History repeats itself.

When Anna was younger, she liked taking her clothes off and soon figured out how to remove her diaper as well. She did it a few times at night, resulting in soaked sheets and blankets until we figured out that the one article of clothing she was unable to remove was a onesie. So we put the onesie on over all the other clothes we wanted her to keep on to prevent the nightly striptease. Not long after, she unlocked the mystery of the onesie as well and we were back to square one. So we employed the use of everyone's favorite fix-it-all: duct tape. Yes, we strapped a large strip of duct tape across her diaper until she grew out of her desire to take it off.

We never experienced anything of the sort with Lily, in fact, quite the opposite. She is still the child who begs me to help her get dressed and put her shoes on, as if such tasks were too difficult for a three-year-old such as she.

Rachel seems to possess a little bit of the precociousness of her oldest sister. At nineteen months, she's mastered clothing removal but instead of taking off her diaper, she prefers to stick her hand inside it and bring us little treasures when we least expect them. Twice, in the last two days, as a matter of fact. So tonight, after the second precious gift, we quickly changed her diaper and employed Plan A. Onesie over the clothes. The difference between her and Anna though, is that once she figures out the onesie, Plan B won't do a bit of good. Unless... unless we tape the diaper to her skin at every possible opening. I think I have a Plan C.

Volume control.

Have you ever wished your kid had a volume control knob fastened to her? I do. All the time. Each of my girls has a talent for yelling/screaming but I think that Lily takes the cake. When she was two years old, I took her to storytime at the library and had to carry her out of the room because she was upset that Miss Tammy (the storyteller) hadn't shaken her hand during the hello song. It went something like this. I saw her looking awfully rejected and knew an outburst was imminent. I rushed to the front of the group to rescue everyone else from the displeasure of hearing her scream. I almost made it. She held her breath, almost to the point of turning blue (probably for close to ten seconds) before releasing it in the most shrill, high-pitched, mirror-shattering scream you've probably never heard. Ten seconds was not enough to remove her from the room. After storytime, another mother came up to me, thrilled that she had discovered another child who could scream with the same wretched volume as hers. I thought to myself, "I'm so glad that my embarrassment could be the source of your comfort."
I don't get embarrassed anymore. When we're at home, I ignore it. When we're in public, I take her from the room (and sometimes the building). I think the outbursts are decreasing in frequency. Maybe it's due to my outstanding parenting skills (hahaha). Truth be told though, I still dream of a volume control knob. Because now Lily has Rachel in training. And frankly, my ears can't take the damage.

Bringing the outside in.

It was over 100 degrees today. I thought I would spare our lilies the pain by cutting a few and arranging them in a vase. This is, perhaps, one of my favorite aspects of planting bulbs. Bringing the outside in, that is. I've learned a few tricks over the past 4 years of growing flowers. The first year I learned that you should never follow the directions on the packages about how far to space them apart. Always, always plant them closer. In fact, I especially like planting them in groupings so that each grouping looks much like its own little unique shrub.

The tough thing about bulbs is that you plant them with a perfect vision of how they will come up in the spring and summer and it never turns out quite like you planned. Sometimes you don't get the spacing right, sometimes the daffodils bloom earlier than you'd planned, and the tulips later so instead of having the yellow daffodils as a complement to the lavender tulips, you get something a bit more monochromatic than you'd expected. Sometimes you get so much rain in the springtime that the hyacinths drown before they've even had time to poke their fragrant heads through the soil. Augh. It's not an exact science. But, practice does make perfect and I'm finally starting to get somewhere. This fall my game plan is to inundate a few beds with more flowers than I can handle so that when I bring them in, the landscaping doesn't experience such a deep sense of loss.

I probably should spend my time on something more practical, like perfecting vegetable gardening (which I also love, by the way), but in the meantime, I'm enjoying my "free" bouquets of flowers throughout the spring and summer.

Rumor has it.

Okay, word is starting to get out around here so I'd better make it official. Baby #4 is on her way. Due January 15th.

So there you have it. I'll try not to make this pregnancy the focus of my blog for the next 6 months or so. But, considering it might very well be my last, I'm not making any promises.

She's done it again!

This afternoon I noticed Anna and Lily whispering to one another while playing quietly beside our patio. I questioned them over dinner why they were being so secretive, to which Anna asked, "Why do you think we were hiding something?" Tim said, "Because we can't even get you to whisper in church, so why would you feel the need to whisper when you're 20 feet from us?" Anna promised that they weren't hiding anything, so we left it at that.
Until after their bath tonight when Lily found an opportunity (Anna was out of earshot) to tell me that Anna had "pooed outside in the garden". Should have known. Our little excrement artist was hiding what only she does best. She explained herself: "Mom, we were pretending to be cats. They poo outside and bury it." I think we'll be setting some boundaries on just how far to take their pretend play. And soon. Otherwise, we might have a whole lot more than poo on our hands. Or in the dirt. Or whatever.

