Merry AND Bright

Where we live:

Sat

24°F | 22°F

Sun

38°F | 21°F

Mon

31°F | 20°F

Tue

27°F | 19°F

Where we're going:

Sat

75°F | 48°F

Sun

67°F | 45°F

Mon

72°F | 45°F

Tue

73°F | 45°F

We Believe

At our house we tend to believe in magic. Sometimes it gets a little out of control even. Way too much magic happening. And then there's the youngest in the house. He wants nothing to do with the magic; and especially dislikes Santa Claus. At first I thought he just didn't like the Christmas books with Santa. Then I thought it typical of my "shy-in-public" child to not want to go see Santa or sit on his knee or tell him what he wants for Christmas. But no, he really doesn't want Santa to come to our house AT ALL. In fact he prays every night for Santa to NOT come to our house. He does NOT want his stocking filled with candy and toys and he does NOT want any presents because, he claims, he has enough toys in his house already.

Santa doesn't get a lot of credit at our house. For Christmas our children get three gifts each from us: gold (what they want the most), frankincense (something for their body or mind) and myrrh (a religious gift they open on Christmas Eve). Santa has typically filled the kids' stocking and brought a family gift. This year he is bringing them each their own gift. But still, much smaller than their gold gift. We like to take the credit of knowing and giving to our kids!

Tonight we were talking about Christmas being the celebration of Jesus' birth - like His birthday. Our youngest piped up that Jesus does not want to invite Santa to His birthday. I suppose the real reason for the season is enough for him, and he doesn't need all the fluff and magic to make it special. We'll see how he feels about not wanting presents on Christmas morning. (He already had to buy himself a pack of gum when he picked gum as his presents for all his siblings!)
Merry Christmas. No matter what you believe.

I didn't choose depression; it chose me

The first time I experienced depression was when I was a brand new young mother. Severe postpartum depression was the worst sort of initiation into motherhood. And the worst of it was that we didn't know what was wrong with me. We, meaning my husband and I. We tried to keep it hidden from anyone else, since we didn't know what it was. I think we mostly succeeded. Though I do remember a new visiting teacher coming to visit me during that time and saying, "I've heard that you used to be normal before you had your baby." So apparently it wasn't as hidden as I thought.

This time I know. I know what's wrong, and I know what needs to be done. It's still hard. And really it totally sucks. But I'm less afraid to share what I'm going through. Sometimes I don't know what to say. Sometimes I don't know how to tell someone I really don't want to get out of bed and have a playdate... but I'm trying. Trying to be honest with myself and others that this is hard. My husband is reading all the support materials and online forums he can to know what is me and what is my depression. And that's helpful. He knows he needs to get me off the couch, even when I beg to stay unshowered and in my pjs. I almost always feel better once I get up and out - even without any make-up on. My Mom sent me some books. My first impression was that I was embarrassed that these books were for me. Embarrassed that I can't just snap out of this, and also scared that I would find myself in these books. But I'm searching for recovery, and I'll take all the help I can get.

I have some pretty good reasons to want to get better:
Recovering is the most and the least selfish thing I can do.

Reading with my Three Year Old

I wish I had gotten this on video- or at least the audio. There's always tomorrow.

Here's what it's typically like reading to my little guy. This was just ONE of the many books we went through today... and this was a short one. His comments are in bold. He talks constantly, and more than I even read!

I am a ...
a puppy. Him's a puppy.
I am a Puppy.
Yup. A puppy. That's a dog. A baby dog. Hims parents are dead. Yeah. Dead.
I am a puppy. My name is Bruno.
That's not a good name. I don't like that name.
I am a beagle.
Look there's a squirrel thing popping up.
Him wants to eat that bird.
Hims parents are not dead. They're gone with the other kids.
Oh look - that's the mom. There's the mom chasing him.
I like to play with my friends. Sometimes we run across the fields.
Sometimes we wrestle and roll around.
Yeah. That's fun. Fun with hims mom. Hims dad is dead.
Whenever I find something nice I bring it home.
Is that hims shoe? Him needs to put ON hims shoe.
In the summer, I swim in the creek.
I like to swim. That's a froggy.
In the winter, I play in the snow.
ME TOO! That's a bunny. Hims chasing the bunny.
But best of all, I like to explore. I creep through bushes. I crawl behind rocks. (This was the only page I got through without interruption.)
Once I met a skunk. Luckily, he was friendly.
Hims a stinker. There's that squirrel thing.
Once I met -
Hims scared of the big dogs.
Once I met some big dogs. They turned out to be friendly, too.
Them not. They mean.
Ouch. (I turned the page on his finger) That hurt. That your fault.
Every time I get myself dirty I have to take a bath. I HATE BATHS.
Yeah. Him hates baths. That's a bad word. Him want to get out of that thing. (We used to change that bad word to "not like" but the readers in the house haven't caught on when they read to him, so now he can't be tricked!)
And every night, I curl up in my bed and go to sleep.
There's that fire guy. See... that's the fire guy. Him doesn't see him. Hims invisible. Fire guys come at night and they're invisible. Some are good and some are bad. I'll shoot the bad fire guys. (Check out the fire guy... I didn't know what he was talking about, so I had him point it out!)
I be right back with more books for you to read to me under the cold covers.

