Completely unrelated.

"Mom, you take care of everyone and Dad is just a big kid." - Lily

Every once in a while I have the urge to waste some time (can you believe it?). I hadn't checked out this baby in forever. Mormon satire at its best. I canned working on my Relief Society lesson for a half hour to enjoy it. Talk about inspiration.

Peanut butter really does get gum out of hair.

My 9-month old won't hold a bottle.

If you've been reading my blog for some time, you may recall that the early weeks after my fourth daughter was born were trying, at best. Not being able to nurse her was upsetting to me on a number of different levels, but one of the main reasons was that I felt guilty for not being capable of providing for her what my three other daughters had enjoyed: a full year of breastfeeding. As a parent, I try hard to make things as fair as possible, and it made me sad that, from the get-go, Eve was starting out on unequal footing with her three older sisters.

Anyway, I decided that, even though breastfeeding was not going to work for us, I would try to mimic the experience as best I could. I was the one who woke up in the middle of the night to feed her. Until she was about 6 months old, I fed her 95% of the time. And I never, ever propped her up with a bottle (okay, maybe once, but I was desperate). I even tried to bring her places when I didn't absolutely have to, because, had she been nursing, I would have had to. I just felt like, if she couldn't nurse, at least she could enjoy some of the benefits of it (mommy bonding, that is).

So here we are, at 9 months of age, and my baby has no desire to hold her own bottle! She's capable, I think, though I wouldn't know because she's never really tried. So I'm not forcing the issue. If she wants to be held, I'm perfectly willing. Until she's a year old, and then we're pulling the plug, just like we did with the other three.

The pure love of Christ.

It's pretty much the same every day. She emerges from the gates of the school, scans the parking lot, then smiles slightly with reassurance that the white minivan awaits her. I step out of the car, wave and inch forward to greet her with a hug, and kiss, and a "How was school today?" She avoids me, instead running toward the car but she never makes it, for I know this is coming and have already swept her up into my arms while she fights tooth and nail for freedom.

I've tried to be good-natured about it. But today, I had already suffered through a "quiet time" where my dreams of a 20-minute power nap had been trampled by the tantrums of two overtired (yet fighting sleep) preschoolers, who consequently woke up their baby sister after a mere 30 minutes of slumber. I was in no mood for my oldest daughter to treat me like dirt... again. So instead of teasing her while I forced a hug from her fighting arms, I near-strangled her, whispering threateningly into her ear, "If you can't give me a hug when I pick you up from school, you'll start walking."

I punished her with silence when we got back to the car - sometimes the urge to grow up and forgive easily can't find its way past the hurt. She asked for a cookie. I curtly turned her down. As if that wasn't enough, she immediately jumped out of the car and sped across the lawn at the sight of a teacher from church. She hugged her and chatted for a moment, beaming all the while. I saw a different person in her from my forlorn seat behind the wheel. Why couldn't she find me worthy of the same treatment?

I'm well aware that some children stomp all over the ones who love them most, reserving only their best faces for those who, albeit kind and loving, are less deserving of the affection they receive. This particular child of mine is particularly difficult to love. And on this particular day, I felt betrayed. I sulked one last moment. Then I asked why she could be so nice to Sister P. when she repeatedly turns down my efforts to deliver affection. Lily (not the one in question) piped up from the back seat, "Sister P. is nicer than you, Mom."

Yes, I suppose she is. But how many times has Sister P. wiped your bum? When have you ever told her you wouldn't do something she politely asked? How many times has she had to remind you to wash your hands? How many bedtime stories has she read you? How many backscratches has she given you? When has she ever had to deal with your rude comments about how disgusting dinner is?

I could go on and on. Alas. This is parenthood. It requires a love unlike any other. I like to call it charity.

Dessert for breakfast.

We've added a new item to our breakfast menu around here. I love it that the makers of Nutella tout the fact that it's made with skim milk. Give me a break. Chocolate is chocolate. Spread it on a slice of whole wheat toast and it's still chocolate. But Lily loves it. And she lets me spread it on a slice of whole wheat toast and call it breakfast. Now, if I can only suppress my urge to delight in a spoonful during my afternoon lull...

Sometimes.

Sometimes, even when there's dinner to be cooked, even when the to-do list is calling, even when homework rests tucked away in an unopened backpack, it's time to take advantage of the few hours of daylight left and hit the pavement with all four girls.








Oh, it was SO worth it.

Sing. Sing a song.