The rabbits ate them.

This afternoon I was out grilling hot dogs for dinner while the kids played in the yard. Anna came running, a distressed look on her face, and informed me that something had eaten the sunflowers we planted a few weeks ago. I walked to the spot and, indeed, something had clipped the leaves clean, leaving only about an inch or two of stem. She gasped, "Did the earwigs eat them?" I replied, "No, earwigs usually just nibble the leaves, this looks like some sort of an animal, maybe a rabbit." Still distraught, she was finally somewhat consoled when told that they still might grow back.
When Tim came home for dinner, I relayed the story to him in pretty much the same fashion and he kept asking where the sunflowers had been planted. After describing in great detail the spot we had chosen for our row of sunflowers, he suppressed a laugh. Later, after Anna had left the table, he whispered to me that he had chopped the sunflowers down with the weed-wacker the other night in preparation for a house showing. "I thought they were weeds!", he defended, amid peals of laughter. Weeds, in a perfect row, growing at the exact same rate with the exact same features...
Thanks, Dad, for destroying the kids' only experiment in gardening this summer. Weeds...

Summertime, and the livin' is easy.

So much to tell, so little time. I'm also finding a lack of inspiration at the end of such fun-ridden days. Just too darned tired. Why am I tired? Well, for starters, me and the kids have been running off to the park, the pool, the zoo, and Anna's dance camp for the last week. We go to the park largely because they provide a free sack lunch for the kids at 11:30 everyday. I'm pretty sure the whole thing is intended for kids who qualify for reduced lunch at school. But since they don't advertise it as such, and there's always more than enough lunches to go around, I take advantage of this "free" program. At least once or twice a week... can't help but see the irony in my picking up my kids free lunches at the park and jetting off to pick my oldest up from a somewhat expensive and rather unnecessary dance camp...I know, I'm a middle-class hypocrite.

Regardless, it's activities like these that make me fall in love with summer over and over again. Days full of carefree fun that wear the kids (and me!) out till they drop (but usually not before 10:00 at night, still). Truly one of the joys of parenting. To play, and play hard. And to wonder why the heck they are cranky all the time when I'm granting them their every desire. I guess my kids have their limits. They need food, they need naps, and they need to know what to expect. As soon as they lose one (or all?) of them, I'm left to deal with the aftermath. Which is exactly what we're going through right now. On tap for tomorrow: last day of dance camp, a trip to the zoo, quiet time (where has that gone?), and perhaps a dollar movie with dad. Have I told you how much I LOVE summer?

Camping with the neighbors.

Fortunately for us, we have neighbors who are much more avid campers than we and invite us to go with them so that we usually exceed our annual maximum of, oh, one time. It's not that Tim and I don't like camping. In fact, the first few years of our marriage we made sure to outfit ourselves amply to camp in (relative) comfort. Then, we organized it all into a few Rubbermaid totes so that we could pretty much just grab and go. Enter three stubborn, I'm-gonna-fight-sleep-till-I-keel-over-and-die children named Anna, Lily and Rachel. Which basically turns what might have been 5-6 hours of decent sleep (way less than the 8 hours Tim and I require) into anywhere in the ballpark of 2-5 hours.

Okay, so our camping history has been dotted with a few experiences that didn't make me want to slit my wrists. But only a few! Usually, I drive home while my kids sleep peacefully in the back seat and throw my exhausted, migraine-ridden, tear-stained self into bed without even showering, leaving the kids to fend for themselves while I get some shut-eye. So you can see why we cross our fingers and pray for mercy weeks before even venturing to a campground.

The thing is, we keep coming back for more torture. Idaho has some of the greatest campgrounds ever! We've fallen asleep to the bubbling sound of rivers, taken dips in hot springs, waded in shallow mountain streams, and gone paddle-boating in gorgeous high-country lakes. We've also enjoyed the company of great friends on several of these outings, an experience that just can't be bought.

It sounds pretty great when I put it that way. I just need to forget how exhausted it all makes me and remember how quick my children are to run to the car and buckle themselves in(!) as soon as I tell them it's time to go camping. It's totally worth it.