Here he is... this time quiet:

God kept ringing my doorbell

I am making a switch in meds right now and I forget that it takes a while for things to kick in. So I will wait a little longer and hope for the best, otherwise I may be making the switch back. I think this can account for my recent slump. Thankfully I conquered my finals and finished my semester before plummeting once again. And the plummet is not as bad, but still exhausting and draining.

It felt so good to read so many of your thoughtful comments. There is a part of depression where even knowing you are loved and there are people who support you doesn't help a bit, and then there is the part where you crave knowing until you can really feel it. And I am starting to feel it. During some of my darkest days, there were random friends who came out of the woodwork and made me feel loved. Often when you know someone is going through something you don't understand, it's hard to know what to do. I struggle with knowing how to help someone who has lost someone in death. Depression is equally mysterious, and I've learned that sometimes the best way to help someone is to simply do anything. You don't have to say much. Do what you do best, and that person will feel loved. I had two friends ring my doorbell and bring me a nutritious and delicious meal. Another friend stopped by with a yummy treat. And during a day when my son had had a potty accident and cleaning up that mess seemed like a mountain to climb, my doorbell rang and someone brought me flowers that they claim they saw and made them think of me. The day was still hard, but I could accomplish my small task at hand, and I knew that God would help me because He made someone come to tell me He loved me.

I think that's what Christmas is all about. Not the hustling and bustling, but finding simple and sweet ways to share His love. Because God loves us and gave to us His Son. I hope we can all feel His love and find ways to share it this Christmas season.

Hanging in There

After a month of being on my medication I had a follow-up with my doctor. Things were better and easier, but still not great. I was getting tired of saying each week "well, this is just a hard week." My anxiety symptoms were overwhelming. Some of you can, but imagine having your jaw clenched tight all day long and having to literally open it up to try to relax a bit. On top of that, I have series of numbers repeating themselves constantly in my mind, while my fingers continuously type the last word I hear, say or see. It's exhausting. We decided to up my dosage and another month later also make a switch to another type of medication. There are side-affects I don't enjoy, but on the whole I think I am doing a little better. Time will tell.

Yesterday was a bad day, however, and I find myself wondering and praying for help to know what to do to want to get better. I remember a person I used to be and sometimes I think I am her, but more often than not I can't summon the energy to try, and I wonder what will become of me if I can't try.

The worst of all of this is that I know in reality that my lot in life is supreme. I can't complain, or at least I shouldn't. And I HATE that I feel this way and can't function the way I want to. It's similar to when I was on bedrest with my last pregnancy. There was so much I wanted to do and knew that I could, and yet I just had to sit there and let a lot of things pass by. I want to be fully present. I want to enjoy my life, my family and Christmas. I want to want to do things and I would really like if it came naturally. For now I'm just doing my best and trying not to let the guilt of all that I can't do overcome me and freeze me up entirely. Maybe I will give everyone some guilt this Christmas and then I won't have any left for myself.

On a happy note, because I have to find things to make me smile - my son had crazy hair day in his class recently. The week prior he had been star of the week and had brought in pictures of the "jayhawk" haircut he gave himself when he was younger. It made him famous at school apparently. So, good parents that we are, we let him sport his jayhawk haircut to school to please his fans. He came home early that day sick, but pleased that he had been able to show off his invention once again. (It's now all the same length again!!!)

2008 "Jayhawk"

2011 "Jayhawk"

The Final Chapter

Our family redboxed the final Shrek movie last week while we were all sick and oh, my goodness was it hilarious! As a child, I remember often asking my Mom to sit down and watch whatever movie we were watching with us - as she would walk in with a load of laundry on her hip, or in between making meals. I could never understand WHY she couldn't watch the whole thing, I mean, I thought it was a good movie. Now, as a mother, I get it. I've seen snippets and know lines from numerous children's movies but hardly know entire plots or sit through a whole feature length anymore. I'm either too busy, or would rather do something else with my precious downtime than watch some talking animal sing and dance. But SHREK FOREVER AFTER is a movie you need to ALL sit down and watch. It's like a comedy version of "It's a Wonderful Life" in some ways, and as parents... who can't relate to this:
Unfortunately, our little kitten we got almost a year ago can also relate to this character's fate:
And now that I am D.O.N.E. my finals and my first semester back in school, I am feeling a little like THIS:

I couldn't help but smile later that night when I realized that we have our own flying donkey in our house - check out our advent:
Love what the preschooler brings to Christmas in our home. And now, I say: BRING ON MY BREAK. (But not "break down!")

