Too busy.

Isn't everyone? I love blogging - it's truly a release for me. But there are weeks that it just doesn't fit into the schedule. Inspiration comes and goes - when I actually have the time to ponder life as I'm living it, I'm either feeding Eve or wiping Rachel's bum. Take your pick. By the time I get to sit down at the computer at night, my writing material has faded into the oblivion that is my brain so that the hilarity that is my life remains unrecorded (and probably for the best, since most of my posts would probably entail a large degree of potty language).

That being said, here's what we've been up to, in a nutshell.

Joy School! I'm group leader for the fourth year in a row and I'm always astounded by the sheer amount of time and energy it requires. But that's only because I actually like to do a good job. Maybe I should tone down my organizational skills. Still, I can't wait! We've got seven kids in our group this year - which means six great moms to work with and six great weeks in between each time I teach. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE teaching, but I'm also looking forward to the time I'll get to spend with Rachel and Eve while Lily is away for a couple of hours. Library trips, puzzles, games, etc. We've got big plans, yeah.

Anna starts first grade tomorrow. Bittersweet, for sure. I've waffled a bit about whether or not public school is the right thing for her and came to the conclusion that it is, for now. I may have to blog a bit more about my research into homeschooling over the past month or so, but for now, I'll just say that I'm sticking with the status quo unless I see any obvious reasons to do otherwise.
We've reinstituted the mother of all bike trailers (see picture) and are looking forward to the regular exercise.



My mom and my niece came up last week for a few days; then my dad stopped in for a night to steal them away from us. It being our last week of summer, we hit the beach (at the lake, of course), the pool, the zoo, the park, and McDonalds for half-price Happy Meals. Five girls is definitely better than four. Well, at least with my parents around to help out. Thanks Danny and Annie for letting us borrow your little cutie and thanks Dad and Mom for doing all the work!

Here's to a new school year! Wish me luck getting everyone ready and loaded by 8:15 tomorrow morning!

I'm in print.

Hooray! I finally found a site for printing blogs that suits me perfectly. I don't have to worry about tons of reformatting, comments are included, and it took me less than 30 minutes to print 2 years worth of material. Can't wait to print 2009.

Scriptures are boring.

My dear little six-year old recently told me that she no longer hates quiet time (the hour, or two, or three each afternoon in which the kids either nap or read quietly in their rooms). "I love reading!" she exclaims.
I think it's great. Except for the time I had to run to my neighbor's house for a few good books to keep her satisfied until the Bookmobile came round again. I just can't keep up. I've encouraged her to read the Book of Mormon when she runs out of material, to which she responds, "The scriptures are boring." I can't argue. A six-year-old can only tolerate so many "and it came to pass"es before they throw in the towel.
So I came up with a plan. I bought a box set of Katie Kazoo Switcheroo books (which I know she LOVES) and told her she had to earn them. Every ten chapters she reads in the scriptures earns her a Katie Kazoo book (after a quiz to test comprehension, of course). Perhaps giving a book as a reward for reading another book that is so much better (but harder to plug through) is a bit counterintuitive, but at least it helps her build the habit, right? I also promised her that if she reads the entire Book of Mormon before she turns 8, we will give her her very own set of scriptures, leather bound, inscripted, with a cherry on top. Sounds good on paper - we'll see if she actually gets to it.

On another note - turns out Lily is learning to read in a different fashion than her older sister. Different kids, different learning styles, I suppose. We found a pretty great learning-to-read set of books at Costco that is simple, focusing on basic phonics and sight words while still telling a story that engages even the most emergent readers. It's been fun. She's even asked to take them to bed with her. Lily's always been a little bookworm, but it appears she's finally catching the vision of decoding the words instead of just guessing at the content based on pictures and first letters. I love watching my children learn - makes me want to homeschool. But that's a topic for another day.

Summertime.

As we bid farewell to summertime in just two short weeks, here's a sampling of what we've been up to.

Growing these:


And these:


Learning new skills like:
Sitting up.

And eating solids.

And flipping pancakes.



Building useless structures behind the property line at dusk.