Last weekend, we went to Bruneau Dunes State Park with our neighbors. There, you can find the tallest single-structured sand dunes in North America and an outdoor observatory where we got to view Saturn, the moon, and other exciting celestial objects. As Anna put it, "I can see space!" Our site had electricity, so I indulged myself in bringing my Aerobed, allowing me to sleep in circumstances as close to home as one can expect when you're in a tent and the wind chill factor is close to 40 degrees outside. The next day we slid down the dunes on our family tobaggan and basked in the sun on our makeshift "beach". The food was good, the company was good, the sleep was halfway decent, and I think we might have actually started this year's camping season off on the right foot. Thanks to great neighbors for pushing us.

Phew!

It's a new day and I'm a new woman! I live my life like this: "If I can just get past this event, then I'll be home free", or "Life will be easier when I'm done with... (fill-in-the blank)". Is anyone else like this? Not surprisingly, there is always another event, another obligation, another assignment hanging over my head as soon as I'm through with the last. So the so-called "break" never really materializes.
Today, I think I may actually be enjoying the reprieve I have longed for. Last night, Anna graduated from Joy School. I taught the last week of school, hosted the ceremonies at my house last night, and, as group leader, was basically in charge of all logistics for the entire year. (Not to minimize what the other moms did, because I could not have survived without them!) Still, when the last person exited our home last night, I felt an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. Why? Because I have basically nothing going on for the next two months. Sure, I have a primary lesson to prepare every week, visiting teaching to do, a house to maintain, oh yeah, and three cute kids to care for. Just basic maintenance, though. Personally, I'm crossing my fingers.

Trip back in time.

I think I've established a pattern. You see, it takes me about 11 years to return to a former hometown after having moved on. In 1988, my family moved away from Hong Kong for good. My next visit was in 1999, on the way home from my mission in Taiwan. I lived in Boston for my first two years of college and was last there in the spring of 1997. I did not make it back until this past weekend, 2008. I'm not sure why it is that I allow so much time to elapse before revisiting the fond memories and friendships that were created in these places. All I know is, after this weekend, I am determined to not let it happen again.
Here's how it all went down (minus some untaken pictures, since I have also made it a habit to only take pictures of my family, who did not join me for my trip): I spent Saturday reconnecting with a couple of old friends, one a former roommate, and the other a former singing buddy from my a cappella group. I know it's cliche, but it was as if not a day had passed since last seeing them. We were able to instantly reconnect as if we did not have ten years, master's degrees, careers, marriage, and children under our belts. It was great to see you guys!

I enjoyed a long nap after church on Sunday, a rarity at my house and then bounced out the door to revisit my old stomping grounds at BU. Sadly, the GSU, where I ate many of my meals, sang in a number of Terps performances and logged dozens of hours in my job at the Student Activities Office, was closed for summer hours. I got a nice little shot of the old Wellness House, strolled down Comm. Ave., circled Fenway Park (pretty much a stone's throw from my old house), and jumped on the T to head out to Harvard Square where I used to attend Sunday meetings.

A bit concerned that I had forgotten how to get to the chapel, I expected to ask directions of some innocent pedestrian. As I exited the Harvard Square T stop, though, it was if the automatic pilot kicked in and, after a few intuitive steps and turns, I ended up across the street from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's house, where the LDS chapel sits. Tours of Longfellow's house had ended for the day, so I resigned myself to a self-guided tour of the grounds and a token shot of the front.

I slept in Monday morning, as per my husband's request that I actually vacation instead of run myself ragged and then headed out with my former mission companion (with whom I was staying) to tackle the Freedom Trail. We kicked it off with a visit to Chinatown, where we indulged in mango bubble tea, a type of pureed mango smoothie with small glutenous rice balls called zhen zhu. Mmmm. Taiwan revisited. It ended with a delicious pasta dinner in the North End, the Boston area's Italian neighborhood, and a canoli from Mike's Pastries. That was one Boston memory I was more than happy to revive.

Tuesday we fit in a drive to Concord, where we toured the Old Manse, a house owned by the Emerson family (as in Ralph Waldo) that had Nathaniel Hawthorne and his new bride as its renters for 3 years. History written all over that building, literally. Walked across the site of the battle at Lexington and Concord, drove around Walden Pond, visited the graves of some literary greats; it was a history and literature lover's paradise.

I love Boston. And I love the memories I made there. Two of the most poignant feelings I had while there were these:

1. I'm no longer 18 years old. With several years of experiences under my belt, I think I enjoyed myself more fully even than I did as a carefree youngster. Oh, and the extra spending money didn't hurt either.

2. I wanted my family there with me. It was especially nice to not have to cater to naptimes and tantrums. But I also kept thinking how much Tim would have loved this, or Anna would have loved that and it made me realize that the people with whom we make memories are far more valuable than the places in which we make them. I was glad that my friends filled the void with good conversation. Next time, I'm bringing the fam. Next time will hopefully not be 11 years from now.