"Elementary, my dear Watson"

I just experienced the most embarrassing review session of my life. I came prepared, even amidst having a sick husband and sick (including puking, fever, snot rockets) kid this week and juggling all of my roles. (You really should see my house this week - I guarantee you will all feel magnificent about the state of your own homes!) I had a page of specific questions including problems for our professor to review. And this was after I had emailed him numerous times with other specific questions. To me, a review session means that we come ready to learn whatever it is we didn't figure out throughout the semester, in time to hopefully learn and regurgitate on the exam. My instructors have been very clear that they aren't going to be coming prepared with anything to go over, but that the time is ours and we are to lead where the discussion goes. So this I did. And for a little over an hour and fifteen minutes and all but two questions, I asked and my professor answered. Yup. Slightly embarrassing. And yet, part of me feels like my classmates owe me. And I'm a little embarrassed for them as well.

In another one of my classes today we were filling out our teacher evaluations. My classmates huddled together deciding if they would be mean or nice. How about honest? I was, I'm afraid, brutally honest. As we were filling out the evaluations, I felt like it was homework time at my house with my little grade schoolers constantly asking me how to spell this and that. I must have rambled off at least a dozen correct spellings of words amidst completing my own evaluation. My favourite was when we had to fill in the spot for our major and a classmate beside me couldn't spell "elementary" correctly. As I helped her, two others realized they had misspelled it as well. Just one of many situations this semester that has led me to wonder at these students who could someday be my children's future teachers. Then again, they may wonder at me. And for all I know, you've spotted a good bunch of spelling errors in this small entry (though favourite was spelled Canadian correctly!)

I'm down to one last class tomorrow and then my finals will be Monday and Tuesday. I can almost breathe a sigh of relief. The break will be much too short, I am sure, but I am thrilled to be done with these classes and even excited for what next semester brings. Still, I don't know how people manage to juggle it all. My problem is that as much as I tell myself that it doesn't matter if I don't get A's... it does. As much as I want to be able to just do okay at everything I am doing, I don't. I don't want to be THE best, but I do want to do MY best, and perhaps I expect too much out of myself. I know I do. Just don't know how to change that, or at least get rid of the guilt that I feel when I can't do it all and do it all well. Ironically, the last time I dealt with depression I was in school too. Causation or correlation?

Something merry and bright -
a friend from my childhood makes me smile in this music video(pause the music playlist at the bottom first!):

My Fall

I’m not sure if anyone will still read this blog, and I really wonder why anyone does anyways. But I’ve decided to share my story of why I fell off the blogosphere and other spheres for a time. Therapeutically, writing this helps me, but I can just as easily keep it written and hidden. However, my hope is that my experiences in life help others either in their own lives, or in our attempt to have empathy and love for those around us; and understanding things that we may never experience ourselves can aid in that endeavor.

This was me last fall:
I hit rock bottom. My fall sucked.

There really aren’t words for all that I was feeling and going through. Basically I was done. And while I hated feeling that way, pretending that I wasn’t was just making me feel worse. I know from experience that even if you fake happiness and togetherness long enough, it doesn’t make it real. I had everything good in my life, and yet I couldn’t enjoy it or experience happiness. And that’s just not fair. I really feel that we all deserve to feel happiness. And when you can’t, you need to get help to feel it. Of course, try telling that to someone who is depressed. I knew I wasn’t happy, I knew I couldn’t “feel” and I knew that this problem was making me intolerable to live with or be around. My solution, at the time, was to make the problem go away so my family could be happy. And with me being the problem, I resolved to leave. I would hide under the covers of a bed somewhere and sleep and not cause problems anymore. At the time, I was hardly eating (just didn’t enjoy it – not even chocolate) and had lost a good ten pounds, so lack of food under my covers wouldn’t be a problem. Hopefully after some time I would simply cease to exist. My biggest worry with this plan was that there really was an afterlife where I would no longer be able to hide and once again have expectations I didn’t feel I could meet. I know this may all sound crazy, but I’m not joking; this was my reality.

I felt completely overwhelmed. I had so much to do, and yet I would sit in my house not doing anything because I just couldn’t. Doing anything was like moving a mountain. I was exhausted: physically, mentally and spiritually. Drained and done and ready to leave, my husband begged me to go see a doctor before I went. I told him I didn’t have time. He made the appointment; I canceled my afternoon and got a babysitter. And then I bawled my eyes out to my wonderful Doctor who agreed that I shouldn’t feel this way and promised to help me feel better for Christmas. Of course he asked how I was eating and sleeping, if and when I was exercising, how my relationship with my husband was, how often I had alone time… and I looked at him like, “how is a depressed person supposed to do any of that?” I was beyond the healthy habits tricks. So for the time being, I am on medication to help me get to the point that I can work on making myself healthy again; healthy and, hopefully, happy. I have references for therapists… but have a hard time making that step. Not sure how spending $180/hr will help me not stress about money or time. I know what my problems are, just don’t know how to fix them all yet.

The fact that I could cry (and cry a LOT) was a good sign to me. Ten years ago, when I suffered from severe postpartum depression, I was so far gone that I couldn’t feel anything and couldn’t cry if I wanted to. So, I’m looking on the bright side at the fact that I spent weeks doing nothing but cry. Tears can be healing, right?!

