 feet in elevation over the course of the hike and we figured that as long as we took lots of breaks and had no timeline, our kids would love the adventure.
Anna was a trooper. She made it all the way to the top and only complained of being tired once. Lily, allergic to any sort of exertion (see previous post), was an altogether different story. I pushed her hard, encouraging her to make it to the next curve, or next big rock, or next trail marker and then I would carry her for a while. For a three-year-old, though, she didn't do half bad.
Rachel lounged in comfort in a Kelty backpack, carried by Tim. We got more than a few comments from people we passed that we were brave to bring our three kids. Yes we were. They cried practically the whole way down. I alternated giving piggy-back rides to Anna and Lily for the entire descent. Fun, fun, fun. We filled our tired, starving bodies with lunch at Red Robin and came home for a bit of rest and relaxation.
In retrospect, I think we should probably should have tackled something a little less strenuous (for the kids). But I also feel they learned a valuable lesson about pushing themselves. We relieved their burdens a bit by carrying them part of the way and giving them breaks. But we could not fly in a helicopter to get them off the mountain. We all had to go back the way we came. And we had to use our feet to do it. One can only hope they gained a sense of accomplishment at having completed the difficult journey without giving up.
And now, for the pictures:

Her own person.

As was her sister Rachel a few weeks ago, Lily has been tagged. I have been thinking about posting something about my middle (at least for now) child because she is such an anomaly to me and wanted to capture the essence of Lily as she is right now. So the timing was great.

Here's seven things about Lily Rebekah:

1. If I were to pick one characteristic that describes Lily, it would be unique. I know, I know. We're all unique. But I'm telling you, this kid is really something. On a superficial level, she's different from her sisters because she has blond hair, it's curly, she's left-handed and her ears stick out. For more depth, move on to the next item.

2. Lily is inherently lazy. Her latest quote in response to my requests for her to put things away is, "Mom, why are you making me do all this work?" As if she were Cinderella or something. Another favorite of hers: feigning illness or fatigue to get out of chores. And no, her assignments are nothing any 3-year old can't do fairly easily. She also pretends that she can't put on her own clothes, shoes, and use the bathroom because a life of ease is her lifelong dream. Good luck with that one, Lils.

3. Self-entertaining is one of her greatest talents. Her grandparents gave her a few My Little Ponies for Christmas and she's been playing with them pretty much nonstop for the past 4 1/2 months. And she doesn't need anyone to accompany her. I practically have to force my way into her world, for heavens sake. She also "reads" books for hours on end.

4. Stranger danger is gonna be hard to teach this cookie. She'll talk to anyone about anything. But usually she just wants to talk about ponies...

5. Lily wears her heart on her sleeve. Her life is an emotional roller-coaster where her tears are abundant, her wails are renowned and her hugs and kisses are unfeigned. Last week during her swimming lesson, she bluntly told her teacher that she wouldn't perform a number of tasks, explaining that she was "scared". When prompted again, she laid in with the screams and violent protests. This child definitely does not care what anyone thinks.

6. Lily lives by her own timeline. She was born to teach her mother patience, I'm convinced.

7. Lily is very self-assured. She turns a blind eye to criticism, knowing full well that she is nothing short of awesome. It's kind of frustrating because she doesn't seek anyone's approval or praise so it's difficult to know how to motivate her. But in the long run, the girl is gonna be just fine.

She's a poet and she didn't know it.

This morning I suggested that Lily pick out a game for us to play together. She said she wanted to play Horton Hears a Who. What she really meant to say was Hungry, Hungry Hippos. Well, at least she got the alliteration right.