There are three items in my life that I can't seem to hold onto. First, crockpots. I've owned several and they always manage to get lost. Two, Carpenter's Greatest Hits. My first album disappeared sometime while I was in Taiwan (or it's very possible that I sold it before my mission for a little extra cash and have no memory of the experience - gasp!) Tim replaced it by giving me another copy for my birthday right after we were engaged. I loaned it to a friend who wanted to burn a few songs. Yep, you guessed it. Never returned it. Tim gave it to me, yet again, for my birthday and it fell through the cracks within a year after having my third child. They say the third child kills you, but in my case, I survived and the Carpenter's did not.
Until two days ago. I peeked in the inside pocket of a CD wallet we own (yes, we still use those around here) and lo, and behold, I found my old friend hanging out and looking a bit lonely. What a glorious moment. Karen Carpenter, voice like chocolate, has made her way back into my life. Ahhhh.
Oh, and the third thing that slips through the cracks repeatedly? Too personal to mention.

Big families make me smile.

I have dreams of an enormous family - 6 kids minimum. Gosh, the whole idea just makes me feel warm and fuzzy. But then I consider my kids. How difficult they are at times. And then I affix myself as the mother of said large family. And it just doesn't work. Having said that, by today's standards, I haven't been slacking off in the child-bearing department and, as a mother of four young children, I have noticed a few advantages to having a larger-than-average family.

They are:

1. Parents, by necessity, teach their children to be indpendent and self-sufficient. Ah, I remember the days of buckling three car seats a billion times per day. Now there's only one. That's right, one. I just decided one day that one was all I could handle. And the kids followed suit. (Sure, I had to fight Lily tooth and nail, but it was worth every power struggle, I tell you).

2. The sense of entitlement that is so prevalent in today's society is largely subdued. No man is an island - a much easier principle to learn when you're not the only person in the universe. Or in the family, as the case may be.

3. Built-in friendships. I was talking to Rachel yesterday about who her friends are. I listed a few kids she has spent time with and asked her with which one she would like to schedule a playdate. She responded in the affirmative to not a single one. To which I inquired, "Well, who are your friends?" She responded, "Lily and Anna (her sisters)." Adorable.

There's more. So much more. Like the fact that our house is never empty and quiet(or clean, for that matter, but that's beside the point). It's full, so full of laughter (and tears), playing (and fighting), music (and screaming). I don't have to wonder whether or not all the hard work will pay off when the kids are grown and a good night's sleep is no longer a luxury. It's paying off right here, right now. I love my big (and yet, little) family.

Birthdays, mission reunions, and lost teeth.

Last weekend we congregated at my parents' house in celebration of their 60th birthdays (the two of them are only 9 days apart, how handy). It was a great excuse to get together. All the siblings except my sister Jill, who's serving a mission in Tennessee were there (and my cousin Leah just happened to be in town, too) so we made a weekend of it. We treated them to a birthday lunch, cake and ice cream, a getaway to Park City for the two of them, and a keepsake DVD with an assortment of pictures from 1975 to present. It was fun and makes me look forward to many more get-togethers with the whole fam damily.

I conveniently had a mission reunion that Friday night as well and, though the turn-out was not outstanding, was so thrilled to see some of my favorite sisters and elders from my time in Taiwan. It was such a life-altering experience for me and I was so happy to see how we've all grown up and taken our committment to the gospel of Jesus Christ and run with it. These are some of my most cherished friends and I'm proud to associate with them. It was a short and intimate gathering, but surely not a disappointment.

The rest of the weekend was filled with General Conference, Conference and more Conference. I love hearing the words of living prophets and apostles, but I must say that I'd rather listen to them from my own living room than my parents'. I figured, if I was going to be in Utah, I darn well better be visiting people. But two-hour breaks in between sessions just didn't afford us that luxury. Sigh. Guess it will have to wait until Thanksgiving. Nonetheless, the kids behaved themselves quite well - allowing us to receive instruction and inspiration. General Conference never disappoints.

Last, but not least, Anna lost her first tooth! The day we all left to return home, she twisted it out amid the encouragement of the entire extended family. She started feeling the pressure as soon as uncle Eric broke out the pliers. Yikes! What a memory it was. The tooth fairy in our neighborhood was on the ball and snuck some money under her pillow long after her (and her mother) had gone to bed. Thanks tooth fairy, phew!

Great weekend. I love you all, family and friends!

Recipe for depression.

Too many mint brownies the night before.
A middle of the night awakening (for two hours).
4 kids who wake up late, unhappy and dragging their feet.
1 child who drags her feet enough to earn her a trip to her bedroom instead of Joy School.
One stressed-over-work husband.
First day of menstrual cycle. (Is it just me, or are periods after children SO much worse?)

Mix it all together and it makes for one depressing morning. Oh, please let this day get better.