Ironically, this blog is about my many coloured days, and yet I didn’t want to share the dark days. Really I couldn’t. But I’m going to try, and hope that they get brighter.

Merry and bright. Because ‘tis the season.

Pumpkin Patching

Last week was a bit of a doozy for me. I was super sick and also seemed to have a lot of assignments (an exam even) and other to-do items. Mr. Man helped out a lot, as did sweet good friends. And the fact that the kids were off school Thursday and Friday when I was NOT, didn't help either. Much juggling ensued. I'm a horrible juggler. At any rate, Friday morning I took my exam, while my kids had WAY too much fun with their sitter and then we took a trip to the mall to visit the toy store and then spent a good four hours with some of our best friends out at our favorite farm. We picked pumpkins, bought apples to make applesauce, enjoyed the petting zoo (except for when our little friend got her hand bit by a pig), went on a haunted hay ride, played on the hay ship and maze and just enjoyed the fresh brisk autumn air. So fun and carefree. We raced home to get to football practice and real life on time. But it was a joyous afternoon and a good end to a rough week. (And this week brought snow, and cooler weather, so I'm glad we snuck it in!) I took way too many pictures, here are just a few:

He spent the first couple of hours like this. Isn't it good for kids to nap outdoors?

Boys enjoying the pigs

Miss J and her friend: true cowgirls

This little guy tried to sneak out of every picture I tried to take (see the top one for clues of him) but I barely caught him here. It was a fun game for my usually camera-happy boy.

Getting down to each others level.

It was busy busy... lots of kids and lots of running around.

The simple tree-hung tire swings were a HUGE hit.

Taking forever to find their PERFECT pumpkins. The Toddler was the pickiest. Didn't like the "dirty" ones!!!

This Poor Van

Remember when we bought her? Shiny Rocket was her name.
I really was sad to give up my Camry, but we were having a fourth child and couldn't stick him in the trunk... so we bought our mini-van.

Remember my first car accident? I hit a parked car. We fixed the back end. What goes around comes around I guess. Mr. Man also hit a pole at one point and we fixed the back end yet again.

Remember my second car accident? I hit a deer. Mr. Man replaced the whole front end.

Remember when our engine died? So now it has new insides too.

Last week the battery died. Blew up really... acid leaking out. So she has a new battery too.

I guess the back end was feeling left out again, so ...
I was parked at Costco, minding my own business: shopping and then enjoying their delish hot dogs with The Toddler and our friends. A woman came up to us and asked if either one of us had a Toyota Sienna mini-van. Um, yes... why? (I quickly reviewed where I may have parked.) Anyways, she went on to tell me that someone had just hit this vehicle and driven off and she had his license plate number but that the entire back window was smashed in and the back gate pretty beat up. I lost my appetite and quickly exited to go see if it really was my car. It was. Quick meltdown followed by a hug from my friend and then the realization that my cellphone was also dead... so I borrowed her phone to 1) call the police 2)call Mr. Man to cancel my appointment I wouldn't be making it too, and also fill him in so he could get started with the insurance company 3) call to cancel my sitter ...

The "gentleman" who hit my car had been driving a jeep with a big tire on the back. (It was brand new too- still had the temporary license plate.) He must have just REALLY backed up hard. He did leave a note with his information and DID have insurance, and we had two witnesses, one who left her information and another who stuck around until the police officer came. The police officer was the SAME one who had been there when I hit the deer and commented on whether a deer had hit ME this time. I should mention that he is also good friends with Mr. Man and so he rushed to the scene when he saw our familiar name and number. He really lightened the load, as did my friend who stayed the entire time and took care of The Toddler while I silently freaked out. There was glass all the way up to the dashboard and front seats. The officer took his flashlight to break the rest so that I could "safely" drive the vehicle home to park it in the garage. Now we wait to hear where we are "approved" to take it in to get fixed. Should be good. I'm pretty sure I will be driving this vehicle for the rest of my life. Not much more to replace. Can you believe it?!

A day in the life...

My friend posted her day not too long ago and I loved it. Because I could totally relate. Plus I want to remember these days some day. And today was a NOT normal day with kind of a lot of drama so I'm glad I had started this the other day. The routine and the normalcy of it calms me.