Visiting family in Utah.



On rainy days we:

Made baby food.


And played with playdough.


On sunny ones we:

Played water games.



And tie-dyed on the back patio.



And played so hard we failed to take pictures of all the action.

Here's to a truly awesome summer. I'll miss it. But I'll be happy when earlier sunsets ease my children into bed at reasonable hours. I'm exhausted.

Running away.

There were no fireworks, no dramatic outbursts, no wild threatenings. Just a quiet slipping out the back door, a bag slung over the shoulder filled to the brim with clothes, a blanket, the Book of Mormon, a chapter book, and leftover chicken soup. The other arm lugged a pillow through the drizzle, across drenched fields of sagebrush and morning glory to her chosen spot. "Mom won't even notice", she imagined, supposing that I'd fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the goings on in my own house. She forgot how keen a mother's instinct can be - I had (for the first time in months) left my window open to allow a fresh backyard breeze to trickle through the house that sullen rainy day. My ears barely detected the soft clicking of the backdoor handle and thought little of it. Until Eve uncharacteristically awoke mid-nap and, before descending the stairs to feed her, I poked my head in Anna's room to find her missing.

I found my way to the backyard, peered around the sides of our house, calling her name at first quietly, then increasing in volume with the realization that she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps I missed her, I thought, and retreated back indoors, asking Lily if she knew where Anna was. Becoming more frantic by the moment, I contemplated calling the police, for although six-year-olds have been known to hide from their mothers, I felt, somehow, that she was not safe inside the confines of these walls and my imagination ran wild at the possibilities. One last check of the backyard, and several calls over the fence into the common area yielded some results. A faint sob, mingled with a pitter and a patter, and then another. And another. Then a small figure rising above the small hill just 50 yards behind our property line. Her load was heavy, her shoulders slumped beneath the weight of her bag and her melancholy spirit.

I ushered her inside, snapped a quick picture, then gave her a towel to wrap around her soaked pants and placed her on the lap she has almost outgrown. We talked. She'd been feeling overlooked and had planned to "run away" for a few days. Upon arriving beneath the tree that was to be her home for a period, she became overwhelmed by how much she missed me, turned right back around, and headed home. She blubbered through her retelling of the events as I resisted the urge to overreact, stroked her hair and reassured her of my love. Within minutes, all was well.

Then I unleashed the lecture about how frightful this world can be, how dangerous it is to go somewhere alone without telling anyone. I reminded her how no one would care for her as we do, in fact, quite the opposite, and forced a promise that she would never make herself as vulnerable to those who would harm her as she had that afternoon. We discussed other ways of responding to feeling unloved, and I prayed that all was not falling on deaf ears.

I ran away when I was her age. I tucked myself away inside a cardboard box beside the house with a box of Cheerios. I sat for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for someone to notice I was gone, though comfortable in the warmth of the dryer vent against which I had nestled my makeshift home. So Anna's experience seemed like a normal reaction to typical childhood emotions and the inability to find words or the guts to simply say, "I'm not feeling very loved today."

25 years later, I can't help but feel sad that my daughter's impetuousness poses much graver consequences than mine might have. Fortunately, this time, the end result was a sweet reunion enjoyed by both mother and daughter. Next time? Well, I'm praying there won't be a next time. Which is why I took a picture.

If you were in my shoes.

I will be without my kids for four hours this week (without having to pay or obligate someone, I might add). This is big for me. Real big. I'm embarrassed at the uncontrollable giddyness I feel. What should I do?

1. Curl up with a good book.
2. Clean my house from top to bottom and revel in it for a few minutes before the little rascals come home and it gets destroyed again.
3. Go out to lunch with Tim and then come home for a nap.
4. Spend some uninterrupted time with my sewing machine.
5. Watch soaps and eat bon bons.

I'm open for suggestions, and I'll let you know how it goes.

Lest I forget.

Each day is filled with moments, moments that I want to catch and carry in my pocket. If there were a blog post for each of these moments, I'd have a dozen daily entries. Needless to say, I fail to make a record of each and every cherished but sadly forgettable moment. Life never seems to slow down enough to plop in front of the computer so that our todays may be remembered when the kids are grown and the fatigue of raising them has withered away into longing for younger, simpler years.