6:17am(or so) Mr. Man's alarm goes off... he's good and gets up and rides his bike in the cold dark to work, apparently there is an extra kid in our bed that I hadn't noticed before... he snuggles with me and tells me about his bad dream that had resulted in ending up in my bed
6:30am - my alarm goes off; I press snooze
-a second child joins my bed announcing, in fact, "I'm joining you!"
-sleep is suddenly not a viable option
6:38am- I hop up and turn off the alarm before it goes again
-shower
-wake up other two children
-encourage piano practicing and breakfast making
-blow dry and get dressed (don't worry, I was in my robe when I woke the kids up)
7:15am -devotional and family prayer
-breakfast (thankfully one of the kids got hungry and made oatmeal while I got ready)
-piano practicing continues and I am summoned continuously for "help"
-get toddler dressed and ready... this is basically a battle every day
8:00am - call children down to get their backpacks packed and warm clothes and gear on to ride their bikes to school
8:10am - big kids out the door to school
-the toddler gets my undivided attention (which he has been waiting for all morning) and I give him his breakfast, and we fit in a game (Three Blind Mice) before heading off ourselves
8:40am - park at university, walk at the slowest on-campus pace ever with the toddler all the way to and up the kajillion stairs to Mr. Man's office
8:50am - leave the toddler to do who knows what (he packed his own backpack of trouble) with Mr. Man while I head off to math class
9:00am - 10:00am math class.
10:00am - pick up the toddler and walk all the way back to the car
-discuss our day with him on the way home (he hates surprises)
10:10am - the toddler plays while I clean up the kitchen, and tidy up in general
-call a friend, who is sick, and plan to take her kids to playgroup for her
-gather applesauce and other goodies for her too
-consider cleaning the kitchen and decide its too big a task for what little time I have left
10:45am- get toddler screaming into car... he doesn't want to leave even though we are headed to HIS playgroup
-pick up my friend's two little guys
-head to playgroup
11:00am-12:00pm - playgroup: enjoy chatting with other moms, manhandling children, and eating a humongous rice krispie treat
-drop of extra kids
-come home and eat lunch with my little buddy
-then we did a bat attack where we put bats up all over the house to surprise the big kids
-read some books together
-the Toddler starts begging for a movie, and really I need to do some homework, so I oblige
-Toy Story/homework time (and I think I called my sister too, oh and probably checked email, blogs, etc.)
2:00ish - go run a quick errand together, the Toddler falls asleep in the stroller there (my errand then became much more enjoyable and relaxing as I perused the entire store!) then transfers to the car then to the couch and slept like a log - LOVE these kinds of naps
3:00ish - work on sharing time for primary
3:40ish - kids arrive on bikes from school and have LOTS to tell me while I feed them cut up apples and hot chocolate (since it was the first snow day)
4:00ish - tell them to run and play since piano lessons start at 4:30
-I don't remember what I did during that time... probably started on dinner or something, I do know I considered cleaning the kitchen and then didn't
4:30 - piano lessons for three eldest, while breaking up fights and all the rest, the Toddler woke up around this time (of course)
5:30 - Mr. Man gets home, the kids do dinner jobs and I work on getting dinner on the table
6:00pm - dinner and ensuing clean-up and lunch making for tomorrow
-kids do homework while I make pumpkin chocolate chip cookies for FHE treat, the Toddler is trying to catch a fairy (dandelion seed) he let in the house and wants to capture and keep
-we actually don't have any practices or extra extras going on - breathe sigh of relief
6:30 - FHE: this one was sort of a disaster, but our activity was a HUGE hit - hide and go seek in the dark (with flashlights)
7:30 - showers for those who need them, bedtime routine and lots of reading
8:00- family prayer and lights out
-homework and studying for me, Mr. Man works then we relax and watch something mind-numbing before going to sleep way to early for grown ups... kitchen still never got cleaned (my Monday job!)

Man Cheese

I'm not sure if it was because two of my boys needed extensive speech therapy, or because they simply can't stand anything "girl," but years ago we had to officially change the name of grilled cheese at our house to "boy cheese." Tantrums would be thrown if I even suggested making grilled or, as they heard it, "girl" cheese. I've gotten used to calling it "boy cheese." But one night last week in the midst of all the extra extras the kids are doing, it got late and dinner had yet to be made, so I suggested grilled cheese. Two of my boys piped right up, "But will you make US boy cheese?" Of course, of course. Little E, however, declared that he didn't want girl cheese or boy cheese, but would I please make him a "man cheese sandwich?" So yes, now we make man cheese at our house. Don't forget to make man cheese or girl cheese shaped like tombstones with RIP in ketchup this Sunday!

Young Love

These two little ones are completely in love. Little Miss even asked her Mom how old she has to be to get married. Little E can't stop talking about her, and wants to be with her constantly, even though he admits that it is a little embarrassing. I would be extremely happy with the in-laws if this love continues, and we all adore Little Miss. Time will tell. He calls her "the love of my life" - and I can't help but smile. Aren't they cute?!

I should be studying right now

Somehow the exam-induced-panic that pushed me to non-stop studying the last time I had a math exam is just not showing up this time. My next exam is in a mere 36 hours. I spent my alone time tonight, while Mr. Man took the kids out for dinner and to the pumpkin patch so I could study, watching "Babies." Finally. I loved it. What a great work of art and outlook of the world in which we live. I baked cookies today. Took the Toddler to the park. Flipped through a magazine. And yet I can barely look over my notes. I've made study guides. I've done the chapter reviews. I have my questions ready for tomorrow's final class and review session. But I must admit, knowing I got a very solid A on the last exam has kind of gotten to my head. I wish I could tell my head to forget that and start studying. But my head also knows how much I love that procrastinating-induced-anxiety feeling. Oh when will it hit me?

My Edited Bad Day

Yesterday I wrote a long post about my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad Monday. And I didn't quite finish it. And today it doesn't seem so bad. In fact, I can see all the good things in that day. Like the huge blessing of good friends who quite simply and quickly come to your rescue. The fact that Mr. Man knows how to fix our one vehicle, which has to be trustworthy since it is our main mode of transportation. I'm grateful for our bikes and also how bike-friendly this town is. I am seriously grateful for kleenex and warm soup and also my bed so I can sleep this sickness away. And I'm grateful for my imagination.

Remember years ago when we spent the whole summer living in a big city in a little hotel? It was a hard time, given Mr. T's health, and we were confined to that small hotel room for way too long. I made up story after story about how we lived in a castle and were trapped and waiting for a knight in shining armor to rescue us (Mr. Man to come home from work). Imagination can save the day. On Monday, when the Toddler and I had to take the bus, I used that imagination to create a great adventure for us. He was not impressed.

First he was upset over WHICH bus we were riding. Apparently all buses are not created equal, even though they look identical. Then he complained continuously about the safety of the ride: "I have a big huge window and no seat belt, this is not safe!" The stranger danger drove him batty: "Who's that guy? I not know him. Where he going?" And the length of the ride (what would have been a 10 minute car ride, but a good half hour bus ride) infuriated him: "I just want to go home! Can this bus take me home yet?" He kept me chuckling, and I saw streets and shops I didn't know existed in our town, and also thought of how lucky I am to have a vehicle that takes me so quickly from point A to point B.

It really was a bad day. But even bad days end and can sometimes make us laugh later. And sometimes they help us appreciate the good days even more. Maybe that's the main point.

Stepping Stones

The toddler and I have been spending too much time together... I've caught his nasty cold and in true adult fashion is has nearly killed me. I know I'll live, but it's crazy how incapacitating a cold can be. At any rate, the little man is starting to dry up a bit from his cold, and even his boogers are getting dry. I caught him picking his nose the other day and asked him what he was digging for. He replied, without a second thought: "Stepping stones."

He's been spending a lot of time lately at the duck pond feeding the ducks and loves to walk around on the stepping stones there... but still a weird response.

He continued, as he pulled out a big crusty one: "Stepping stones make a good snack."

I pulled his finger away from his mouth and offered a different snack, since stepping stones really aren't good for us... and are, well, gross.

"Nope," he corrected me, "the firefighter said it's good to eat stepping stones for snack."

We've been working on fire safety and went through a little firehouse demo where we advised the kids to listen to what the firefighters said, because it could save your life.

Still, I wonder how his little mind works.

Undercover

When I'm at school, I often feel like I am an undercover cop of sorts. While there are some older people like me (and some MUCH older I'm happy to say... like gray haired and all), the majority are obviously those young naives in their late teens early twenties. One girl is a returning student and at 24 she's considered "old." Apparently I used to be old, but am now ancient. I try not to judge. Because I have stories of where that has gotten me. But my goodness. That life is so different from mine, that I truly feel like I am spying on them and their culture.

Their early morning complaints of having to drag themselves out of bed for a 9am class make me giggle, because I refuse to be enraged that 6am is the norm for me. The roommate issues crack me up. I hear friends gathered reading texts from a fellow roommate and guffawing over her response that she did wash the dishes. The problems, the arguments and the opinion that I am so lucky not to have a roommate just about kill me. Um, I live with 5 other people... though we do have the dishes pretty much figured out by now. The parties, the drinking, the study group plans (do they actually study at these things now?), the complimenting on clothing and jewlery and raving about going shopping together, the learning how to spend money and then how to tell Mom and Dad that the credit card has a whopping $430 on it, but that's $430 that they don't have... all these things leave me shaking my head, smiling, and sometimes (rarely) making little comments that are meant to be barely heard. Sometimes I do speak out. Somebody has to. I'll share THAT story another time.

There is one thing that my undercover experience has found that doesn't make me smile. The blatant cheating. It happens in class, but most of it happens outside of class. The pure excitement some of these students have in passing around quizzes, tests and assignments is disgusting. Complete file folders. I'm thinking that if they used this organizational sophistication in their own studies, they could do just fine... but instead I'm appalled to say that there is a lot of memorization of pure answers. As I spend hours doing my homework and studying, it seems hardly fair. I remember once in high school where I caught wind of being able to purchase a copy of our law final from someone. Our teacher, part-time lawyer, part-time teacher, was viewed as sort of a ditz and someone basically went into her office to speak with her and while talking took a copy of the exam on her desk and then copied and distributed - and made a small fortune doing so. I happened to work with this teacher/lawyer in some other capacities and organizations as well, and adored her. I was torn. But eventually wrote her a note letting her know what was going on. I didn't sign it, but somehow she knew it was me. This "ditzy" teacher created a whole new exam for the class, and I felt great joy in hearing the groans around me as the students realized this expensive fact.