I try to relish my children's youth in the here and now, but just in case I need a little pick-me-up when they no longer fit on my lap, their cheeks are less kissable, and their thighs less squeezable (or more, as the case may be), I want to capture my Rachel as I have observed her today, an irresistible two and three-quarters year old.

She loves her daddy. He gives her a hug and a kiss before stepping out the door each morning only to hear her come running out crying for another show of affection. Screaming, actually. The front of his pants bear the stains of each messy hug she has given him during his lunch hour, or when he arrives home just after we've begun a sloppy meal of spaghetti.

I love the way her walk is more of a dance, or a skip, or a hop. I wonder if she'll ever grow out of the toddling stage. I hope not. But her forehead (and the permanent gooseegg it carries) will thank her.

She's fiercely independent, demanding that you let her climb on the counters to retrieve her own cup, walk it over to the ice and water dispenser in the fridge, and fill it to the brim. In the next moment, she asks if you can carry her upstairs for quiet time.

When her turn to say a prayer on behalf of the family, it's more like a list, telling Heavenly Father exactly what we did that day, what we're about to eat, and how we're planning on spending the rest of the evening, sometimes including which book she's picked out for Daddy to read.

Rachel loves order. She has to have all the memory cards face-down in the same direction. When she was one, she used to line up cars, or Little People animals, or puzzle pieces in a straight row. True to her age, it's difficult to convince her that cleaning up is more fun than moving on to the next activity, but once she's begun she has an intuition I haven't seen in many kids to pursue a cleaning task to its completion. She will not give up until every last object is returned to its proper place.

What a helper she is! She's the first to respond when I ask for help setting the table, she scrambles upstairs at the first hint of a cry from Eve waking from her nap, anxious to replace her binky, and she runs to put on her flip-flops when Tim asks who wants to join him for a run to Home Depot.

She mispronounces tons of words. Your-gut (yogurt), Fwidge (fridge), Melk (milk). "Hold you me!" is still one of her most-used phrases.

Being a third child has made her a daredevil. Seems strange that just a year ago she freaked out when anyone would try to spin her around or fail to climb the stairs to the monkey slide at the zoo because the platform had holes in it revealing the ground ten or so feet below. Today, she dives underwater during every bath or trip to the pool. Without plugging her nose.

Rachel, you may prefer your daddy. But your mother's love for you is unrivaled.

Worst-case scenario.

Rachel has been sick, feverish, and just plain whiny off and on for the past two weeks. She started out with an unexplained fever two weeks ago before we headed off to visit my family for a few days. She sustained a minor foot injury there, which prolonged the agony for another week, after which the fever picked up again where it left off at 102 while she complained of a sore throat. We had a brief respite before she woke up at 6:30 this morning with a tummyache. I had spent the entire night battling a migraine - super fun. I mostly ignored her claims, until she woke up only ten minutes into her afternoon nap, curled up in a ball and crying inconsolably. I gently pressed on her stomach to find out where it hurt and she flinched in pain when I hit the lower left hand side.

My first thought: it's appendicitis. It had to be. I spent a few minutes on the internet, plugging in symptoms to search for a diagnosis, thus fueling my assumptions. Appendicitis it was. I called the doctor, who told me to bring her in right away.

You see, Tim and I like to throw money at the doctor. A $10 copay, or, as in the case of x-raying Rachel's foot when she was still limping on it days after she took a spill, $100 is the price we like to pay for peace of mind. It sounds crazy, but when you have vivid memories of being stuck in Tokyo traffic on the way to the emergency room with a burst appendix (after being sent home from the doctor earlier that day), you would do anything to avoid putting your child through that kind of agony. I don't remember much else about being seven years old. Just that miserable car ride.

Needless to say, there's no appendicitis. But I'm not holding my breath. Because tomorrow when she wakes up with a rash, it will be typhoid. Just wait.

Night at the cannery.