I haven't seen any "files" going around for the specific classes I am currently taking. So no reporting has been done. Yes, I would most certainly snitch if I could. But still, it makes me mad. It's no longer survival of the fittest. Has it ever been?

Not a Poet

Mr. T's homework tonight was on poetry. The final assignment was to write three sentences about what you like or don't like about poetry. Here's what my 7 1/2 year old wrote:

I don't imagine.
I don't rhyme.
I don't stanza.

It's like a Seinfeld episode!!! I told him to think of one thing he DOES like about poetry to replace that third sentence, cause I'm mean like that. He's still thinking...

Dad's Special Box

When I was a little girl my Dad started to give speeches as a hobby which then turned into a career. Motivational speeches. His main theme at the time was finding the magic within. For part of his presentation, Dad had a special box created. This box was 3-dimensional and had black and white designs on the outside. But on the inside, each side, top and bottom was made from mirrors. It was a completely mirrored box. At one point in his presentation he would explain that inside this box was all the magic needed to do or be anything. Then he would call upon a volunteer to come look inside the box. Of course, the magic box would reveal the true source of that magic and power: ones self. I loved my Dad's magic box. I thought it was truly amazing. I would beg over and over for Dad to do his spiel and let me find the magic within the box. Whenever friends came over, I would harass him to no end until he would show them the magic as well.

I had no idea, how valuable that box really was: the cost to create it, and the invaluable asset it was to his presentations. And so I was crushed when my Dad rejected my demands to bring the box to school for show and tell. How could he not let me share the magic too? I asked again and again, to no avail. And so I finally took matters into my own hands. I found where the box was stored. I checked on it every day and noticed that it spent days, between presentations, on that high shelf in the basement closet. Never moving. Never being checked on by anyone but me. I put little objects in front of the box so that I would know if it had been moved. It didn't move. So I snuck that box from its hiding spot and into my own clever spot: under my bed. Two, three, four days passed and nobody noticed it's absence. So after almost a week, I did what I'd been told not to do: I took the magic box to school for show and tell. What can I say: it was THE BEST SHOW AND TELL EVER!!!

I brought it back home undamaged and placed it back in its spot without saying a word. But sure that everyone at home knew my misdeed and I would be caught at any moment. I wasn't. Nobody knew until a few years ago when I let out my sneaky indiscretion.

It's memories like these, and the ones that include Mom's special charm bracelet and her amethyst ring (nothing bad happened to them Mom), that help me to look past or at least understand my own childrens' sneaky natures. And maybe re-think how often I say "no"... because at least if I say "yes" I can do so with limitations and guidelines. And, to be honest, I wish I'd stolen that box for good cause how awesome would that be to still have?

Heels = Hair

My kids don't eat the heel (or end) of a loaf of bread. Drives Mr. Man crazy. Last night while making lunches Mr. E asked me if I knew what happened when you eat the heel. I told him I didn't, but was quite interested in finding out. He practically blurted out: "Eating the heel makes you grow hair in your arm pits." I asked him if he wanted to grow arm pit hair (since nobody eats the heels, and I wondered who had started this scary story). "Heck yes," he replied. "I want to be a man. And mans have hair in their arm pits." I giggled at his enthusiasm, then asked who he had heard this fact from. Apparently it was his big brother, who thinks hair in your arm pits is as disgusting as the heels of the bread. Little E dug deeper for the other heel and made a great sandwich. I caught him checking his arm pits soon after. Maybe this "fact" is why my daughter absolutely refuses to eat the heel. Who knows.

Here's my little boy who wants to be a man. Note that he is wearing his little brother's superman shirt which he outgrew years ago, but still adores. I love it.

I don't bribe my kids; I use incentives

General Conference went over well at our house. On top of our regular traditions, we added silly bands to the mix: the new "rage" at school for acquiring and trading. For every talk they listened to, and could tell me three things that were discussed, they would receive a silly band. We had some very attentive listeners and note-takers. I'm surprised and impressed at the messages they grasped and the depth of their learning. And thankful for quiet children so I could listen and absorb as well.

Shepherds Pie

I am not a very picky eater, but I have always detested shepherds pie. As a child I would try to separate the potatoes from the veggies and the meat to make it into a more picturesque meal. Years ago Mr. Man asked why I never made his most favorite of all dishes: shepherds pie. I told him that would be one meal never served in my home, since to me, it's like what a regular meal looks like all chewed up in your stomach. Disgusting. I just can't handle it all mixed up like that.

So last week, in the midst of all my to-dos, I was also attempting to be a good wife. And so I looked up a recipe for shepherds pie on the internet. And, for the first time in my almost 11 years of wife-hood, I made my husband's favourite meal. And boy was it a hit. Every last person loved and inhaled this meal. I managed to swallow it as well. And it was okay; delicious according to everyone else.

And so I've been thinking about that mushed up contortion and comparing it to my life lately. The life I feel like is a little bit hard for me to get a handle on and balance quite right. Often my roles, jobs and duties are getting squished and ending up in the wrong compartments. I'm trying to study while still spending quality time with the kids...etc. And I'm hoping that even though things appear jumbled and are perhaps rubbing off on each other, my life can still be delicious. And most likely it is, it's just that I'm not used to liking shepherds pie... but I can see how it could grow on me. I'm so blessed that my life has all the right ingredients to be delicious.

Shots vs. Preschool

{The toddler a year ago when he was so sad to NOT be going to school}

I have enough Mommy-guilt, so I'm writing the following with the expectations that the freedom of speech act will not follow. I don't want any comments that will further induce my guilt. You're welcome to your thoughts, just don't share them. This blog is not a democracy. But any tips or advice are always welcome. I'm an amateur mother.

With that, I'm going to tell you how much my three year old hates preschool. It's horrible. We're on to the fifth week now. He only goes Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and on those mornings he starts crying and fussing as soon as he wakes up; begging not to have to get dressed, bartering over where he could go INSTEAD of preschool, insisting that I not leave him. The night before is a tragic night of nightmares. He screams for his Mommy and I usually end up sleeping with him in his bed or he in mine with him holding on to me for dear life. I told you it was bad.

His teachers are wonderful, I couldn't be happier. And we're all working together to try to make this better for him. My other two boys went to preschool when they were his age, so it's not like he's far too young. As my youngest, he's also been with me a lot more... never really apart. He's still my one to cry when it's time for nursery at church - and he's the oldest one there.

When I leave him at preschool it breaks my heart. I have to tear him off of me and hand him to a teacher. He stands at the window bawling while his teacher waves his hand in a happy motion of goodbye. They say he calms down after a while, but that any little trigger sends him back into tears. Plus, he's a sympathetic crier, so anytime anybody else happens to be sad or cry - off he goes too.

It's so strange to me that he's like this. He is so social, so outgoing and has such a personality and attitude at home or with other children. And on the days he has preschool, the rest of the day it's like he has extra personality and "talking" to get out of him because it was on lock down in the morning. If he wasn't already a mama's boy, he is even more so now. We talk about how nice his friends and teachers are, and his response is always "I don't tink so." Though, truly they are.

So on Friday I took him for his 3yr old doctor's check up (a little late). He needed an unanticipated shot, and so I quickly explained what was going to happen before the nurse came back. All three older kids were huddled around ready for the tears to spring. I held him on my lap, his legs snuggled tightly between my legs, my arms hugging his arms and his sugar-free sucker from the doctor nestled between his lips. The shot came and went. According to the big kids, his face went red, but not a sound escaped. He hopped down as if nothing had happened, and on the way out the door said, "I like this doctor. When can we come back here?"

I'm confused.

Tuesday and Thursday mornings may have me telling him we're going to the doctor's for a shot instead of telling him it's a preschool day. Or maybe I need to give his preschool teacher some sugar-free suckers to divy out. I dont' know anymore. It's got to get better, right?

Just Keep Swimming

Oh boy is this hard. That's the truth. My days seem to drag on and yet swallow each other up at the same time. I wish I could balance everything better. Today is my day "off" from school, which pretty much means it's on for everything else... cleaning, errands, spending all day with my toddler, phone calls, primary, oh and it's not really "off" for school since I need to study for my mid-terms (one that is approaching quickly on Friday). All I want to do is curl up in my bed, sleep the whole morning away, eat chocolate for brunch and then read a good book all afternoon. (I know, I'm hard core.) No can do. Must be productive. How do people do this, all day, every day? My brain hurts and I think it may be swelling from all the new information I am trying to jam into it. I am finding myself quite irritable today and barely able to keep my head above water. It's a familiar feeling of stress. And I know all I need to do to deal with stress, but when do you find the time to exercise, drink all that water, write in your journal, go for a walk, eat balanced meals, have a heart to heart talk with someone, get enough sleep, etc. when you already have more to do than you can? For now, I'll just keep swimming and hope I find land soon enough.

What my kids have said lately...

...so I don't forget.

The Toddler
I asked him what he wants for Christmas (because really I have no ideas for him) and he replied immediately: "A tree star." You have to have watched "The Land Before Time" to get how priceless this request is.

Little E
My little organizer came home from school the other day and told me, blushing, that his teacher told him he's only allowed to clean and organize his desk when it's center time or when she's not teaching. He'd gone a little nuts with the OCD apparently. Um, yeah. I love it!

Mr. T

The kids' secret mission the other day was to learn a new word. Mr. T said: "I learned that math has a ematics on the end. Isn't that the strangest thing?" Mathematics!!! This kid is a crack-up!

Miss J
I went to curriculum night at the three older kids' school yesterday and loved rummaging through all their current work and desks. Miss J had left me little notes all over the place. But my favourite part was reading in her writing book where she apparently had to write a letter to her teacher telling about herself; her strengths and weaknesses, likes, dislikes, hobbies, etc. She wrote (and I'm paraphrasing): "This is sort of personal, but one of my favorite hobbies is to stand in front of my full-length mirror and practice singing and dancing." I died. Because I see her doing that all too much, and because she is so sincere that she wrote it to inform her teacher.