We haven't had a good breastfeeding post in a while, so what the heck.
I hate the fact that I'm not nursing Eve. Have I ever mentioned that? I put on a good face most of the time, because, let's face it, as far as challenges go, it's really a ridiculous reason to cry (especially six months after making the agonizing switch to formula). Notwithstanding, after tenderly nursing the first three of my children for a year each it's been an adjustment, both logistical and emotional.

Breastfeeding just agrees with so many things I value. Convenience, frugality, lack of waste, time, giving my children what is best, etc.

Nevertheless, it is what it is. I have a few moments of upset such as the time earlier this week when I was treating my children to the free family film at Edwards. Eve was tired. The movie was loud. She wouldn't sleep. She screamed. I tried to pacify her. The binkie didn't work. She wasn't hungry. I lamented the fact that if she were nursing I could plug her into the one failproof fix that would lull her to sleep. But I couldn't. I grieved again.

In contrast, I also try to balance that with the blessings I have seen because of that fateful decision just a few months ago. I find most of them in the lessons I've learned, because I still would not have chosen this road, had the circumstances been different. Still, I am grateful that I don't have to force a feeding on my child 10 minutes before running out the door and rush back within 2 hours because the baby won't take a bottle. I'm glad I didn't have to wait 6 months after giving birth before attending the temple at the risk of having an embarrassing letdown. More recently, though, I can marvel that my husband gets a small glimpse of the sacrifice it is to nurture an infant.

Last night, I served in the local church cannery (another experience that I may have missed out on, had I been nursing). After arriving home, covered in syrup and apricots, I headed for the shower and emerged to find Tim feeding Eve. He remarked that he never understood how difficult it is to stop everything you're doing to appease a hungry baby. That had always been my job. After taking care of all four children last night, including interrupting whatever else was going on to feed Eve, he got a glimpse of what it is to be a mother, in a way that he never had before, because even if he had shouldered every other burden, he could always pass the feeding off to me. For that I was grateful. Not because I could rub in his face the fact that I had done more than he for the past 6 years. But because I could see the increased love he felt for our children, the natural byproduct of giving all to meet the needs of another.

Bargain hunting.

Arrange the babysitter. Check.
Organize all the coupons. Check.
Feed the baby, put the kids in their rooms for quiet time, pick up babysitter. Check, check, check.

Anna and I were off to the mall. We needed a bit of mother-daughter time and, since she now has an opinion about what she wears, I saw the perfect opportunity. I was equipped with a 30% off Gap/Old Navy coupon, a 15% off JC Penney coupon, 20% off Gymboree - all of which could only be used this weekend. We shopped till we dropped. My ears could not believe it when Anna said, after our final stop at Old Navy, "Mom, I think we've got enough clothes now." The icing on the cake? It was National Cheesecake Day. We walked over to Cheesecake Factory for a bit of White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle and a slice of Godiva Chocolate and walked out with a minimal bill, a box to share with Dad and little sisters, and two coupons for a free slice of cheesecake with a $30 purchase. Guess where we'll be going for our anniversary? Oh, and the best part of that is that I already have a stash of $30 in Cheesecake Factory gift cards just itching to be used up.
Ah, I love a good bargain.
We spent a lot of money. A person like me is bound to feel a bit of buyer's remorse. But we're officially clothed until next spring. Even Dad.

Hair today...

What is it with little girls and scissors? I caught my two oldest cutting Barbie's hair this morning. Then, this afternoon when I gave Rachel a pair of scissors and some paper, and made her repeat after me, "We only use scissors to cut PAPER", she cut plenty of paper, and a huge chunk of her hair, too.
Rachel's had a mullet since she started growing hair. She was finally to the point where it was almost one length. I guess she likes the mullet-look. I could have paid someone to do a cute little A-line do to salvage what was left after she took the scissors to the side of her head. But I can't bring myself to pay money to make my two-year old look any less stupid and mischievous than she really is. So I trimmed it up myself. Now, if only the next year until it grows out could go just a wee bit faster...





This was before I played hairdresser. I haven't been able to get a good picture of her since. She's been running a fever and won't cooperate. Go figure.